Twisted Bitch (Sick and Twisted Book 2)

by Jaci J

  “Absolutely not,” I scoff. My vacation, or running away as some would call it, was fucking magical. I’ve had my moments of self-loathing and pity parties, but even though I’m still trying to find my place in my future, I’ll work with what I have and see what I can make of it. I can only hope and pray that things will get better, or I’ll have no choice but to move on. But, I don’t intend to make this easy on him in any way. I may be lost myself right now, but there is no chance in hell that I would miss the opportunity to fuck with Dante’s mind as much as possible. I deserve to see him miserable.

  “So, you’re telling me that you haven’t missed my handsome face.”

  “You’re a bigheaded asshole.”

  “Well, let’s go. This arrogant asshole needs to show you around. I’ll show you to your office before I get back to work because unlike some people, I didn’t have the opportunity, nor the time to just take off, affording myself an extravagant vacation unless I wanted this business to fall apart. For someone who cares so much about this business, you’ve obviously shown no regard for what it takes to keep it going. You just ran away, proving to me that you don’t deserve it. You have no idea what you’ve tried to take on, but I do, and I’m getting shit done.” Fuck, he’s right. I was so worried about my wounded fucking pride that I did the selfish thing and ran away, only proving that he knows what he’s doing and I’ve given him his opportunity to do just what he said he would do―take this company for himself, all on a goddamn silver platter. I’m humiliated by his accusation, and I have no retort to his description of my failure.

  Dante stands up from his desk, looming over it with his intimidating height. Smoothing his shirt and adjusting his tie, he smiles, giving me a glimpse of his dimple. The sociopath showed up to work today and he’s ready to make sure I know it. Coming around his desk and up to me, he places his large, possessive hand on my back and pushes me along and out the door. Lord, give me the strength to deal with him or bigger hands to choke him to death with.

  I’d much rather saw his leg off with a rusty hacksaw than tour this palatial hellhole with him, but I remember a small bit of information my grandmother told me many, many years ago, “Kill them with kindness,” she had said. Since my sad attempt at threatening his balls and his life didn’t seem to faze him, and murder isn’t an option at this point in time, I’m either going to have to follow Grandmother’s advice or step up my crazy. We’re going to have to work together because I refuse to bow out, especially after he put me in my place and made me look like a joke. So, no matter where he puts the office, I will damn well learn to cope.

  “Why the fuck not, Mr. Marcello,” I concede, throwing a hand out towards the door.

  We make our way through hallways as he points to doors, nods at offices, and gives brief descriptions of things I could care less about. I know everything there is to know about this business, regardless of how irresponsible I acted. I’ve spent years immersed in it all and I sure don’t need him to explain it to me, but as I pointed that fact out, he shut me up with his cruel eyes. So, I let him ramble while I pretended to kill him with my mind.

  Trailing behind him, I stop and stare at him for a moment when he stops to talk to a man I don’t know, but assume is some mafia crime dude, or whatever they call themselves.

  I hate the feelings that looking at him dredge up. I hate how much I want him, especially in his charcoal gray suit trousers, black button down, and some fancy Italian leather shoes I’d kind of like to shove up his nice ass. He looks fucking edible.

  Following the muscular line from his broad shoulders, down his arm, I catch just the slightest hint of platinum glinting from under his cuff and the sight of it makes me smile, and my smile makes me cringe.

  I’d spend more time staring but I’m begining to have a small mental breakdown at the idea of having to work with this asshole day in, day out. How am I going to work with him? I want to fuck him, and then rip his nipples off with rusty pliers. Twenty minutes together and I’m not sure what’s stronger; the urge to kill him, or throw him down and sit on his face. This is suffering of the worst kind.

  Finally finishing up with his little tour, we go back to his office where he stops and turns to me. Smirking, his eyes light up with secret humor. “See, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” he says, reaching a hand out towards my face. No, it was hell.

  Jerking my head away from his hand, he regards me carefully when I move away from his once welcome touch. I’m not sure I can do this.

  “We need some ground rules if I’m going to work around you.” Nodding his head, he looks bemused.

