by S. J. Tilly
Sasha’s taking notes so I don’t press to fill the silence that follows as she continues to write.
She doesn’t take her eyes off her notebook as she asks her next question. “Do you live in the city?”
When I don’t answer she looks up. When I still don’t answer she sets her pen down and rolls her eyes.
“Look, Mr. Mazzanti, I, Sasha Clark, don’t care where you live. I’m not trying to write a tell-all piece on you. If you looked at my contract, you’d know that I can never disclose any information from our conversations outside of sanctioned public relations events and correspondence. This is a question that you will be asked. If you don’t want to answer, that’s up to you. But if someone asks you where you live, you can’t just stare at them like an entitled prick.”
I’m still stuck on her calling me Mr. Mazzanti. I have a new fantasy and it involves Sasha, librarian glasses, a tight skirt, and a stern tone of voice.
Sasha continues to stare at me silently.
I sigh. “I live downtown. We own several residential buildings, and I reside in one. My mother is in another. I don’t want to tell the public even that much. I’d prefer to live in a house out in the country. And yes, I do have one. But the apartment provides the level of security that I require. It’s easier to control your surroundings when you have access to a building’s cameras and records. My company may be clean and legal, but that doesn’t make our history disappear. Even without our history, money alone can bring negative attention and threats, and we have plenty of that.”
“Okay. Thank you.”
Sasha’s words shock me. It’s the first positive thing she’s said to me today. “You’re welcome.”
She straightens her shoulders. “The legality of your business is going to be brought up. A lot. I know the public records work as proof to the claims of legitimacy, but the same public records are full of sensational stories from the past. We want to be careful to never say the words mob, mobster, gangster, or even organized crime. Whenever we’re asked about the past, we want to refer to it as history. That’s exactly what it is. History. Over and done. But people like a story.”
Sasha pauses and I get the feeling she’s uncomfortable with what she’s about to say.
“Go on.” I gesture to her.
She exhales. “When the topic of the Mazzanti family’s questionable history comes up, I would like to turn the focus to Stefano, your father.”
My jaw clenches, but she holds up her hands to halt my rebuttal.
“Hear me out. My job is to tell you the best way to present information to the public. I’m certain you don’t want sympathy. Just as I’m certain that you don’t want to talk about your father’s death. And you don’t have to. What I’m suggesting is that we put a spotlight on Stefano’s wishes for the future. He wanted a legacy he could pass down to his son. A legacy built on hard work and dedication. Not one tainted with blood and crime. He paid the ultimate price for his desires, but over the past 30 years Mazzanti Enterprises has built the business that Stefano could only dream of.”
Sasha’s words come out quiet by the end of her little speech, and I don’t know what to say. She’s absolutely right. Every word. Suddenly, I’m filled with a mixture of pride and sadness.
Sasha’s soft voice fills my ears. “I am sorry for your loss. And for bringing it up. But you’ll need to prepare yourself for having this conversation.”
I tip my chin in agreement. “I understand.”
“We have just under two weeks to prepare for the press conference that you’re hosting here next Friday. I’ll work with the in-house team to put together a list of talking points for you and to create an informational document that will be handed out to the attendees. I’m sure I’ll have some follow up items for you to address, but we should have plenty of time to put our plan together.”
I withhold my complaints. I’m not looking forward to hosting that circus.
Instead, I just nod. “I’ll make myself available.”
“Good. Now as long as you keep your nose clean moving forward, we shouldn’t have any problems.”
She’s lightening the mood, and I appreciate the gesture. “That shouldn’t be a problem.”
She writes another note then looks up. “That includes breaking arms in back alleys.”
It takes me a second to realize what she’s talking about. Then a genuine laugh bursts out of me. From the look on Sasha’s face, I don’t think my reaction could have surprised her more if I slapped her in the face.
Smiling, I shake my head. “That asshole had it coming.”
Her mouth pops open. The sight has me shifting in my seat.
“You didn’t really…” Her question trails off.
“Pretty sure you don’t want me to answer that.”
I watch her throat move as she swallows. “Did you know… Did you know who I was when you intervened in the bar that night?”
Her question takes me off guard. “No. Of course not. You were just some woman.”
As soon as I say it, I want to take it back. I watch as the look on her face goes from relief to hurt. I didn’t mean for that to sound so rude.
“Okay. Good.” She starts to pack her notes away. “And for the record, I didn’t know who you were either. Not until you walked into that meeting.”
She looks at my desk. The gesture is not lost on me.
“I saw you in the hallway.” The words leave my mouth before I can stop them, and her eyes dart up to mine.
I explain further. “You walked past a conference room that I was in. I didn’t know who you were when I chased after you. I hadn’t even had time to think about the fact that you’d be working here. I was hoping to catch you in the lobby. It was just luck that you happened to be in the elevator when the doors opened.”
She gives me one curt nod. “Okay.”
Okay?
She sets her folder on my desk and stands. “I think we can both agree that we should never do that again.”
I stand too. “Why?”
I know why. Because we’re working together now. Because I already feel too much for her. Because it’s an overall terrible idea. But I don’t like her calling the shots.
