Ruthless

by Deborah Bladon

  Crossing his arms over his chest, he narrows his gaze. “Blanche from accounting?”

  I nod. “She’s a good friend to the Garents. Duke always kissed her on the cheek to thank her for the candy.”

  Contemplating that, he looks around the office. “Blanche and I are not friends, and I hate candy. I never want to see another one of those in this office.”

  “Fine.” I drop my hands to my hips. “I’ll save them for when I’m done work.”

  Staring at the broken candy on the floor, he lets out a heavy exhale. “You’re done now. Leave, Isabella.”

  Done? Is he firing me over this?

  With a shaking breath, I glance at his face. “I’m done?”

  “I don’t need you for the remainder of the day.” His gaze drops to his watch. “We’ll start fresh tomorrow morning.”

  I heave a sigh of relief, grateful that I haven’t screwed myself out of the best job I’ve ever had.

  ***

  My grandmother, Martina Calvetti, rushes toward me. “It’s the middle of the afternoon, Dolly. Are you sick? You’re not pregnant, are you?”

  Dolly. The name my grandma has called me since the day I was born. She’s told me the story over and over, and I’d happily listen to it a million times more.

  When my dad put me in my grandma’s arms at the hospital, she told him it was like looking at a perfect little doll; her perfect little doll.

  I glance down at the front of my dress. “Do I look pregnant to you?”

  “No. You don’t have the glow.”

  I shake off the comment with a smile. “I have the rest of the afternoon off. I came to bring you these.”

  I swing my hand from behind my back to reveal a small bouquet of peonies. They’re my grandma’s favorite flowers.

  “You’re too good to me, my sweetheart.” She plants a kiss on my right cheek.

  I know she’s left a bright pink lipstick imprint. I won’t wipe it off. I live for the reminders of how much my grandma loves me.

  “Walk with me. Talk with me.” She motions to the kitchen of her restaurant. “My girl looks troubled.”

  “It’s frustration,” I confess. “I have to report to someone new at work.”

  I leave out the part about crashing my new boss’s date a few nights ago, and I skip right over the fantasies that have been playing on repeat in my mind since I met him.

  She turns to face me just as we reach the entrance to the bustling kitchen. “You’ll do the job they pay you to do. It doesn’t matter who you report to if you do your best.”

  I glance at the friendly faces that cook the delicious Italian food that has been a staple of my life for as long as I can remember.

  “I have time to help in the kitchen today,” I offer because being in this restaurant has always brought me peace.

  “We’ll see.” She dumps the dying daisies my sister brought her last week into the trash before she plops the peonies in the same vase. “First, you’ll eat.”

  Chapter 9

  Barrett

  I’ve never had an assistant who looked like Isabella Calvetti.

  At this moment, she’s outside my office with her back to me.

  That’s affording me a clear view of her shapely ass. It’s wrapped in a dark green skirt today.

  The sheer black blouse she’s wearing is nice, as are the black heels that have granted her a few inches in height. It’s the skirt that I can’t tear my eyes away from. Or maybe it’s the ass underneath.

  She glances back over her shoulder at me. Her eyes flit across my face. “Is there something you need, Mr. Admer?”

  It’s a simple question with such a ripe choice of possible answers.

  “Adler,” I correct her yet again.

  She turns to face me. “Where did you put Duke’s furniture?”

  “Where it will never see the light of day again,” I say with a straight face.

  That draws her two steps closer. “What does that mean?”

  “It’s ugly as hell.” I smooth a hand over the top of my steel desk. “I didn’t want to subject another person to that misery.”

  She twirls a piece of her hair around her index finger. “Duke will want it back when he returns to the office.”

  “Your devotion to the man is misguided.”

  Her nostrils flare as her eyes widen. Her irises are popping with more gray than blue today. “Duke was the best boss I’ve ever had.”

  “Until now,” I point out.

  “The best boss I ever had,” she repeats.

