His Dirty Bargain

by Fiona Murphy

  She shakes her head as she takes a dress off the rail. There are only four, and they all look gorgeous. “I miss the Enzo before he got married. He was a genuinely nice, charming guy. He could be reserved until he was comfortable with you then once he was, you felt this warmth from him same as Dante. Ella adored him, and he handled her and Matteo like he’d been doing it for years. Now that guy is gone. He’ll pick up Ella, Matteo, and Sophia when they want him to, but he only plays with them for a few minutes before he hands them back. It’s sad to see the difference. If you met him now you would probably shrug and say another rich jerk, only it’s not who he really is.”

  Sympathy wells up; I understand completely. It’s gotten to the point where every time I see a woman holding a baby, I ache with so much longing I look away. For him to be surrounded by children he longed for but couldn’t have is a different kind of hell. “Poor guy.”

  Lydia studies me. “You are the only person who would ever say that about him. It’s also not what I would have expected from you of all people.”

  I shrug. Okay, I don’t hate men the way everyone seems to think. I’ve simply come across so many men who were a disappointment in the way they treated me or believed I should be or behave, I gave up expecting anything different. I was too fat, I was too independent, I worked too much, I was too serious. Until I was sick and tired of hearing it. “Most people look at him and see a gorgeous guy with a bank account they can only dream of. You’re already ahead, let’s get you farther. Try this one first, it’s my favorite one.”

  I pull on the dress. I love it. It’s a sheath dress, the sleeves in black lace with a built-in foundation shaper smoothing me out yet allowing me to breathe. I used to hate my body growing up—my mother made sure I did. For her it was already an insult that I had darker skin than her, that my hair was dark, thick, and unruly unlike her own fine, blonde hair, how I looked like my father and nothing like her. To have a fat daughter on top of it all made her even more bitter about the wrongs she had to bear. She was constantly putting me on diets, weighing me and measuring me every week.

  If it weren’t for Nonna, I would have eaten nothing but fruit and salads. When my mother left the house Nonna gave me the pasta and carbs my mother outlawed. Nonna was my savior in so many ways. She appeared in my life when I was ten, not dead as my mother believed. My mother and I went from being homeless for over a year, barely surviving in the roughest parts of Boston, to a beautiful home in Milan. Nonna never said a word about my weight, understanding I was having a hard time adjusting to Italy. Timid and shy, I was overwhelmed by the loud, boisterous girls I met who always seemed so pretty and chic at even ten years old. I’d always been a reader lost in books that took me away from the loud shelter where we shared rooms with crying babies and exhausted mothers, but I started comfort eating and staying inside and packed on the pounds.

  At eighteen I came to Chicago, I hadn’t intended to stay. I only wanted to meet my father for the first time. He was teaching at one of the universities but after the brief meeting I didn’t feel like I had anywhere else to go. My mother told me if I went to meet my father to never come back so the round-trip ticket turned out to be one-way.

  I got a job as a waitress and the weight started coming off with all the walking and having to decide between food and bills. I managed to go all the way down to a size eighteen. The only problem was the more I lost, the more I wanted to keep losing. I started doing dangerous things. They got me all the way down to a size ten. It became imperative to prove my mother wrong, I could survive in Chicago on my own without her money, and I was going to be skinny while I did it. My doctor warned me what I was doing was hurting myself. I wouldn’t listen; I was a size ten, inches away from being out of double digits. No way was I going to stop, then I wound up in the hospital.

  While in the hospital a doctor talked to me about how I was wrecking my body. How if I kept doing what I was doing the next time it wouldn’t be easy to come back from. Scared, I listened. Learning how to eat again wasn’t easy. My problem was growing up poor and rarely having regular, healthy food, I didn’t know how to eat properly. Overeating always happened when I finally got food because there was no guarantee the next time I was hungry I would be able to eat left me with issues I was still dealing with as an adult. To this day I have stores of food in my room, my desk, and my kitchen cupboard. I even carry around granola bars and single packs of nuts in my purse. Food that’s there just in case—of what I have no idea, but I need it there for me to breathe easier. I’ve had some lapses, but they were few. Now I’m settled in my sweet spot of a size sixteen. Although I have spots I sigh over every now and then, I’m comfortable with my body and myself.

