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Crap.
Marcus’ head lowered.
“Anyone could come in,” I hissed.
“I know.” And his head kept lowering. “And that’s half the fun.” His breath fanned my skin. “Isn’t it?”
Oh...yes. Crap. I meant oh...no.
My eyes drifted closed.
But nothing happened.
I heard the elevator chime upon arriving at the penthouse floor, and when I opened my eyes, Marcus was pulling away from me with a grin.
Oh!
He moved away, and while still plastered against the wall, I found myself staring at his entire executive staff, all of them waiting in attention outside the elevator.
Crap.
I automatically straightened and flashed them a polite smile. “Buongiorno.” I tried to keep my hand from shaking as I tucked my hair behind my ears.
“Everyone, I’m sure you don’t need any introductions to Anneke de Konigh, DKE’s vice-president.”
His staff greeted me formally, and I nodded and smiled, pretending I didn’t notice the curious looks on their faces.
Marcus took my hand. “Andiamo,bambina.” He led me to his office, located at the end of the hall, and as he closed the door behind us I gazed at my surroundings, more than a little surprised. I had expected manly and earthy tones from him, probably because of his Italian descent, but instead Marcus’ office was a mixture of futuristic and minimalist, with shiny white walls blending with glass, leather, and stainless steel furniture.
“Please have a seat, bambina.” His gaze followed my every move, and when I settled on one of the large swivel chairs in front of his massive frameless table, he drawled, “I can see the appearance of my office surprises you.”
“Just a bit,” I admitted. “But it doesn’t mean I don’t find it lovely. Because it is.” I paused. “And it makes sense, when I think about it.”
Marcus dealt me a thoughtful look. “How so?”
Because you compartmentalize things, I thought. Marcus Ravelli was such a complex and private man that he seemed to have divided his life into these little boxes, and each box was different and so were the people who could access it.
In the box called work, he was ruthless and cold, his tastes leaning towards everything that was futuristic and functional. In the box called work, he was the kind of man whose company my brothers enjoyed and whose opinion they respected, but this one, too, had limits. I wasn’t sure which box I fit in, but I was pretty sure whatever it was – it was the disposable kind.
It had taken me several expensive sessions with a psychologist just to accept that, and then a couple more to move on from knowing that I could never be important enough to be in Marcus’ box of all-in access.
“Anneke?”
Seeing that he was still waiting for my answer, I said vaguely, “Oh, just a thought.” And not wanting us to get any deeper with that, I quickly changed the subject, saying, “So...” I smiled uncertainly. “How have you been?”
It had been two weeks since our last meeting in Italy, and today was the earliest we had been able to make our hectic schedules work for both of us.
“Life goes on,” was all Marcus said.
Riiiight.
It was probably the whole Italian macho thing, I thought,that made men like Marcus Ravelli prefer to grieve in silence.
“Would you like anything to drink?” Marcus was asking as he headed to his en-suite bar.
“Just water please.” I watched Marcus take his jacket off and lay it on the counter and tried not to stare when he bent down to take out a bottle of water from his beverage cooler.
Marcus Ravelli had a really nice butt.