  Shot fired. Target missed.

  I lean back in my chair, my hand adjusting the dark blue tie around my neck. “I’m not here to win a popularity contest, Isabella.”

  “Good.” Her hands drop to her hips. “You’d lose.”

  Her attitude makes me want to dig my teeth into her shoulder as I pump my dick in her…

  I shake off the thought.

  I’ve had female assistants in the past, but not one has ever gotten under my skin this way, and we’re only on our second day.

  “I’d like a cup of coffee.” I change the subject before I say something in response to her insult that I’ll regret.

  “There’s coffee in the break room down the hall.”

  I laugh.

  Her hand moves to the center of her chest. “Why are you laughing?”

  “Get me a coffee.” I glance down when my phone chimes. “No sugar, no cream.”

  “I’m not that kind of assistant,” she stresses the last word. “Duke always got his own coffee.”

  I look to the left, before gazing to the right. “Duke isn’t here.”

  “Right now,” she adds.

  If she wants to hang tight to the hope that Ivan will reinstate his son at some point, that’s her pipe dream. It’s not reality.

  I signed a three-year contract for this position with a yearly seven-figure salary and a list of perks that put hers to shame.

  “My coffee.” I rest my hands on my desk. “Or would you prefer to discuss what happened at Atlas 22 the other night?”

  Her expression shifts from indignation to shock. “We don’t have to talk about that. It was an unfortunate misunderstanding.”

  Her cheeks bloom pink. She’s embarrassed.

  I found her kryptonite.

  “How’s Dale?” I ask with a perk of my brow. “The actual Dale. How is he?”

  She stomps a shoe on the floor. “I’ll get your coffee, Mr. Adwer.”

  “Barrett,” I say with a smile. “Call me Barrett.”

  ***

  I spoke of the devil earlier and… No. The man wandering near the reception desk in the lobby of the Garent Industries building doesn’t resemble the devil. This guy is timid and nervous.

  He’s also lost.

  “Hey,” I call out to him. “You’re Dale, aren’t you?”

  He glances over at me, his shoulders straightening. “Dale Samuelson.”

  He offers his full name along with a hand. I take it for a quick shake.

  “Have we met?” he asks, his eyes searching my face.

  I don’t blame him for not being able to place me. His attention was on Isabella at Atlas 22 on Friday evening.

  “Barrett Adler.” I pinch my brows together. “What brings you to Garent today?”

  I know the answer to that question.

  Dale’s gaze wanders past my shoulder to the bank of elevators behind me. His face lights up like a kid who is handed every toy he ever wanted. “I’m meeting someone. She works here.”

  I hear the click of her approaching heels. The sound slows as she nears us.

  “Bella,” he says her name with a smile. “You look beautiful.”

  I resist the urge to turn and look for myself. I spent most of the day watching her as she sat at her desk.

  I left two hours ago to take a meeting uptown. I expected to have a few minutes alone with her before she clocked out for the day, but time wasn’t on my side.

  I smell the sweet sce
nt of her perfume as she walks next to me.

  “Dale.” She moves to him, reaching out a hand. “It’s nice to see you again.”

  Dale takes it as an invitation. He wraps his arms around her.

  I watch her eyes close briefly. I shouldn’t give a shit if his touch does something to her.

  “We should go,” Dale suggests, taking her hand in his. “I made a reservation for six at an Italian place in Brooklyn I think you’ll like. Donini’s. I hear they make great fettuccine.”

  Her grandmother owns the restaurant that serves the best Italian food in the state. Taking her for pasta anywhere else is an insult.

  Dale should have blocked out five minutes out of his day to research Isabella. I did last night.

  She lets out a soft sigh. “Let’s go.”

  I level my gaze on her. “Goodnight, Isabella.”

  “Goodnight, Mr. Adjer.” She pauses before she adds, “I hope you enjoy your evening.”