  In this dress, I’m loving my body. The hemline is less than an inch above my knee. I sit, it goes up a mere two inches; excellent. I like it, I’m going to buy it except it’s not for this initial meeting, and I say as much to Lydia.

  She nods. “I understand. Try this one, it has a little more oomph to it.”

  I like the color, a deep, rich purple. On, I love how there is a dimension to it, as it’s a woven pattern. It clings perfectly to my curves, sexy, not sex. The only problem is it’s sleeveless, while I love my body as a whole, I’m not in love with my arms. I think they are too flabby.

  “I love it but I don’t love how it’s sleeveless,” I moan from the dressing room.

  “Coming in, I got you, boo. I know your hate feelings toward your arms.”

  Boo. I laugh—Lydia is the only person I know who could pull that off. “I love this.” It’s a thin gold jacket that stops an inch below my ample breasts, they’re a double D and a pain in the ass. I wear a bra even at home, old, worn-out sports bras, but still. The only time I can go without a bra is when I sleep. When I put it on, the jacket fits the dress perfectly. “You are a freaking genius. I love it. This is it.”

  “I am pretty awesome. Your hair needs to be down. Enzo likes long hair like yours.”

  I sigh; my long hair is thick and stark black. I often dream of dying it red or pink or even brown to add something to it. Except I’m too lazy, busy, whatever to get to a salon every six weeks to deal with root touchups. I make appointments the third or fourth time I get frustrated with how out of control my hair has gotten. Grasping the clip holding it in the messy bun, I take it out. There’s a slight wave. My eyes meet Lydia’s in the mirror. “You think I look okay?”

  She laughs. “Woman, you look fabulous. Let’s get you rung up.”

  “After I try on the other dresses, because you are too damn good. I’m sure I’ll love them and want to wear them later.”

  “Sure thing.”

  We end up having a super late lunch to catch up. I try not to show how jealous I am as Lydia talks about Ella and her plans for when the new baby comes. I’m beyond annoyed with myself for not being able to shake my desire for children. I completely understand where Enzo was coming from making his crazy contract marriage to get the family he wanted. Hell, six months ago I went online to a sperm bank after reading a story of a woman who did the same thing. A vial has been sitting in the cart for six months. I can’t bring myself to press buy but I also haven’t taken it out. If I want kids, then it’s what I will have to do. My childhood, my mother, my grandmother, and the few men I allowed into my life were proof positive I don’t need a man, I’m better off without one. Doing it alone is scary, and I’m not stupid enough to think it will be easy, but it’s also how I want to do it.

  I love my life; I do what I want to do without having to worry about anyone else. I can work until eight or nine without someone whining I’m ignoring them. I can stay up reading until midnight without someone bitching about the light being on or they thought we were going to have sex, and the sex I do have is so much better because I always come, then I can wash off my vibrator and go to bed. Yet I do still want a child. If I had my choice it would be half a dozen but if I’m doing it on my own, more than one doesn’t seem fair, even though I hated growing up an o
nly child. It will be better without a man, no arguing about spending holidays with one grandparent versus the other, a man making me feel guilty for wanting to work instead of staying home. Laying my head against the window, I stare blindly out of it. Yeah, I called Enzo a control freak and I had no right to.

  As I settle into my desk, a glance at my watch tells me I have twenty minutes until I’m due to meet Enzo. I open up my purse and pull out my makeup. I prefer to keep it simple, a powder because I get shiny on my T-zone, mascara because I have long lashes without it and it makes my eyes pop, and a lipstick, usually a dark red to finish, which is all I’m wearing today. Since this is the first meeting and my dress and jacket are oomph enough, I refresh the powder then cheat by using one of my half-dozen lipsticks in a burgundy and swipe a small amount over my eyelids. My eye catches my berry lip gloss. It’s not something I use often, as I’m pretty sure no one gets taken seriously with shiny lips, but I love the color and how it makes my small lips seem bigger. With a shrug I swipe it over my lips. Done.

