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Clearly, this dress has squeezed out all rational thinking.
There are three things I find sexy in a man: dimples, defined biceps, and vests. There are many things I hate about Giovanni Cassinetti.
Among them his burn-your-underwear smile with dimples, which I’ve only seen once or twice because the man’s typical facial expression is utter annoyance.
I wish I didn’t care about his hot AF chiseled biceps that fill his tailor-made suits perfectly, unlike my dress today. His frame is lean, but solidly defined in all the right places.
And, of course, the man is wearing a three-piece tux tonight. Jacket open, his black vest is hiding everything I ache to discover.
Scratch that. I don’t ache for him. I don’t have time for his personality. He’s cold and arrogant. And let’s not forget his herd of long-legged, collagen-lipped bimbos he parades around.
The first time I met him a few months back, when he came to an event in his brother’s restaurant, Casa Cassi, my entire body reacted to him.
It was so unexpected, I lost a train of thought and made a complete idiot out of myself. I never lose my wits, but I guess there is always a first time for everything.
Every time he comes to Casa Cassi, dining with one of his countless models, I focus on the women in his life, hoping I can tame the unreasonable attraction.
And every time I succeed, mostly because his rude behavior knocks down his appeal. Until I see him the next time and I shake with that unreasonable need again.
It’s ridiculous how the want and the dislike can cohabit happily, while the man and my unresolved attraction are driving me crazy.
We stare at each other over the heads of the guests. His entire being emanates something spellbinding and I can’t look away. Something is off tonight. He isn’t looking at me with contempt or his usual disregard. Maybe it’s the fact he’s looking at me—at anything—instead of his phone.
With narrowed eyes his gaze pierces me, and I swear the man can see my deepest hidden secrets.
I feel strangely exposed, melting in the hottest sun and freezing in the iciest storm. All at the same time. Consumed by his gaze.
He hasn’t even moved to scan the whole of me. He’s simply focused on my face as if it’s the most fascinating thing in the world. Heat crawls up my neck.
Music and conversations fade away as the sound of my heartbeat takes up most of the space in my head. I need to look away. I have to break free from this prison of his stare. I want to. I think.
I narrow my eyes. That’s all I manage, but it’s something. Hopefully, I achieve two things with my mean look—to hide how frazzled I am by his scrutiny, and to allow him to see what I think of him.
Well, not about the hotness and dimples and muscles and the stupid vest, but the real, more important things. Like how shallow and arrogant he is.
Yet his stare unnerves me. What does he want? Why is he doing it? And why is there a part of me that hopes he won’t stop?
The man spends most of his days and dates—as I’ve observed—staring at his phone. I need him to go back to that.
He shakes his head slightly like he can’t believe he’s spending his time looking at me. Or he doesn’t like what he’s seeing but can’t look away either. His eyes burn me. Like the flickering flame of a candle, I want to get closer to bask in its light, but I know it would scorch me.
My head swirls a bit and my vision blurs, so I blink a few times to find my equilibrium. When I refocus, Gio is talking to someone, but he glances my way one more time. What I read on his face looks too close to concern. I’m being ridiculous.
“Mila, here is the current total.” A volunteer who is minding the silent auction snaps me back to reality and my work.
I thank her and find London. “Excuse me.” I smile at her companion and she steers us to the side.
“You’ve done an amazing job, Mila. People are having a great time, and all your additional touches to this venue and the program made this gala one of the most memorable ones. I will recommend you to everyone. You deserve to conquer New York with your attitude and skills.”
I blink a few times. Her words slide down, lining my chest and my stomach with honey as pride swells inside me. “Thank you.”
I know she hired me out of desperation, and probably because my best friend, Gina, her sister-in-law, sang my praises. She could have said “job well done’,” but she said more, like she really means it.
I dial up the smile I’ve been casting around during the evening, and this time there is a whisper of truth in it.
“Would you like to announce the donation’s tally now?” I recover and give her the paper with the number.
“Are you okay?” She studies me for a moment.