Sasha’s hands fist at her sides. “Why? Because you’re a giant bastard. That’s why. Even if you weren’t the real-life Mr. Sin. We’d be over. The way you treated me last time. That was unacceptable.”
I step around my desk. “You’re right. I’m sorry.”
Sasha’s mouth opens and closes. She wasn’t expecting me to agree. And as I take another step towards her, she takes a step back.
Her chin tips up. “Good. I’m glad we agree.”
I step closer. “I agree that I’m a bastard. And I apologize for my behavior. But we’re not done until I say we’re done.”
She steps back. “Vincent.”
I step closer and smirk. “Call me Mr. Mazzanti again.”
She stops. “We can’t do this.”
I step closer. “We just need ground rules.”
“Rules?”
Another step closer. “This” gesturing between us, “is just fucking. That’s all it can be. That’s all I have to offer.”
She crosses her arms over her chest. “I wouldn’t date you, even if you asked.”
I step closer still, bringing us nearly chest to chest. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” Her head is tilted back so she can look into my eyes. “I don’t date assholes.”
Heat floods my blood. Half lust. Half rage at the idea of her dating someone else.
My hands grip her shoulders and spin her around. With an arm around her waist and one over her chest I pull her so her back is pressed against me. I run my nose up the side of her neck, then lightly bite her ear lobe. “Sounds like we agree, sweetheart.”
Arching her back, Sasha presses her ass back into me. I squeeze her tighter and grind my cock against her. Our little sparring match has me rock hard.
Sasha tilts her head back against my chest
so she can look up at me. “I’m considering your offer.”
I grin. “Just considering? Guess I need to work on my sales pitch.”
I continue to grind against her as I pop the button on her suit jacket. I can’t strip her down like I want to, but I can feel her. I palm her breasts over her shirt. Her bra is thin enough that I can feel her nipples pebble beneath my touch.
I groan and pinch them. “Fuck, baby. I bet you’re already wet for me. Aren’t you?”
I keep one hand on her glorious tit, the other slides down her stomach and down the front of her pants.
Her breath is already coming in pants. “What, think you can get me off this time? Or do you need my help again?”
Sassy girl. I slide my hand further down and my fingers brush against her slick pussy. In one quick movement I bury two fingers inside her.
She gasps and before she can make another noise my other hand leaves her chest and covers her mouth.
“Gotta stay quiet for me, sweetheart. Save those screams for when I’m the only one who can hear them.”
My fingers pump in and out of her while my thumb rubs circles against her clit. She’s so wet. So hot. So tight.
I grind against her even harder. I’m in danger of coming in my pants, but I can’t stop.
Her moans are getting louder, and my fingers start working faster. I get lost in the feeling of her. The sounds. The smell of her. Her warmth against me.
I know her body. I know her reactions. I can feel her getting closer. She’s moments away from an orgasm.
“That’s it. Come for me, sweetheart.” Her body tenses. “Come on my fingers.”
I can feel her mouth open in a silent scream against my palm, as her body shudders. Watching her pleasure has me on edge.
When she stops pulsing, I gently pull my hand out of her panties, dragging a finger up along her clit. I remove my palm from over her mouth and she tips her head back to watch me lick my fingers clean. Moaning at the taste.
Sasha watches me with an open mouth while she grinds her ass back against my still painfully hard cock.
“On your knees.”
The command is out before I even realize what I’m saying. I expect her to object. Maybe even slap me. But she doesn’t.
Turning to face me, Sasha does exactly what I told her to do, she drops to her knees. Her hand traces my length before she pulls my zipper down and frees my cock. A shiver runs up my spine as her fingers gently wrap around the head before sliding down to the base of my dick.
I bite back a growl. “Open up, baby.”
Her lips part, then close around me.
I groan. “Good girl.”
I can’t take my eyes off her. I want to memorize this image. This perfect creature, kneeling at my feet, head bobbing, my cock buried in her hot throat, the taste of her pussy still on my lips.
“I’m close.” I warn her.
I should be embarrassed at how quickly I’m going to come, but this feels too good for me to care. And it was her pussy clamping down on my fingers that got me so worked up in the first place.
Sasha takes me deeper and I lose what’s left of my restraint. My hands go to the back of her head, holding her steady and I pump into her.
I hang on for as long as I can. Taking in every detail. Every sound she makes. With a final thrust, I come down her throat.
I probably would have blacked out if it weren’t for her small hands gripping my thighs, her nails digging through my pants creating little pricks of pain. Those pinpricks kept me grounded.
My hands are still gripped into Sasha’s hair. My fingers loosening her perfect strands, giving her the freshly fucked look. Her lips pop as she releases me from her mouth.
Tipping her head back, Sasha looks up at me. She might be the one on the floor, but the look in her eyes is full of triumph. And fuck if she didn’t earn that look.
I brush a lock back behind her ear before I move my hands under her arms and lift her to her feet.
Straightening her clothes, she watches me zip up my pants. “Well, this didn’t go as I planned.” She mutters.
I smirk. “Then you and I had vastly different plans for this meeting. I’d say it couldn’t have gone better.”