  With six minutes left I load the properties into my leather briefcase, unapologetically pale pink, and head to the elevator. I press the button then turn my phone to silent before slipping it into my briefcase. On Enzo’s floor I’m guided back to his office by a fidgety blonde.

  Outside an office door an older Asian woman who might be Chinese, or maybe Vietnamese, with her hair mostly gray gives me a reassuring smile. “Right on time, exactly the way he likes it. Good start. Go on in.”

  “Thanks.” I take a deep breath, straighten my back then open the door.

  Holy shit, a city bus slams into my chest, leaving me gasping for air. Beautiful, he’s fucking beautiful. It’s absurd, absolutely ridiculous, men aren’t beautiful but he is, so beautiful he doesn’t seem real. He’s a blend of his brothers yet completely unique, no chance of confusing him with anyone else. He has a hawkish nose that appears to have been broken in the past. His brow is heavy and lined, his jaw square, aggressive, and his cheekbones are sharp enough to cut diamonds. Eyes a glittering onyx meet mine and hold until I can’t fucking breathe. A blink and I struggle to take in air even as I can’t take my eyes off those lips—perfectly defined, with a slight dip above them I want to trace my finger over. His jaw tightens, making him even more forbidding; those lines in his forehead deepen and damn it, they should take away from his beauty, not add to it, but they do. Those gorgeous full lips thin; why does he look angry? I haven’t even said a word.

  Instead of the fear I’m pretty sure I would feel at any other moment, fascination has me unable to take my eyes off him. Brute power radiates from him, shimmering like a heat wave. He’s huge, wide; muscle on muscle is visible even through the silk suit in charcoal, cut to fit him. The snow-white shirt causes his deep olive skin to glow, and I want to find out what his skin tastes like. What? No. What the hell was that?

  Stop staring at him. My eyes flick down for a painful heartbeat, then up again to see his hand clench into a fist. I haven’t done anything, what could he be mad about? Does he think I’m too fat? That has to be it, what else could it be? God, he is an asshole. Fuck him. I pick the gold clip on his electric blue tie to stare at. “Thank you for taking the time to see me today. I will be able to assist you in finding your next home quickly and easily. At present I have at least four properties I believe will meet your high expectations. All are available for us to view at any time your schedule allows.”

  He nods to the chair in front of his desk. “Tell me about these properties you think will suit me.”

  It’s an invitation, a taunt. It doesn’t help his voice is deep, smoky, like a perfect espresso first thing in the morning. Get it together, woman. Repressing a shiver, I give him a hesitant smile as I offer him the first folder, he doesn’t take it. Swallowing hard, I square my shoulders. “The first is a condo on the lake in one of the best buildings in the city. Seven thousand three hundred square feet with four bedrooms, five bathrooms, an updated kitchen in marble—”

  “Wrong.” The word rumbles out of him.

  What? I blink fast to recover. Okay. “The second is a condo also on the lake along Michigan Avenue, in a sought-after building. If you would take a look I’m sure you’ll find it—” I’m offering him the file folder. He looks as if I’m offering him dirty underwear.

  “Wrong. Again.” Deeper, harder the words strike me.

  “But I didn’t even—” Thick black eyebrows go up. What the fuck? A deep breath is required before I try again. “The third is a condo in—”

  Rolling his eyes, he shakes his head. “Ms. Hutchins, I do believe my brother lied to me when he said he was sending his best person. Tell Dante to send me someone else.”

  “Excuse me?” The words are out before I can check them. This motherfucker. “I am the best—”

  “At wasting time, perhaps, but not as an agent sent to help someone find the home they want.”

  “Would you let me fucking finish a sentence? What the hell is your problem?” Oh my god. I did not just say that. I did. Those black eyes flare with something I cannot define, it scares the hell out of me. Then it’s gone before I can even figure out what it was. He sits back in his chair, his hands linked over his no doubt washboard abs. I take a breath so deep it comes from my toes. “Mr. Sabatini, we seem to have got off on the wrong foot. I apologize for anything I might have done to offend you. If you would be willing to give me another chance, I know I can give you what you want. You need to tell me what that is.”