  “Go ahead, il mio, amore.”

  “That’s where we’ll start,” I say, pointing at him and his sick term of endearment that’s left hanging in the air like a live grenade. “There will be none of that shit. As far as I’m concerned, I don’t know you. I don’t want to see any looks, smirks, smiles, or hear any endearments when you speak to me.”

  “I don’t smirk,” he interrupts me. The fuck he doesn’t. He’s so damn cocky he can’t stop himself from smirking.

  “Yes, you do.” Folding my arms over my chest, I take a step back and hold fast. I have rules and they’re rules I need to function. I’m drawing a line and it can’t be crossed, for my own sanity. “You don’t know me, and I sure the fuck don’t know you.”

  “Oh, but baby,” he licks his bottom lip and smirks, dragging his eyes up my body. “I know you. I know every inch of you―your skin, you’re taste―every dip and curve of your body, London.”

  “You did once, Mr. Marcello, but that was a mistake and it won’t happen again. You stay the hell away from me and out of my business. Like I said, no personal interactions, and under no circumstances do you touch me.” A look of utter horror crosses his face before it’s snuffed out by one of determination.

  “What if you’re choking?” He points out proudly.

  “Then let me die or call 9-1-1. I expect you to address me as Miss DeLacourt, nothing more. We are nothing but coworkers who work in the same space. You break these rules, I will file a complaint to Human Resources for sexual harassment, Mr. Marcello.”

  He doesn’t respond, but I see my words chip away at his unbreakable mask. After a moment, he snarls and makes his move. Snaking an arm out, he wraps his big, long fingers around my arm before I can even blink. He jerks me into his chest with a hard tug, obviously trying to make a point.

  My heart jackhammers in my chest and my body wages a war at the closeness. Goddamn him. With a shaky hand, I try in earnest to peel his fingers from my arm, but it’s no use. He’s staring down at me with his lip curled and his eyes narrowed.

  He starts to lean down towards me and I try to jerk my head away, but he’s too strong for me to go anywhere. Face to face, I suck in a breath as I stare into those hateful black eyes a few inches from my own. “My rules―”

  “Y-your rules?” I stutter stupidly, staring up at his handsome face.

  “Yes, London, my rules. First of all, stop with your bad fucking language, cara. Second, I will touch you whenever the fuck I want to.” Shit. “And third, you never tell me what to do where you are concerned. I will do whatever the fuck I want to.”

  Letting go of my arm, he steps back and takes a deep breath, closing his eyes briefly to compose himself. Bringing his hand up to his chest, he smooths down his tie then goes to work on his watch like a maniac. No amount of twitchy, fidgety craziness can break the tension hanging in the air between us, so I speak, “That’s strike number one, Mr. Marcello.” I caution him, but it only makes him throw his head back and laugh. I watch him for a moment and I hate him. I hate him for what he’s done to us. I was never going to be enough for him. He was so immersed in using me and taking this away from me that he didn’t even care about what losing this company, and him, would do to me. I feel the sting of tears and I know I can’t be here. “I have to go.”

  Rushing out of there as fast as possible, I kick the buildings door open and step on to the sidewalk, gul
ping in the fresh air. My heart is racing, from both heartache and anger. With Dante, I can’t have one without the other.

  Looking from right to left I dart across the street. As I begin walking down the sidewalk, I have that nagging feeling of being watched. Did the bastard follow me? The fine hairs on the back of my neck stiffen. Throwing a look over my shoulder, there are so many people on the streets of New York at all times of the day and night, I’d never be able to find a particular person if they didn’t want to be seen.

