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Milene blinks at me, then shakes her head and mumbles something. I’m not a hundred percent sure, but I think she just called me batshit crazy.
“How fast can you type?” I ask.
“On the phone?”
“Laptop.”
“I don’t know. I’ve never actually timed it, but I’d say average speed. Why?”
“It’ll do.” I reach for the bottle of water.
She takes her phone from its resting place. “What for?”
“If you’re done with lunch, go and change into something more appropriate for business.” I nod at her yellow T-shirt, the name of some band emblazoned across the front. “You’re coming to the office with me.”
“What am I going to do in your office? Water the plants?”
“You have twenty minutes, or I’m leaving without you.”
I put on a classy, navy dress I haven’t worn in at least two years and look at my reflection in the mirror.
Salvatore didn’t mention the couch fiasco. Good. As far as I’m concerned, it never happened. He caught me by surprise.What the fuck is wrong with me, grinding my pussy like an animal in heat against the cock of the man who destroyed my life? Who does that?
If he needs recreational sex, he can find it elsewhere because he won’t be getting any from me. That... episode was a one-off. I have to live here, but that’s all we’ll do—cohabitate. I’m sure he has a long list of women, all lined up and waiting to be summoned and fucked. He can do as he wants. It doesn’t bother me at all. Not even a little. It will probably be some tall, sophisticated type. They can discuss art and other aristocratic shit I have no clue about. Maybe he’ll take her to his auctions. Buy her million-dollar trinkets.
I grind my teeth and fasten the wide white belt that goes with the dress. I don’t care. He can fuck whomever he wants. I pull the belt so tight I almost bruise my hips.
“‘You have twenty minutes, or I’m leaving without you,’” I mumble, imitating Salvatore’s abrupt tone when he issued the order to me earlier. What a control freak. If I wasn’t dying of boredom, I would have told him exactly what I thought about his offer. But I’ve been going out of my mind in this ridiculous penthouse, and I’ll do anything to escape, if only for a few hours.
The dress is a little loose around the hips, but it’ll do. I quickly collect my hair in a low bun, put on my white heels, and grab my purse before rushing out of the room. It can’t have been twenty minutes, but when I reach the living room, Salvatore’s already leaving.
“Wait, God damn it!”
He turns and watches me approach, checking me out from head to toe.
“Does your business highness approve?” I motion with my hand down the length of my outfit.
“I approve,” he says and exits through the front door, leaving me to follow.
I’d assumed he had an office somewhere downtown, but when we get inside the elevator, he presses the button for two floors down. The doors open to reveal a wide entry hall decorated in white marble and dark wood. Immediately in front of us and close to the wall, a desk is positioned with a computer and several stacks of folders sitting on it. A woman sitting behind it jumps to her feet once she sees us exit the elevator.
“Mr. Ajello.” She nods and remains standing, staring at me with wide eyes. She’s pretty, in her late twenties, and impeccably dressed in a coral pantsuit and white shirt, which is so perfectly pressed you could cut your finger on its lapel.
To the left, there is a long hallway with several doors on each side, but Salvatore heads in the opposite direction toward the large ornate wooden door, nodding to the woman at the reception desk as he passes. He holds the door open for me, and I enter the office dominated by a massive wooden desk next to impressive floor-to-ceiling windows. The right wall is composed entirely of bookshelves, while on the other is a plush leather sofa and two matching armchairs. A painting of a sunset hangs on the wall above the sofa.
Salvatore walks around the desk to power up the laptop, then sits down on his office chair and motions for me to come over. I approach the desk, intending to take one of the two guest chairs set up before it, but he shakes his head.
“Come here.”
Raising my eyebrows, I walk around the desk. As I move to stand next to him, he grabs me around the waist and pullsme down to sit on his right thigh. I yelp and look at him in surprise, but he just rolls the chair closer to the desk while still holding me with his arm and slides the laptop in front of me.
“Open the email app,” he says.
I reach for the mouse and lean forward to search through dozens of icons scattered around the screen for the one that will open his email. The desktop is a mess and completely at odds with Salvatore’s personality. He lifts his right hand off my waist and covers mine, moving the mouse toward the upper left corner of the screen.
He clicks on the envelope icon to bring up the inbox window. “Let’s start with emails that arrived today.”
I find it rather hard to feign indifference while sitting on his lap with his arm again wrapped around my middle, but somehow, I manage to keep my cool and open the first unread email from the list.