  His eyes meet mine and my entire body goes weak. What the hell is going on? Then he blinks and I’m left wondering if it really happened. “Am I allowed to speak?”

  I hate him so much right now. “Please.”

  “I do believe there is a saying as old as time about assuming something. It was my understanding we would meet, I would tell you what I was looking for, by the way, nothing you suggested is what I want, you would then go back to your office, find those properties closest to what I want, we would then settle a time to look at them. It’s how I found my last three properties. None of those agents brought in properties telling me what I wanted. Had I allowed you to continue your little spiels, you would have used up the fifteen minutes I allotted for this meeting.” I close my eyes and sink against the back of the chair. He’s right. As much as I hate him, he’s absolutely right. I’ve never walked into a meeting telling a client I was sure I knew what they wanted. I prepared properties, but I waited for the client to tell me first, then I looked like a psychic when I pulled out the folders. “And now your time is up, Ms. Hutchins. Have a good day.”

  “I have a historic home built in 1909, ten thousand and ten square feet, on a fourteen-thousand-square-feet corner lot. It’s filled with original details including art glass double doors, oak floors throughout, and original mahogany wood paneling, five bedrooms, six bathrooms. The master suite has a sitting room, two walk-in closets, a steam shower and separate soaker tub.” I talk fast, doing my best impression of an auctioneer and failing miserably, yet he doesn’t look annoyed. He’s listening.

  Since he hasn’t tossed me out, I keep going. “Or I have an 1886 Victorian six thousand seven hundred square feet. It’s on a double lot and ten thousand seven hundred square feet. Original fireplaces, carpenter’s lace, a turret, large windows everywhere plugged into a timer and remote. Five bedrooms, seven bathrooms, a separate apartment for a housekeeper, all the kitchens and bathrooms are updated and there’s outdoor space on every level.”

  I take a breath and he studies me. Those eyes, I can feel them run over me as if he were touching me. I love it and I hate it because I have never wanted a man to touch me the way I want him to. I blink and he’s pressing a button on his phone.

  “Tell Katherine to wait. This will only take another sixty seconds.” It’s hard not to wilt with relief at his words. He leans back, then nods. “I want a house, at least eight thousand square feet, with a minimum of five bedrooms and five bathrooms. I want space in the lot as well. I don
’t want homes all around me. Lots of light, none of the new contemporary houses with sleek lines and concrete floors. I prefer little to no need to remodel; however, I’m not adverse to it if the right home requires it. I want a pool, Dante tells me I’m delusional if I think I’m going to find a home with a pool. If I can’t find one then I want to be able to put one in. My max is twenty-five million, I’m willing to consider homes where I would need to purchase property around me to get the space I want, as long as the purchases necessary do not exceed the twenty-five million. Roosevelt is as far as I’m willing to go south and Ashland to the west. If you’ve hit Roger’s Park you’ve gone too far. You have two days. Thursday eight a.m., have at least five properties for me to view.”

  I’m writing fast, there is no way I’m going to fuck this up again. “Thank you. Thursday. I’ll pick you up at your building at eight o’clock.”

  As I get up, our eyes meet again only this time there’s nothing within his; they are so cold I shiver. Something tells me I might come to regret not letting him fire me, only just as fast I stamp it down, because despite the anger and his rudeness walking away from him, never seeing him again... No, I can’t do that either.

  3

  Enzo

  The moment the door is closed behind Chloe Hutchins, a shuddering breath escapes me. Sonofabitch. I close my eyes as my head goes back. Bethany was right, she warned me, only I thought she was exaggerating. She hadn’t been. Chloe Hutchins is beautiful, so completely captivating I couldn’t take my eyes off her. I tried, I couldn’t for a single second she was in the room. Her body was every fantasy I had never had before, ripe with curves I wanted to bury myself in. Then she took a deep breath and those gorgeous breasts swelled, and my whole body went hard as I fought not to pull her across my desk and fuck her. I’m no saint, not by a long shot, but I deserve saint status for not fucking her like she wanted me to. When her eyes met mine it was there, the same desire, the same desperate hunger I was feeling, she felt it too.