by T L Swan
“Are you serious?” I frown.
“Very.”
I exhale and turn toward the camera, giving it my best fuck you look. Don’t mess with me, asshole. I’ll smash your fucking camera over your head in a minute. If he doesn’t let me in, I’m going postal and wrecking something.
“Yes, sir.” She hangs up and comes back to me, unimpressed. “Junco will escort you up to Mr. Ferrara’s office now.”
“I can go by myself.”
“Nobody enters the building unescorted.” She glares at me. “You have an eight-minute appointment.”
I glare right back. “I’ll only need two.”
The security guard approaches us. “This way.” He leads me over to the elevator, and I get in behind him. He stays solemn and stares straight ahead. With every floor we go up, I feel a little crazier.
He leaves me in a prison.
He calls me a Tinder whore.
He didn’t want me.
Well, fuck him.
The elevator doors open, and I step out like I’m the Devil himself.
Mr. Ferrara messed with the wrong girl.
We arrive into a reception area, and it’s not at all what I expected. It’s made from black marble, modern, and very futuristic with dark timber finishes. The ceiling has a huge crystal chandelier hanging from the roof. There’s another guard on the floor, as well as two receptionists sitting at a long, black desk.
Why does he have so much security?
Mafiosi
Fuck.
“Just take a seat. Mr. Ferrara will be out shortly.” A receptionist gestures to a large, leather sofa.
“Is that his office?” I ask, pointing to the oversized, double timber doors.
“Yes. He won’t be a moment.”
Without another thought, I turn and storm through the doors, forcing them open.
The bang echoes through the space, and I hear the receptionists gasp from behind me.
Oh jeez, so dramatic. I should be on The Bold and the Beautiful or something.
“No, no, no.” Junco runs in behind me.
Rico looks up at me in surprise from behind a huge black desk. A sexy smirk crosses his lips as he sits back in his leather chair, holding a pen in his hand. “Miss Reynolds.”
Another man is sitting at his desk, and he watches me with beady eyes, his interest piqued.
My sanity snaps. “Don’t you Miss Reynolds me,” I growl.
Junco grabs my arm. “Fuori adesso.” Translation: outside now. “So sorry, Mr. Ferrara.”
Enrico’s smirk breaks into a grin, and he holds his hand up. “Esci.” Translation: get out. “Leave us.”
Junco looks between us.
“Now,” Rico commands.
Junco bows his head and leaves the room,
“Anche tu.” Translation: you too.
The other man stands and nods before he exits the office. The doors shut quietly behind him.
I stare at the smug as fuck bastard behind his big desk. He’s equally as sexy but I’m choosing to ignore that.
I hate him.
He sits back in his chair as his eyes hold mine.
Electricity crackles through the air between us.
My poor heart may not survive today’s activities.
“Olivia.”
I grit my teeth, I hate the way he says my name. Husky and deep. Ol – liv-i-ah.
It’s almost melodic.
Most definitely sexual.
The sound of his voice scatters my senses, and I stare at him as I search for an intelligent response.
He gestures to the chair in front of me. “Please, take a seat.”
“Go to Hell.” My hands clench into fists as they hang by my thighs. I can’t remember ever being this angry at someone.
His tongue slowly darts out and sweeps over his bottom lip. He raises a brow. “Don’t you dare come into my office and give me that tone.”
“I’ll do whatever I fucking like.”
He stands and walks around the desk toward me. Our eyes are locked, and I swallow the lump in my throat.
His power surrounds me. I feel myself brace as I wait for his angry onslaught.
He leans his behind onto his desk and crosses his ankles in front of him. He’s wearing a navy suit and a crisp white shirt. His shoes are the black leather pointy kind, and his chunky, obviously expensive watch sits heavily on his wrist.
He grips the desk beneath him. “Let me guess. You were in the area and thought you’d drop in?”
Damn him and his dark hair, chiseled jaw, and his big red lips. I begin to feel my pulse quicken. This is not in the plan, Olivia.
“Cut the shit, asshole,” I fire back, furious that my traitorous body has the audacity to still find him attractive.
Amusement crosses his face, and he breaks out into a low chuckle.
“This isn’t funny.”
“I would apologize, but I disagree.”
I narrow my eyes, contempt dripping from my every pore. “What are you apologizing for?”
“Laughing. What else?” He raises his brow.
I can’t believe this. He’s fucking infuriating. “How about you start with the caveman act during my date on Saturday night. I would like an apology for that.”
He clenches his jaw and stands, angered. “He wasn’t your date.”
“Yes. He was.”
“You met him on Tinder. Don’t insult my intelligence, Olivia. Tinder isn’t dating.”
“What do you care who I date?”
“I don’t,” he fires back. “Get out. You’re not the woman I thought you were, anyway.”
“Ha!” I cry. “That’s the pot calling the kettle black.”
“The what?”
“You’re not even a man. Your good looks and money can’t hide what a fucking asshole you really are.”
He lifts his chin in defiance. “Since when do you curse so much?”
“Since now.”
“Go back to Tinder, Olivia.” He rolls his eyes. “I am not interested in your dramatics.”
