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“Come on, Malcolm, no need to punish the girl. It’s not her fault I’m irresistible.”
“Be that as it may, she’s my employee and she should know better than to engage in physical liaisons on the couch in her boss’s office.”
“I’m going to be racked with guilt over this, you know.” Gavino sounds like he’s kidding, but his fingers twitch slightly, like he wants to ball them into fists. “You shouldn’t punish her for my moral failings.”
Malcolm glances at him and frowns. “You want me to spare her? How about I raise the interest to four-point-nine? You can pay for her if you want to use her like a whore.”
I cover my mouth in shock and Gavino’s control slips. He stares hard at Malcolm, an interesting and intense glint in his eye, measuring the man. The silence is so heavy it hurts my chest, and my lips are tingling from that kiss, buzzing like they’re numb and bee-stung. I hate this, hate being called a fucking whore by that man, and I want to kill him so badly it hurts.
But finally, Gavino shakes his head. “Fire her then.”
“You heard him.” Malcolm doesn’t glance at me. “You’re fired. See yourself out, please. Now, Gavino, the conference room is this way. Don’t get lost and end up sleeping with any of my employees, please.”
“No promises,” Gavino says, glancing back as he follows Malcolm into the hallway.
There’s anger in his eyes. Anger and pity and—an apology somewhere in there? I stare back at him, hatred swelling in my chest.
That bastard got me fired.
But once they’re gone and I’m alone again, and my brain starts to work, I realize something more important: that bastard saved my butt.
Without him, Malcolm would’ve walked in on me going through those files. There’s no excuse in the world that would’ve explained my presence in his office all on my own. His mail gets dropped on his secretary’s desk, and she brings anything important to him personally. Nobody goes in here, nobody at all.
If Gavino hadn’t kissed me and made it seem like we were having some crazy sexual encounter, Malcolm would’ve been even more suspicious of me.
And Malcolm Strafford is not the kind of man I want to cross.
Not openly, anyway. Not yet.
“Crap,” I whisper as I drift into the hallway.
Gavino Bruno saved my life. He did it by forcing a kiss on my lips, by pulling my hair, by shoving his hand down my pants.
The thrill lingers in my core. The desire’s still there, simmering.
But as I leave the building, my dignity in tatters, my future plans shattered into a million pieces, I realize something even worse.
Gavino Bruno, of the Bruno Famiglia. The most powerful organized crime family in all of Phoenix, Arizona, and possibly all of the Southwest.
I was saved by a kiss from a vicious gangster, and I don’t know why he did it.
