Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
A pink champagne flute was thrust into my hand, and I took a large sip, letting the fuzzy liquid wet my parched throat. My eyes roamed the room, trying to find him.
And find him I did.
He stood at the very corner, the golden light of the grand chandelier burnishing the edges of his sculpted face, highlighting his striking features.
He wore his suit like a second skin, his swagger and flair unmatched in a tight-fitting black three-piece with velvet trimmings.
With a rich paisley-printed pocket square and his vintage pocket watch clasped in his hand, my boss looked like the darkest sin and sweetest salvation.
Tate was standing next to the Ferrantes, a new and unwelcome fixture in his life.
I didn’t know what brought them together. The Ferrantes were bona fide members of the New York Mafia. Dodgier than a street cart hot dog.
There was Machiavelli—Vello for short—the father and don, who looked to be in his late sixties, and his two oldest sons, Luca and Achilles. They were tall, dark, dressed to the nines, and entirely terrifying. They always showed up with enough security for five sitting presidents.
I pushed through my discomfort and hurried over to them, carving a path through the dense crowd.
I stood before Tate, waiting to be acknowledged as he spoke to the three men.
His eyes flickered to me fleetingly, unforgivingly cold, before he fixed them back on Vello Ferrante.
Tate was purposefully ignoring me.
“Tate.” I forced out a smile.
I leaned up on my toes, touching his arm briefly and holding my breath like he was toxic. We’d never been friendly, not to mention touchy before.
He froze, his sneer smoothing out into a blank stare.
“Gia.” His mouth twisted around the vowels of my name. “What brings you in here? It cannot be an invitation.”
He took my metaphorical white flag and set it aflame.
“I was hoping I could speak to you.”
“You and every other woman on this continent.” He glanced at his pocket watch while the Ferrante men turned their backs to us and started speaking in Italian to give us privacy. “Alas, you’ll have to wait until Monday morning. I have an opening between nine thirty-three and nine thirty-six. I’m entertaining now, as you can see.” He gestured to the busy room.
Very charitable of him. Offering me three minutes of his precious time.
“Entertaining who?” I narrowed my eyes. “You possess all the personal charm of the bubonic plague.”
Lovely, Gia. You couldn’t even be nice to him for five minutes.
In my defense, he deserved much worse.
“Not helping your cause.” He tapped my nose without really touching it.
For all his faults, Tate had been remarkably respectful of my personal space. He never touched me nor made inappropriate comments.
“This is important,” I explained.
“No, this”—he extended his arm toward the dazzling ballroom—“is important. Me, celebrating my thirty-fifth birthday. The eighth wonder of the world. A man of many facets and virtues. Handsome. Accomplished—”
“Humble,” I finished for him, no longer able to hold back my sneer.
“Humility is reserved for people who are not self-made billionaires.”
The knobhead spoke as if he didn’t inherit millions and an already-successful company.
“Hard to believe you’re a decade older than me.” I shook my head.
“Hard to believe you’re still here even though I kicked you out five minutes ago.”
My throat clogged up with a scream. “Can we go somewhere private?”
“Miss Bennett, please leave the premises before I have security escort you out.”
The Ferrante men glanced behind their shoulders. Vello’s expression reeked of disapproval.
Unfortunately, my boss wouldn’t cower if God himself came down to chide him.
“Tate, please.” I lowered my voice, my pulse thrumming dully in my throat. “It’ll only take five minutes.”
“Gia, my darling.” He bowed down, snatching my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting my face up so we were a breath away from each other.
It was the first time Tate voluntarily touched me, and perhaps it was my shot nerves, but a zing of electricity zipped through my spine. My stomach bottomed.
A sense of urgency, threat, and…God, yearning, yes, stupid yearning, flooded me. My mind really was all over the place tonight.
His pale gray eyes glowed with wrath. “I haven’t five minutes to spare you. In fact, not even five seconds. Go away now. I will see you at the office on Monday. And if I ever have to repeat myself again, I’ll simply take your defiance as an unwritten resignation letter. Am I understood?”
He didn’t wait for me to answer.
He turned around and swanned away to the nearest eager woman, scooping her onto the dance floor and into a waltz.
It was four in the morning when the last of the cleaners and caterers evacuated the premises. I heard the entrance door clicking shut.
I’d hidden in one of his guest rooms, waiting until the coast was clear.
Yes, I was aware that he didn’t want me here, but he had one thing right—if he couldn’t help me with why I came here today, I might as well quit.