Sasha rolls her eyes at me and pulls her hair free from the tie holding it back. She starts to do that thing girls do when they gather it back up, when the doorknob starts to turn.
We hear it at the same time, glancing at each other, realizing that we never locked the office door.
Sasha drops her hands, her hair tumbling around her shoulders, as I take a step away from her. Compromising position or not, I prepare myself to lay into whichever jackass thinks it’s okay to just walk into my office.
The door swings open and a blonde angel bounds through.
“Annie?” The shock in my voice is evident.
She grins while running towards me to wrap her arms around me in a hug. “Hey, dad!”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
SASHA
D ad?
DAD!
What. In the actual. Fuck.
Just when I think this thing with Vincent can’t get any more complicated… This motherfucker has a child. A freaking daughter. A beautiful little golden-haired girl.
I’m not good at guessing ages but I’d put her around 10. She’s beautiful and petite and she looks nothing like Vincent. She’s the light to his dark. Except for the eyes. There’s no mistaking those striking dark orbs. And for some disturbing reason, the knowledge that he had a child with some woman has my heart folding in on itself. A detail that he definitely didn’t mention in the little rundown of his life that he just gave me.
“What are you doing here, princess?” Vincent greets her with a complicated fist bump.
“Sorry!” Brent rushes into the office a moment behind the little girl. “I told her you were in a meeting but when the phone rang, she snuck past me.”
The girl rolls her eyes. “Come on, Brenty. Dad told me he has an open-door policy. That means I can come in whenever I want.”
“I’m so sorry, sir.” Brent says again, still standing behind the child, wringing his hands.
Vincent waves him off. “Don’t worry about it. We just finished.”
I feel a flush crawl up my cheeks at his choice of words.
Brent’s eyes dart to me and I watch his eyebrows go up, just a little. The blush on my face grows stronger and I hope like hell that my lips aren’t red and puffy from sucking his boss’s dick. Not to mention the fact that there’s nothing I can do about my suddenly wild hair. There’s literally no good reason for me to have pulled my bun loose during our meeting, and we both know it. I can only pray that Brent doesn’t say anything. To anyone. Ever.
When I move to grab my folder off the desk, I feel all the attention in the room turn to me. Doing my best to act casual, I school my features and meet the eyes watching me.
Vincent’s daughter’s stare is full of judgement. People always overlook kids, but they see more than anyone gives them credit for. And this kid is seeing straight through our bullshit and she’s not impressed.
Vincent watches me, devoid of emotion. No sign of the man who just frantically brought me to orgasm. No sign of the man who gently tucked a section of my hair behind my ear after roughly plunging himself down my throat. No sign of recognition at all. Just the blank face of a man who clearly intended to keep his child a secret.
I force a smile onto my lips. “Thank you for your time, Mr. Mazzanti. I’m sure I’ll come up with some more questions for you.”
Not waiting for a dismissal, I stride out of the office as quickly as possible, avoiding eye contact with Brent as I slip past him.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
SASHA
A s soon as I got out of that cursed office, I grabbed my things and came straight home. This way if I spontaneously die of mortification, I won’t be a burden for the M.E. cleaning crew.
Solitude may be good for containing my shame, but it’s fuel on the fire
of my rabid imagination. Vincent has a kid. I was initially struck with a pang of completely misplaced jealousy. He’s not mine. I have no claim to Vincent. But I couldn’t stop myself from wondering about the woman he had a kid with? Where is she? What does she look like? Is she prettier than me? Thinner than me?
The jealousy swiftly turned to dread. What if Vincent’s still with her. Involved with her. Married to her. That would make me the other woman. That thought alone propelled me to move at warp speed to get out of the building.
The fresh air on my walk home from the office helped to calm my nerves and convince me of one thing; I need to talk to Vincent again. But since I was certain he’d ignore any meeting request that I sent through Brent, I decided that I needed to correspond directly with Vincent. Unfortunately, I have no way to do that. No email address. No phone number. Not even the extension to his office phone. So, I asked Brent. Well, actually I emailed Brent saying Vincent told me to send a list of my questions directly to him, but I forgot to get Vincent’s email before I left the meeting. It’s all bullshit of course, but it sounded reasonable. I hope.
I sent that email to Brent ten minutes ago. And instead of getting any actual work done, I’ve been sitting on my couch, Captain sprawled next to me, constantly refreshing my email, praying for a reply.
Ten more minutes go by.
Then an hour.
Then another hour.
By 7:00 I accept that Brent isn’t going to give me Vincent’s email.
By 8:00 I’ve opened a bottle of wine.
By 10:00 I’m three glasses in.
By 10:30 I’m in my pajamas, curled up in bed with Captain, phone held a few inches above my face, and I’m a dozen videos deep into a YouTube spiral of best places to visit while traveling alone.
I’m watching a clip of a person hiking through some Norwegian mountains, with a name I won’t even try to pronounce, when my phone screen changes to announce an incoming call. The change, and the ringtone bursting through the speakers, startles me so much that I drop the phone and it smashes into my nose.
