Matteo
Page 5
I pace the floor from wall to wall, raking my agitated fingers through my hair. I pour myself a stiff drink from the crystal decanter sitting on the mini-bar in the corner of my office.
What time is it anyway? This day is off to a terrible fucking start.
There’s another knock at the door. Louder and more impatient this time. It swings open and Michael stomps inside. “We need to talk.” His tone is brusque and I can tell from the lines tracking across his forehead that his mood is sour.
Great!
I take a quick gulp of alcohol before I set my snifter down on the bar and walk over to where he’s standing near my desk. He doesn’t sit and neither will I.
I know my brother. It’s a power thing.
Ever since our father handed over the reins of the law firm to Michael last year, it’s been a constant struggle between us. He’s bent on showing his authority, keeping me in line. But, I’m my own man and I definitely won’t let my brother walk all over me.
To be clear, I’m not interested in wrestling control of the firm away from him – at least not at this point. Taking the reins of the law firm is something that may or may not happen eventually. If the opportunity ever presents itself, I’ll step up to the challenge because, as a Moretti, that’s what I’d be expected to do. But in the meantime, I’m content managing the firm’s real estate practice.
“I heard about your little altercation at the Neptune Steakhouse last night,” Michael says, his lips drawing into a tight line.
I don’t have time for this shit right now. Really.
“It was nothing,” I say simply as I walk past him, headed back to the bar to retrieve my drink. I need it to help me through this conversation.
He follows behind me. I take a gulp before turning to face him. His skeptical eyes go to my bandaged fist. “It was nothing? Lester Buntlake – I think that’s his name – he had to have an x-ray. His seedy, ambulance-chasing lawyer contacted me. He said he’ll be sending over the medical bills and he’s hinting at a lawsuit.”
I laugh bitterly. “Are you fucking kidding me? What a punk!”
“Is that all you have to say, Matt? This could get serious. Imagine if the gossip columns get ahold of this! They’d have a field day with this story!” I can see the vein in my brother’s neck pulsing. He gets worked up about the slightest shit.
“You’re all overreacting,” I say under my breath as I stride over to the window overlooking Union Square, trying to appear unaffected by the situation. I give him my back.
“Matt – the last thing this family needs is another scandal. This is the worst possible time.” I roll my eyes. My brother knows all about scandal. Last year, when the media got their hands on a sex tape starring him and one of our interns, shit hit the fan. All the many ugly details of Ruth’s torrid past were aired out on the gossip blogs. The firm lost clients left and right. Everyone was trying to distance themselves from the scandal. Michael eventually married Ruth and the vultures in the tabloids retreated, off to pick at someone else’s carcass.
It blew over. And if my incident with that loser at the restaurant hits the press, it will blow over, too.
But Michael is on a roll. I spin around slowly to watch him.
“Matt – your reckless and brash behavior has got to stop. I’m tired of cleaning up your messes. I’m tired of picking up the pieces you leave behind. And this firm is definitely tired of paying off scumbags to make your mistakes go away.”
Whoa – that was a low blow. Even for Michael.
I know exactly what he’s hinting at without saying the words.
“Are you done with this bullshit?” I grunt in a low voice. “Because I won’t have you referring to my daughter as a mistake.”
Michael’s eyes soften just a bit. He takes a few steps closer, stopping right next to my desk. He weighs his next words carefully before speaking. “I didn’t mean it like that, Matt. You know that I adore Tilly. I know that whatever happened last night had something to do with Ellie Parker. I don’t need the details. I just want to remind you of the firm’s policy. You can’t just go around seducing our clients.”
“You don’t need to remind me of the fucking policy,” I growl, my fists clenching.
He raps his knuckles against the mahogany of my desk. He’s deep in thought. “Look – I’ll be taking an indefinite leave from the firm in a few months when I enter the state senate race. I want to nominate you to replace me as managing partner. But I need to be able to trust you. And so do the other partners if they’ll be voting you in.” His eyes plead with me. “You can do this, man. You can run the law firm that dad spent 30 years building. I believe in you. But you’ve gotta grow the fuck up. Exercise a little self-restraint.”
This is all news to me. I knew that Michael was considering entering politics at some point but I didn’t realize that it would be in the near future and I definitely didn’t consider that I’d be handed the reins of the firm so soon. I’m only 31 years old, for crying out loud, and Cartwright Moretti Stevenson is an international law firm.
Still, my patience has worn out. “Are we done here?”
Michael pushes a defeated sigh past his lips. “Look – I know that you’re scheduled to go to New Jersey for the ToneWave due diligence tomorrow.”
I nod curtly.
“Just be professional, man. I get it – Ellie Parker is a beautiful young woman. But you’ve got to remain professional with her. There’s too much at stake.”
I sit at my desk and power up my laptop. “You’ve made your point,” I say, giving my brother a hard stare. “Unless you have something else to add, I need to get back to work.”
