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The suit he’s wearing is dark gray tonight and fits to perfection. Strong muscles show through the fabric, summoning the memory of the way the hard planes of his body felt pushed against me.
He’s reading a newspaper like it’s ten years ago despite having two smart phones placed on the table before him. I’m not sure why anyone would need two cell phones.
I pour two fingers worth of the tawny liquid, acutely aware the bottle costs more than my salary, willing my hand not to tremble and spill. “Did you want to eat?” I ask, licking my bottom lip to moisten the sudden dryness.
“Steak.”
His eyes move to mine before dropping to my lips, sending my pulse roaring.
“Rare. I like to see blood on my food.” He closes the paper discarding it on the table.
My lips part, a small puff of air pushing free. His eyes bore into me, loosening every part of my body. He releases me with a jerk of his chin, and I almost lose my footing when I back away to relay his order to our chef.
“You’re blushing,” Joelle gushes, nudging my side. “Did he say something to you?”
Glancing a quick look over my shoulder. I feel the room close in around me when I find his eyes still fixated on me, stripping me bare. I feel my pulse everywhere.
“No, just the usual.” I jerk a shoulder trying not to show how affected I am by him.
“That man,” she sighs, fanning herself.
“What man?” Simon asks, pulling open the fridge behind Joelle and taking out a tonic water. I advert my gaze, jotting down a scribble on my pad.
Smirking, Joelle croons, “That one.” Flitting her eyes in Mr. Leto’s direction.
Rolling his eyes, Simon scoffs, “You know the devil had a pretty face too, right?”
The devil, is that who he is?
Joelle’s glorious laugh brings a smile to my lips, “Don't worry, Si, we think you’re cute too.” She turns to me winking.
“Gee thanks.” He snorts, going back to his customer.
My gaze finds its way back to him.
Mr. Leto.
That man.
That devil.
I sense the moment Marcello enters. The way the atmosphere shifts and all eyes track his every move.
Dressed beautifully in a light suit, mirrored shades hiding his eyes, his towering height descends on the bar.
My pulse jumps in my neck when he smirks in my direction, skimming past me with a hand on my back while murmuring, “Bring me a glass, Preziosa.”
Every inch of my body is aware of the powerful men in my vicinity.
Taking a glass to the table, I place it down in front of Marcello, highly aware of Mr. Leto’s gaze on me.
He’s paying me more interest today than he has before, and it makes me a little on edge.
“Are you hungry?” I ask Marcello, meaning to ask if he’s staying for food. My brain isn’t working around them today.
The corner of his lips twitch as he devours me. “Ravenous,” he quips, his eyes dropping to my chest blatantly. My breath hitches, then accelerates.
“He will have the same as me,” Mr. Leto barks, drawing my attention to him. His eyes have darkened, narrowing on me.
“Yes, sir,” I say in a mocking tone. I turn to leave, hearing Marcello say, “She’s quite something.” My heart blooms.
“She’s a child,” Leto scoffs, dousing me in humiliation.
Embarrassment heats my cheeks as anger tears through my body. Was I a child when he was rubbing his cock into my back?
I linger near a table close by, pretending to wipe it down.
“Her body says otherwise.”
“The body is pointless if the mind can’t handle the things you do to it.”
My heartbeat skyrockets. What the hell does that mean?
I take off to place the order for Marcello’s steak before running to the restroom to splash my face with some cold water, needing to get a hold of myself.
“You’re fine, he’s an asshole we knew this.” I tell myself patting dry my face.
Busying myself with other tables I try not to think about what Mr. Leto said but it’s like a virus in my brain infecting every thought, I can’t focus.
Joelle calls me over for Mr. Leto and Marcello’s order. I think about sneezing in Luca’s before delivering it but rein in the petty bitch inside me.
Taking an even breath, I still my nerves and rapid heart rate walking to where they’re sitting, and placing their food down in front of them.
“Anything else I can get for you?” I ask, looking directly at Marcello, forcing a cool smile deliberately dismissing Mr. Leto.
“We’re good,” he grunts anyway, his tone a clear warning for me to leave them alone.
“Actually, my glass needs refilled.” Marcello smirks a wicked look, dazzling his eyes.
Picking up the bottle, I pour a small amount in the glass and hover it near Luca’s glass.
He twitches his head slightly, giving me permission.
Moving the bottle over his lap, I spill a drop on his crotch, making him startle.