  I might if I called Minna, the redhead I had dinner with at Atlas 22 the other night. Our evening ended early when I ducked out after dessert with an excuse about a pressing business matter.

  I slide my phone out of the inner pocket of my suit jacket. Scrolling through the unread text messages, I land on one sent by Minna an hour ago.

  Minna: Let me show you around Manhattan. I’ll start the tour in my bedroom.

  She’s attractive, willing, and just what I need to take the edge off.

  I thumb out a reply.

  Barrett: Dinner was enjoyable. I’ll skip the tour. Take care.

  I delete her number and drop my phone back in my pocket.

  I may regret turning her down, but I know another way to take the edge off.

  Work. It’s never failed me. I walk to the elevators, press the call button, and make a mental list of everything I want Isabella to do for me tomorrow starting with coming to work an hour early.

  Chapter 10

  Bella

  I glance down at my phone when it buzzes.

  A text message pops up on the screen.

  Unknown: Be at the office tomorrow at 8 a.m. sharp.

  Seriously? Did Barrett just text me? He knows I’m on a date.

  I smile across the table at Dale. “I don’t mean to be rude, but it’s a work matter. I can handle it with just a couple of text messages.”

  He nods. “I’m enjoying my dinner. Take all the time you need.”

  I type out a response.

  Bella: You must have texted the wrong number. Have a nice night!

  Unknown: I didn’t text the wrong number. This is your boss.

  I roll my eyes and bite back a laugh.

  Bella: Duke? Thank God it’s you. I miss you like crazy.

  Unknown: Not Duke. Barrett. I need you at the office at 8.

  Bella: My contract says I start work at 9. I’ll see you then.

  I place my phone on the table, but it buzzes almost instantly with a reply.

  Unknown: Your new contract states that you work the hours I request.

  All my common sense disappeared when I saw the six-figure salary and perks. I know better than to sign a contract I haven’t read over carefully.

  Barrett sends another text before I can respond to the last one.

  Unknown: I’ll see you at 8. How’s Donini’s?

  I glance at the half-eaten cheeseburger and the handful of fries left on my plate.

  I couldn’t go to Donini’s. If I ever set foot in that restaurant, I’d have to put myself up for adoption.

  No member of Marti’s family eats Italian food anywhere but at Calvetti’s. That’s an unspoken rule that I will never break. I convinced Dale that I was in the mood for a burger, so he brought me to this cowboy themed restaurant in the heart of Times Square.

  I add my new boss’s name and number to my contact list before I type out a response.

  Bella: We never made it to Brooklyn.

  I know it’s rude to make small text talk with Barrett while I’m on a date with Dale, but it’s not even seven p.m. and I’ve already had dinner. I’m ready to go home.

  Alone.

  Dale isn’t going to get to first base tonight.

  “What do you want to do after dinner?” Dale wiggles his brows at me.

  I scratch my chin. “My boss needs me to go into the office extra early tomorrow, so I have to go home soon.”

  His gaze drops to his watch. “It’s six fifty.”

  I resist the urge to look at my phone when it buzzes again.

  “Are you free tomorrow night?” He asks before I can come up with a believable excuse about why our date is ending. “I’ll buy you a drink after you’re done work for the day. I don’t know many people in New York.”

  The corners of his lips dip into a frown. I think he’s trying to go for a lonely puppy dog look.

  Max and I are supposed to go to a movie tomorrow night, but we can squeeze in a drink with Dale before that. “Text me where and when and I’ll be there.”

  His entire face lights up with a smile.

  I should be all over this, and him. He’s single, good-looking, and he works in the mayor’s office in Philadelphia. He seems like an all-around great guy, but he doesn’t light a spark inside of me.

  I move to stand, but Dale is on his feet before I’m out of my chair.

  “I can see you home, Bella,” he offers. “I don’t mind.”

  I give my head a shake. “Thank you, but I can make it on my own.”