He closes his eyes briefly and takes a harsh inhale. “All right, man.” He’s making his way to the door now. He turns back and glances at me. “Just keep it professional, Matt. That’s what’s most important.” And then, he slips out the door.
Chapter 12
I crane my neck to the left and then to the right as I enter the hotel’s quaint ground floor bar, and my spine cracks loudly.
It’s been a long, fucking day.
Ellie and I spent the day touring the manufacturing facility that ToneWave is planning to purchase here in New Jersey. Examining the facility with the inspectors and technicians to determine whether the facility is up to par for acquisition took serious brainpower and was exhausting.
The fact that half the blood in my body spent the day in my rock hard cock didn’t help. Ellie Parker has definitely mastered the art of looking smoking hot in a bright yellow hardhat and steel-toed boots.
And now, I can’t fall asleep. I’m restless.
And horny.
Yes – I’ve fucked a lot but my body has never been so reactive to any one woman. There’s something exceptional about Ellie Parker.
So, yeah. I can’t sleep. Yet again.
I rolled out of bed just after midnight and slipped into a pair of navy blue sweats and a zip-up sweatshirt over my white t-shirt. My hair must be a mess but I don’t give a fuck. My mind is racing. All I can think of is that feisty, pink-haired girl. Ellie Parker. The thought of her has me hard as nails, sleepless in my hotel room. And I don’t know what the hell that’s all about.
I’m not the kind of guy that falls in love. Or gets whipped by some hot chick. If I see a girl that catches my attention, I fuck her, get it out of my system and move on.
That’s it – I just need to fuck Ellie. Once. Just to purge her out of my mind.
I slide unto a barstool. I shake myself back to reality when the bartender clears her throat to get my attention. “Can I get you anything, sir?” She purrs, trying way too hard to be sexy. She probably thinks that’s an asset for picking up extra tips. But it’s downright annoying.
I quickly scan the rows of alcohol bottles lining the wall behind her. I’m in the mood for Canadian whiskey tonight. “A beaver tail please, beautiful. Make it a triple.” I toss her a wink as I rest my elbows against the bar top. She flashes a crooked grin and I almost regr
et the flattery. She’s not that attractive but throwing her a cheap compliment right at the outset ensures that she’ll prioritize keeping my glass topped up all night.
Within minutes, a tall, thin model-type sinks into the seat next to me. “Hi.” She sets down her glass of white wine on the countertop in front of her.
My eyes slide over her face. Big green eyes. Plump red lips. High cheekbones. When my eyes slide lower, I see her generous cleavage and long, long legs stretching miles past the hem of her short pink dress.
She’s exactly the type of woman that, a week ago, I’d invite back to my hotel room. I’d ravage her, send her on her way and then sleep like a baby. But I can already tell that fucking her would do nothing to quiet the deep yearning I feel tonight. Only Ellie Parker will do.
But she’s off limits. I have to keep reminding myself of that.
“Are you here for business or pleasure?” Model Type drawls in a Southern twang, apparently unable to read from my sour demeanor that I’m not in the mood for company.
I sigh heavily. I don’t want to fuck her but I guess I could use a distraction. I might as well talk to her. Who knows? She might have something interesting to say.
“Business,” I say, giving her a sidelong glimpse. I offer nothing more.
“Me – I’m here for pleasure, I suppose. My sister’s getting married tomorrow. We’re all staying here. Me, my mom, my cousins. We’re from Chilton County. In Alabama.” She grins widely. It’s a pretty grin, I guess.
I sort of grunt and nod.
She takes a big gulp of wine before she peers nervously at me. “I’ve never done this before – pick up a guy at a bar.” She chuckles anxiously.
I barely notice when the waitress slides my drink across the counter to me. “I’ve heard that’s dangerous,” I say indifferently to Model Type without bothering to look at her. I take a swallow of my drink.
She laughs, her hand flying to her lips before settling on my bicep. “Dangerous? You don’t look dangerous.” When I don’t join in her laughing, her eyes go wide. She pulls her hand back brusquely. “Are you a mobster? I heard there’s lots of mobsters in New Jersey.”
Oh God – I can’t deal with this. Coming down to the bar was a bad idea. I see that now.
I toss back the rest of my drink and rise up from my seat as I drop a $20-bill on the counter. I lean close to Model Type. “Have a good evening, miss. Be safe.” A wicked grin slides over my lips as I watch her horrified wide-eyed stare. All the blood has drained from her face leaving her white as a sheet.
I shove my hand through my hair and chuckle to myself as I weave through the tables and chairs on my way to the exit. A short, tight, curvaceous body moves into the doorframe and my goddamned heart leaps into my ever-tightening throat.
Toying with the pink tips of her blond hair. Lips painted in a rich shade of red. A little black dress that hugs each curve.