I lose control. “How dare you,” I sneer. “What man leaves a woman in a prison to rot?”
“I organized for the best lawyer in Italy to bail you out.”
“But where were you?” I cry as my eyes fill with tears. I swipe them away, annoyed with myself for baring a weakness. “You left me when I needed you the most. I needed a friend.” My voice cracks betraying my bravery act.
“I had a lot on my plate. It was a very bad time for me.”
“Yes, I know. You and your thousands of lovers. You make me sick.”
“You fuck strangers on Tinder,” he growls. “I should have left you in that cell to rot.”
I lose it, step forward, and I slap him hard across his face. The crack echoes through the room. We stare at each other, hate running between us, and I’m not entirely sure that he isn’t going to slap me back. The look on his face is murderous. “You were the last man I slept with, asshole, not that that’s any of your business,” I sneer. “Yes, I know that’s pathetic, and damn it, I’ll be rectifying the situation immediately. You left a bitter taste in my mouth, and up until now, I couldn’t stomach the thought of being with another. But thank you very much for reminding me of what you really are. I am well and truly ready to meet a real man.”
His eyes hold mine. His chest rises and falls, as if he’s grappling for control.
“Don’t come near me ever again,” I whisper. “I hate you. I wish we’d never met.” I turn and storm toward the door. I open it in a rush to find four security guards waiting. “Move!” I yell, and they quickly jump out of my way.
“Olivia!” Enrico calls from behind me. “Get back here.”
I run to the elevator. The doors are still open, and I slam the button to close them.
The numbers start to go down, and I run my hands through my hair as I try to control my erratic heart. Oh my God, that is the exact opposite of what I wanted to say.
Why did I come here?<
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The elevator doors open, and I run out of the building. I duck around the corner and lean up against the wall, closing my eyes.
What a disaster.
I climb the never-ending stairs, and I drink out of my water bottle. I’m wet with perspiration but nowhere near the end of my workout. I can’t stop; I’m too wound up. I didn’t expect for Enrico to rattle me the way that he did.
I cringe every time I think of myself tearing up in that asshole’s office this morning.
Stupid fool. What on earth was I thinking?
The gym seems like a great place to try and punish myself. I wipe my perspiration with my towel and I keep on climbing. Perhaps this is the secret to working out hard—anger. Maybe all the people who smash it at the gym are really just pissed off individuals who have no other outlet. Makes perfect sense. Right now, I feel like I could take on Rocky Balboa and kick his ass.
My phone rings. It’s Giorgio.
“Hello,” I pant.
“Where are you?”
“The gym.”
“Can you do me a favor?”
“I guess. Although you should be doing me a favor after the hangover you gave me.”
He laughs, and I find myself smiling. I have no idea why Giorgio and I have clicked, but he’s fun and we seem to have strung up an unlikely friendship.
“I completely forgot that I have a black-tie charity event tomorrow night. Angelo is away and can’t make it. Will you be my date?”
“Seriously?” I continue to climb. “I can’t, I have nothing to wear.”
“You can wear a dress from work. It is a work dinner. You would be on the clock, technically.”
I roll my eyes.
“Please. I just have to show my face. We can have dinner, a few cocktails, and be home before ten.”
“Giorgio,” I sigh. “Really?”
“Great, I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow night.”
I stay silent.
“Please?” he whines.
“Fine.”
“What’s wrong with you? You don’t sound your usual happy self.”
“I’m at the gym killing myself.”
“I should be doing the same. Thank you. See you then.” He hangs up before I can change my mind.
Jeez, this is the day that keeps on giving.
I smile to myself as I unzip the first suit bag. My breath catches as my eyes roam over the gorgeous red evening dress. It’s fitted with spaghetti straps and it is backless. I’ve never seen anything so beautiful, let alone imagined I would have the chance to wear it. I unzip the second bag to see gold and sequins. The third bag holds black lace. It goes on and on.
Wowsers.
I have a dress you can wear, Giorgio said. That was the understatement of the year. Being friends with the boss of Valentino seems to have its perks. Perks that come in the form of gorgeous evening wear being delivered to your hotel room in your exact size.
My blonde hair has been styled in big, loose curls, and pinned back on one side. My makeup is smoky, and I even pulled out my sexy underwear for the occasion.
I look through the six dresses that have been sent over but my eyes keep going back to the red one. The fabric is embossed, the detail on the stitching, the way it falls at the back, the shade of red—it’s all so incredible. I hold it up in front of my body and stare at my reflection in the mirror. A big smile crosses my face.
Maybe this week isn’t a complete disaster after all. I’m going out in Valentino.
Who have I become?
I look around the big ballroom in wonder as Giorgio leads me by my arm. We weave through the beautiful people and make our way over to the seating arrangement chart. He studies it in great detail.
“Wow.” This place is ridiculous with over the top chandeliers hanging low and huge candelabras lining the walls.
“These things are always over the top,” Giorgio says as he looks around, distracted. “This is our table here.”
We make our way over and he pulls out my chair. We take a seat at the large, round table, set with ten places. It’s covered with white table linen and set with fancy silverware. There are dozens of fresh flowers, all in different shades of cream.