  Disappointment flits over his expression. “I’ll text you in the morning about our drink tomorrow night.”

  I reach in to give him a chaste peck on the cheek. “Thanks for dinner, Dale.”

  He sighs. “Every minute was my pleasure.”

  My phone buzzes again as I step away. I look down at the screen to find two messages from my boss.

  Barrett: Does a man fall into the clueless category of one and done if he doesn’t realize that you’re a direct descendant of Martina Calvetti, founder of Calvetti’s?

  I laugh out loud as I exit the restaurant.

  Navigating through the pedestrian traffic, I read the other text.

  Barrett: I’ll take your silence as a yes. Be at your desk by 8 a.m. tomorrow.

  Shaking my head, I drop my phone in my purse.

  The extra five figures a year is worth getting out of bed an hour early. I can handle anything Barrett Adler throws my way.

  Chapter 11

  Bella

  I arrive at my desk at one minute before eight. I planned that on purpose. I was hanging out in the lobby with my sister before I got on the elevator.

  Gina has a meeting around the corner with a fashion designer.

  My sister is living the dream of so many that post content online hoping to find an avid audience. She’s a social media influencer. She has millions of followers across different platforms. Her corporate sponsorships keep her in the latest high-end fashions and pay for the mortgage on the apartment she owns.

  I rent a bedroom from her and do most of the cooking.

  We took the subway uptown together this morning. I read a book while she responded to some of the thousands of comments posted beneath a picture of the new mascara she used today.

  I rest the cup of coffee I picked up at Palla on Fifth on my desk.

  “Where’s mine, Isabella?”

  I shoot a glance in the direction of Barrett’s office. “Palla’s is a block over. You can make it there and back in under ten minutes if you catch the elevator at the right time.”

  “I know where it is.” He pushes back from his desk to stand. “Use your expense account to pick me up a cup every morning on your way to work.”

  I don’t pay for coffee at Palla on Fifth.

  My cousin, Rocco, owns the business with our cousin, Arlo, and his wife, Palla. Whenever I stop in to pick up a medium cup of dark roast, Palla insists that I put my wallet away.

  He goes on, “I want a cup on my desk when I arrive tomorrow.”

  �
�I usually start work at nine. You prefer to start earlier,” I point out with a finger jab at the face of my watch. “Make a pit stop there on your way here.”

  I expect more push back from him, but all I get is a stern glance and a cross of his arms over his chest.

  We both know that I’m not in a position to negotiate anything since my pay was doubled days ago, but it doesn’t hurt to try.

  “We’ll discuss your hours another time.” His shoulders tighten. “I take it you read over the email I sent you last night.”

  He looks gorgeous in the gray suit he’s wearing today. His blue shirt is a shade lighter than his tie.

  It’s also the same color as the dress I picked out of my closet this morning. Gina told me to pair it with nude heels, so I did. I got two thumbs up from her before we left the apartment.

  “I didn’t get a chance,” I confess.

  I switched my phone to silent mode when I got home from having dinner with Dale. I’m halfway through a novel by my favorite author. I didn’t want any distractions, and I knew that Max would have questions.

  I’ll answer those tonight before we meet Dale for a drink.

  “You didn’t get a chance?” he parrots back with a tilt of his head.

  “I was reading a book.” I take a sip of coffee.

  His eyes follow my movements. His tongue darts over his bottom lip.

  It’s coffee envy. I get it.

  “I expect you to read every email I send as soon as it arrives.” His tone sharpens.

  I take another drink from the cup in my hand. “Duke always told me that once I left this building, my work was done. He insisted that I spend my time outside of the office doing things that make me happy.”

  “Things that make you happy?” He takes a step closer to me. “Does that include going on blind dates?”

  I doubt he’ll stop reminding me of the night we met.

  I take up the challenge that’s woven into his question because he expects me to back down. I showed weakness when he first brought up our unintended meeting at Atlas 22. I won’t make that mistake again.