Ellie Parker walks through the doorway with that delicious, cock-hardening strut.
Chapter 13
“Well you’re up late, Ms. Parker.”
I hear his voice behind me, just beyond my shoulder. His breath tickles the hairs on the back of my neck. My tongue swipes quickly across my bottom lip and I let out a shaky exhale. Get it together, girl. You can’t let this man see how much he rattles you.
My steely armor slides back into place just as Matteo straddles the barstool next to me. He’s dressed casually, his hair is a sexy mess and the shadow of stubble on his jaw is thicker now than it was at the inspection earlier.
“Mr. Moretti,” I say, managing to keep my tone cool and aloof despite the sudden acceleration of my pulse. “So are you,” I state, my eyes following the bartender’s every move as I wait patiently to snag her attention.
I fiddle with my fingernails not quite knowing how to continue the conversation, but I can feel his eyes slowly flittering across my body. My face, my neck, my breasts all the way down my bare legs. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him run his tongue across his lips before his signature smirk settles on his mouth.
He turns his attention to the bartender. Almost immediately, she glances at him and smiles. What the hell! I’d been sitting here for nearly five minutes trying to get this woman’s attention to no avail. Then, Matteo Moretti strides up and within seconds, she’s ready to take his order.
He raises two fingers in the air. She nods, grabs two tumblers from beneath the counter and turns back to the liquor-filled bottles behind her.
“Did you just order for me?” I ask, feeling somewhat incredulous. The nerve of him to buy me a drink without even asking what I want.
How arrogant and presumptuous!
A slow, sensual grin meanders across his lips and his eyes light up with mischief. “Yes – Triple beaver tails.”
My eyes narrow. “And what is that exactly?”
“Three shots of Canadian whiskey and maple syrup.”
I shake my head vigorously. I know myself well enough to admit that hard liquor makes me act like a damn fool. “That really doesn’t sound like a good idea. I’m notoriously bad at handling my liquor.”
He taps his fingers against mine. “C’mon, Ms. Parker. It’s Friday night. Live a little.” And then…he smiles and – holy dimples – all of a sudden, I forget how to breathe.
And, damn his penetrating, chestnut eyes – they have a way of catching your gaze and holding it…even when you want to let go.
The plan had been to come to the bar and nurse a single glass of white zinfandel until I was buzzed enough to fall asleep. The factory inspection had left me too wired to doze off unassisted. Keeping up the professional façade all day had been draining, especially since Matteo looked absolutely lickable – is it weird that I find myself battling the intense urge to lick my smoking hot attorney? Anyway, when I came down to the bar tonight, I had a purpose and playing college drinking games with Matteo Moretti was definitely not it.
I laugh nervously. “I’m not the type of girl who spends her Friday nights drinking herself under the table.” My gaze drops to my hands sitting on the counter.
His eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. “Oh really? Even at your age?”
I glance at him. “You look surprised.”
He licks his bottom lip, his eyes still piercing into me. “I thought a girl’s early 20s was all about experimentation…” The words slide slowly out of his mouth.
Is he flirting with me?
My eyes shift away. “Not all girls are interested in experimenting.”
He gives me another onceover. He pauses before he says, “So, how do you spend your time? You don’t exactly strike me as the type of girl who spends her Friday nights watching chick flicks and doing facial scrubs with her girlfriends.”
A tight smile comes to my lips. “I don’t have very many ‘girlfriends’,” I say picking at the chipped glittery blue polish on my fingers.
His lips perk into a pondering twist as he appraises me again. “Hmm – I should have guessed that.”
I turn to face him head on. “What do you mean?”
He smiles, his gaze searching for the waitress. “Nothing…”
Right on cue, the waitress sashays over and gives me a nasty glare as she sets down a glass in front of each of us. She tosses a wink at Matteo before turning away, her long red hair swinging behind her.
I chuckle bitterly to myself, shaking my head.
“What?” Matteo asks, his intense stare riveted on me.
It’s my turn to say, “Nothing…”
“No, seriously. What is it?” he insists before taking a gulp of his beverage. He doesn’t even flinch as he swallows the liquor.
I clear my throat. “That bartender just gave me the look of death. But did you see the look she gave you? I did absolutely nothing wrong and I get flak just for sitting here with you.”
He gives me a one-shouldered shrug, his eyes still peeled to my face. “I can’t help the way that women look at me.” His words seem arrogant, but there’s absolutely n
othing factitious in his tone.
I spit out a laugh. “Wow – you actually sound sincere.”
His eyebrows furrow. “I am. Why wouldn’t I be? I did nothing wrong, either. I’m just a guy sitting at a bar with a pretty girl on a Friday night.”
He just called me ‘pretty’.
Fucking cocky bastard. He is flirting with me.
Fighting in vain to suppress a flushed grin, I knock back my cocktail in hopes of staving off the butterflies dancing around in my belly.