A waiter arrives. “Can I get you a drink, sir?”
Giorgio’s eyes flick to me. “Champagne to start?”
“Sounds great.” I smile.
“Two champagnes, please.”
I smile as I look around. I recognize some people from my design studies. Never in a million years did I think I would ever be the in the same room with them.
“I feel like a celebrity or some shit with all these famous people here,” I lean in and whisper.
He chuckles, clearly amused. “Well, those famous people were all staring at my gorgeous date. You’re the most breathtaking woman in the room.”
“Why am I your date? I’m sure you have a million girlfriends you could have asked.”
“This is true,” he says as our drinks arrive. “Although, unlike them, I have an invested interest in you.”
“Why?”
“Let’s just say that I find you fascinating, Olivia Reynolds.”
“Me,” I scoff. “Fascinating?”
He glances down at his watch. “All will be revealed shortly.”
“Giorgio!” someone calls from afar. A man standing with a group of people waves him over.
“Marcel.” He laughs. “I’ll be back in a moment, darling. Are you all right here for a moment?”
“I’m fine. Go do your thing.”
He stands and goes to the other side of the ballroom. I watch on as he kisses everyone on both cheeks.
“Buongiorno,” a voice says.
I turn to see a man in a black dinner suit standing behind my chair. He’s dashingly handsome with a honey-colored hair and big brown eyes.
“I don’t speak Italian, I’m sorry. Do you speak English?”
He sits down in the seat beside me and holds out his hand to mine. “Hello, my name is Sergio.”
I shake his hand. “I’m Olivia.”
“Are you new to Milan, Olivia? I haven’t seen you around before.”
“Yes.” I smile. “Although, I’m sure you don’t see everyone in Milan.”
“When a woman is as beautiful as you, I would have remembered her.” His eyes hold mine. “And I would have most definitely approached her to introduce myself.”
I open my mouth to speak but no words come out. I feel my face flush. “Are you here alone?” he asks.
“I’m here with a friend.” I gesture to Giorgio who is now watching the two of us.
“Ah.” He smiles. “I have competition.” I tuck my hair behind my ear. “If only I wasn’t working tonight.”
“You’re working here tonight?” I ask.
“Yes, my boss is on his way.”
“You work in fashion?”
He grins, amused. “A little.”
“Do you work for a design house?”
“I’m in…” He pauses, as if searching for the right word. “Security.”
“Oh. You’re someone here’s security?”
“Yes.” He smiles, reaches over and picks up my hand, lifting it to his lips. “Can I have your number? I would like to call you tomorrow.”
I frown as I watch his mouth dust my skin. “I… oh, I…”
He pushes something in his ear, and it is then that I notice he’s wearing an earpiece.
“Me ne vado subito.” Translation: I’ll be right out. His eyes flick to me. “I have to go. My boss is here. I shall be back later.” He kisses my hand again as he stands. “Don’t have fun without me, Olivia.”
He rushes off, and I smile as I watch him disappear out of the room.
He was… interesting.
Giorgio falls back into the seat beside me. “What did he want?” he whispers.
I smile against my champagne glass. “My number, apparently.”
He rolls his eyes and picks up his drink, unimpressed. “I’m sur
e his boss would be thrilled about that.”
I glance over at him and frown. “Why, who’s his boss?”
Giorgio lifts his chin to the door, and I see Sergio walk into the room with a group of men. Someone is trailing behind them while speaking to another man, and I crane my neck to see who it is. He slowly comes into view.
Black dinner suit.
Square jaw.
Power that emanates throughout the room like a shockwave.
Fuck.
Enrico Ferrara just arrived.
12
Olivia
My stomach flutters and I snap my eyes away, angry that his presence still affects me.
“So, that’s his boss, hey?” I mutter.
“Yep.” Giorgio’s eyes dance with delight. “Enrico Ferrara, the king of Italy. Do you know him?”
“Why would I?”
He smiles and picks up my hands. “I thought we were friends.”
“We are.”
“Then why are you lying to me?”
I stare at him. “Why would you think I know him?”
He shrugs. “Just a hunch.”
“Mr. Ferrara doesn’t interest me.” I don’t want to have this conversation.
“That’s his mother on the other side of the table and his two brothers and his younger sister,” Giorgio continues.
My eyes float over to his table, his mother is talking and smiling with a man, she’s very attractive with a gorgeous figure, I noticed her before I even knew who she was. She has perfectly styled shoulder length dark hair and is wearing a black Gucci dress, the epitome of style. My eyes then go to the young girl, his sister. She’s talking to one of his brothers, the one that I met in Rome, what was his name? The doctor, Andrea, that’s it. She tips her head back and laughs out loud, she’s absolutely stunning and is wearing a modest ice pink dress with long sleeves.
“Fascinating…aren’t they?” Giorgio smiles as he sips his wine.
I push my chair out. “I’m going to the bathroom. Where are they?”
“Over to the back wall and down the corridor.” He points in the direction.
“Thanks.” I grab my clutch and make my way out of the ballroom. I walk down the corridor and sigh in relief when I get into the privacy of the cubicle.