  Scanning the sidewalk one last time, my skin still prickling, I throw open the door of my car and slide in. It has to be fucking Dante.

  ~~~~~

  Two days, two fucking days … I chant in my head like a bad song, over and over again. I can do this, I know I can. Leaning against the glass wall of the elevator, I practice my smile and my agreeable head nod in the mirrored wall across from me.

  Today is Thursday, and that means I have to make it through today and tomorrow before I get two full days of breathing room away from this place and Mr. Personality. I can stomach two more days, I’m sure of it. I will not give in. I have to be here.

  Big, cheesy smile on my face? Check. Killer six inch Jimmy’s for ass kicking? Check. Agreeable nod? Check. Big plate of Amaretti cookies for everyone but Dante in my hands? Check.

  I’ve got the list of all the ways to kill Dante and all the places to dump his body. Patting my purse, I smile to myself―check.

  The elevator dings and the doors slide open, giving me a view of Dante’s bitch secretary. Smiling tightly at me, she nods and murmurs, “Good morning,” as a pass. I’m not sure whether I should return it or drop dead from shock. I don’t like or trust her.

  Betty stops me just as I pass Dante’s new robotic secretary. Betty’s sweet, she’s kind, and she’s also Dante’s so we can’t be friends, no matter how nice she is.

  “Welcome back,” she smiles brightly at me. Dressed in a soft lavender cardigan and a nice, knee-length skirt, she’s the sweet librarian with her pearls and soft voice.

  “Thank you.” It’s so hard not to be swept up in her infectious warmth. She’s everything regal and lovely, reminding me of my grandmother, who was the same.

  Holding the plate out to Betty, I offer up my sweet confections. “Would you like a cookie?” Taking one, she pops it into her mouth and chews.

  “These are really good,” she mumbles around a mouthful. Grabbing onto my arm, she squeezes and beams at me. “I’m so glad to have you here. Here is your mail, and here are a few new contracts. Please feel free to ask me anything, no matter what it is. I’m here to help. Thank you for the cookie.” Damn it, why does she have to be so sweet?

  “Uh, thank you. I’ll find you if I need you.” I leave sweet Betty to find my office. I can’t like her, I can’t like her…

  I find my office easily as I see Miss DelaCourt punched neatly into black metal, sitting securely in the small metal holder nailed to the wall outside my door. Standing there in the hall, I cock my head and stare at the offensive little piece of metal. Fuck him. I’ve dreamed of this day many times and this is not how, or where, it was supposed to be. He crushed my dream.

  It’s the wrong building on the wrong block on the wrong side of town. The only positive thing about the nameplate is the sharp edges are perfect for poking out eyes. I walk in and take a seat at my desk, which is the desk I picked out months ago for my other office. I get straight to it, going through my e-mails, which I had set up for company accounts to start sending correspondence to me. I selfishly let shit go for six weeks, but I’ve easily caught up and started getting caught up yesterday when I got home. I know what to do and I know what needs to be done. I was born to do this and studied my ass off, not to mention what I had learned just by growing up in that old office.

  Vinn stops by first. “Mornin’, boss lady.”

  “Not your boss, Vinn. Want a cookie?” I push the plate towards him.

  “Yeah, thanks.”

  “Great cookies, boss. Oh, and welcome to the family,” he says before he wanders off. I’m not his boss, nor am I a member of his dysfunctional crime family.

  Pete, Goldfish, and a few of Dante’s cronies make their stops in also. They welcome me, steal my cookies, and leave. If I have to work here, I may as well make friends.

  Finally stopping to look around the room, I notice all the shit I had picked out for my other office is here. How very kind of Mr. Fuck Face to have it brought here for me. Seeing my things around me does help, but just a little bit.

  I know Dante’s not in yet because my office is conveniently right across the hall from his empty one. That’s no surprise. He’s making a point that he’s watching me. I really should close my door, but probably for the same reasons he put me here, I want to be able to see him too.

  I’m able to answer a few new e-mails and start reading through a contract before the air shifts. He’s here. I can feel his eyes on me, causing goose bumps to form on my skin from head to toe. I pretend not to notice, but my false, unaffected attitude lasts less than a minute. Looking up from my stack of shipping contracts, he is indeed staring at me.

  Standing in his doorway, he just stares at me, as if he’s trying to find the words he wants to say to me. My heart stutters in my chest and my stomach drops to my ass. Meeting his eyes, he curls his lip at me in that all-knowing smirk of his. Fucking asshole.

  “Leave me alone, I’m working,” I hiss at him.

  “London, I―” is as far as he gets. We’re not doing this shit here.

  “Miss DelACourt,” I scream, cutting him off. I can’t seem to control myself when he’s near and before I can even process what I’m doing, I’m hurling my stapler at him.

  Fuck. I can’t do this.

  Dante

  Ducking and dodging to my right, I narrowly avoid the flying stapler. Who knew a fucking stapler could be used as a deadly weapon? Standing back up, I stare at the small, crazy woman hurling curse words like dodgeballs at me through her office door.

  “Did you just throw a fucking stapler at me?”

  “Want me to try a fucking chair?”

  “Have you lost your goddamn mind?” We’re at fucking work here. She can’t start screaming and throwing shit at me.

  “Yes, I have. You stole it, just like you did my fucking company!” she screams at the top of her lungs. Leaping out of her seat, she lunges for her door, slamming it in my face so hard the windows next to it rattle.

  She did not just slam that fucking door in my face. Throwing it right back open, I stare at her because I’m pretty goddamn certain she’s forgotten who the fuck she’s dealing with.

  “Get.Out!” She won’t even look at me when she points to the door the moment I step through.

  “London …” I caution.

  “I said OUT!” she throws the pen in her hand at my face like a goddamn dart. I’m going to strangle her when I can reach her, without bodily injury to myself.

  “Stop throwing shit at me, you little monster.”

  “I’m going to show you monster,” she snarls as she gets up from her chair again. Well, I’ve really outdone myself this time. She is beyond pissed … close to murderous.

  Storming towards me, she kicks the small trashcan next her desk out of her way. The little metal receptacle flies across the room, leaving paper and junk strewn all over the floor. She reaches me and gets up onto her tiptoes, looking me straight in the eyes and whispers in a menacing tone, “You want me to stop throwing stuff? Do you want me to stop cursing, avoiding, and shoving my nonconforming shitty attitude down your throat?” Is this a trick question? I don’t say anything in fear of being stabbed to death by the mail opener wielding woman in my face.

  “Well you can kiss my fucking ass, Mr. Marcello, because I’m waiting you out until you give up or die, whichever comes first, baby.”

  “London …” I plead softly.

  “I can do this all fucking day. You thought your life was hell without me? Well, I’m back, and I
’m just getting started.”

  “Listen, we …” I try again, speaking slowly and carefully, but she stops me with a hand in my face. Apparently, she’s done with this conversation. At this point, I feel like I’m trying to tame a wild animal; any sudden movement or loud noise and she’ll strike and go for my jugular.

  “Go bother someone else.” She dismisses me as she sits back down at her desk, shooing me the wave of her hand. She won’t even look at me now.

  I feel like I’m hanging on by an thread here. She doesn’t move when I take a step towards her, but the next one has her up out of her seat again. “London? If you would stop and listen―” The chair hits the floor with a bang when she flings herself out of it.

  Fuck, she’s fast. With a hand to my chest, she shoves me out the door and slams it in my face, again, all the while screaming, “I am not London to you. Only my friends call me by my name. You will address me as Miss DelaCourt from this day on, you asshole.”

  Lord help me, I’m going to smother her.

  ~~~~~

  They say old habits die hard, and I would have to agree because I’m currently indulging in an addiction that most would classify as a habit. I’ve had a few vices in my day, but this one takes the cake.

  It’s been weeks and I can’t help the sting of nostalgia that pricks painfully at my heart when I stare down into the darkness. Dabbling in this old habit already has me feeling a whole lot fucking better. I give my eyes a moment to adjust, but I’d know that body anywhere, even in the dark. It’s been a while, but some things never change.

  Lying on her side with a leg kicked out and her arms curled under her head, London looks so peaceful. She doesn’t resemble the crazy little monster who was lobbing staplers at my head earlier. No, she looks like an angel, my angel. There’s peace on that perfect face of hers when she sleeps, and I can’t help but pray that she’s possibly dreaming of me.

  Her hair is in a messy knot on top of her head, her reading glasses are resting on her hip, and her e-reader is tucked against her as she sleeps, blissfully unaware of the battle I’m waging with myself. I have to fight the urge of getting in there with her because she’d kill me if I did.