Chapter 8
8
Mateo
I set my phone down on the desk and sigh heavily, the weight of the conversation pressing down on me. There’s already a headache building behind my eyes, threatening to become a migraine if I don’t take something. I rifle through my desk to find the aspirin bottle I keep for occasions such as this, swallowing it dry. These moments have been coming much more frequently lately. If it isn’t one thing, it’s another. The price of this job just might be my sanity.
My scout, Raph, called to tell me that he saw the Savinis loitering near one of my properties acting shifty. They’re up to something, that much is certain, but Raph’s intel was vague. He couldn’t tell what they were doing or even if they were doing anything I needed to be concerned about. Of course, just their presence is enough of a concern. They know the boundaries of this city, know that hanging out around any one of my properties is as good as sending me a big “fuck you.” They’re trying to get my attention,
My eyes drift to the clock on the wall. It’s early still, but Ginny should be here by now. I sent Red and Bats for her and trust that Marta has gotten her properly settled in. I gave Marta clear instructions to show her around the entire property and get her settled comfortably in her room.
A chill runs through me as I consider that this bright, intriguing girl is going to be in my home, just a short distance from my own room. She’ll be around all the time, working, eating, sleeping, showering. I close my eyes and groan, considering taking another aspirin. The headache I have now is for a much different reason. I’m mentally battling myself, trying to force disinterest in Ginny at all costs.
Nothing can happen with her, I know that. If I sleep with her, it makes me sleazy, the kind of man who accepts sexual favors for debts even if it isn’t my intention. I’ve always prided myself on my integrity in this business, which is a hard thing to have in this line of work. I do what I need to do to get my money, sure. Sometimes I have to physically escalate things to keep the peace. But I don’t hurt innocent people. I don’t prostitute women like some of my contemporaries. Even agreeing to have Ginny here has felt wrong.
I must keep my hands to myself, and I must keep my thoughts away from her as much as I possibly can.
The knock at the door pulls me out of my thoughts, and I look up just as the woman herself steps into my office. She looks slightly overwhelmed, her eyes wide and chest heaving. I can’t help the slight smile that tugs at the corner of my mouth.
“Good morning,” I say, letting my gaze sweep over her. She’s dressed professionally in a blouse and dark skirt. Her legs go on for miles, and I have to force myself to look away from them.
Her hair falls in gentle waves down her back, and I notice she isn’t wearing a stitch of makeup. She didn’t wear much last time she was here either, but this morning she looks especially fresh-faced and young. Like a lamb being sacrificed to the slaughter.
And if she’s a lamb, that makes me a wolf, a predator. She’s so beautiful, I have to grab the underside of the desk to keep my hands to myself. Otherwise, I might be tempted to stand up, to invade her space, to tuck a strand of her long hair behind her ear so I can see her face better.
“Good morning, Mr. Rossi.” She smiles brightly, rubbing her hands over her skirt in a nervous manner.
“I told you to call me Mateo,” I remind her with a smirk.
“Right,” she replies with a blush. “Thank you, Mateo, for the escort, but it really wasn’t necessary. And they woke me up a bit too early, so unfortunately, I didn’t have much time to make myself presentable.”
I wave off her complaint, leaning back in my chair as I take her in.
“Nonsense,” I protest. “You look beautiful.” I cough, trying to cover up my mistake. “That is to say, you look very professional and ready to work.”
“That’s very kind of you,” she blushes. “I wanted to make a better impression on my first day, that’s all.”
“I want you to be comfortable here and to have minimal distractions.”
“Right,” she says, glancing around the room as if she’s embarrassed to meet my gaze. “Well, I appreciate everything you’ve done so far. It’s too much, but I appreciate it.”
Her manners are nearly perfect, and I can’t help but wonder if she’s not trying to make up for her bluntness yesterday. Or perhaps she’s too nervous to show that side of her personality again. I crave it, want to push her buttons until she shows me that side of herself again. For now, though, a tour is in order.
“Has Marta showed you to your room yet?”
She shakes her head. “She showed me around the house, but I wanted to stop in and say good morning before we got to that.”
“Well then, let me do the honors,” I motion for her to follow me as we leave the office and head toward the residential wing of the house.
She’s much shorter than me, and I notice out of the corner of my eye that she’s nearly jogging to match my pace. Her breasts bounce with the effort under her silk blouse, driving me wild, and I force myself to slow a little, to stop staring and to behave myself.
“All of these rooms are available,” I tell her when we reach the guest wing. “You’re welcome to choose any one of them you prefer.” I stop in front of one of the doors. “This room is a particular favorite of guests, though.”
I open the door and we step inside. To me, the room is nothing special, just some furniture and a few decorative accents to make it feel homey. What guests love about this space, though, is the balcony that looks over the luscious garden.
She seems to be no exception as she stares in awe at the view when I lead her out to the balcony.
“This is more than I’m used to,” she admits softly, almost as if she’s speaking to herself.
I step closer, my gaze fixed on her, unable to look away. “You’ll get used to it,” I say, my voice low. “In fact, you’ll probably improve it. Once you’re finished with the west wing of the house, you can tackle the guestrooms.”
She shakes her head and looks up at me seriously. “This room is spectacular,” she whispers.
Then her expression turns serious and her eyes go hard. She’s all business.
“But if I were to change things in here,” she begins, her tone thoughtful, “I’d probably start with the lighting. It’s nice, but it could use something softer, something that adds warmth.”
I watch her as she talks, the way her eyes light up with each new idea, the way her hands move as she gestures, painting a picture of her vision for the space. I know I should be listening to her words, but all I can focus on is the way her lips move as she speaks, how she moves her hair away from her face, not out of self-consciousness, but as if she doesn’t want anything hindering her ideas.
“And maybe,” she continues, oblivious to the effect she’s having on me, “some artwork that complements the furniture. Something modern, but not too stark.”
After a moment, I notice her expression shift again to nervousness as she starts to fidget with her skirt again. It’s driving me wild, and I have to clasp my hands together so I don’t reach out to calm hers.
“Is everything all right?” I ask, trying to put her at ease.
“I just remembered I don’t have anything here,” she admits. “I was going to pack this morning, but your men came and got me so early. All of my things are still at home.”
“I’ll take you shopping to get whatever you need.”
“Oh,” she breathes, taken aback. “I was just thinking I could go home and pack.”
“May I be frank?” I ask, hoping my words don’t insult her. “I’ve dealt with your father a long time, and I know he’s not exactly financially liquid.”
She blushes at this and stares down at the floor again, ashamed. I’m not trying to insult her, but I don’t know if my words will help or hurt. Still, I press on.
“You spend most of your time waitressing at a diner, yes? When was the last time you were treated to something new?”
“That’s really not necessary, Mateo,” she whispers hoarsely, her cheeks flushed.
“It is,” I say too sharply, putting the matter to rest.
She stares at me with a mixture of intrigue and adoration, and it’s too much. This space is too small, and her skirt is too short. If we don’t get out of this room, I’m going to do something I regret. I look at my watch, just to get away from her eyes. I realize it’s much later than I thought.
“We’re going to lunch,” I tell her, changing the subject. “My treat.”
She blinks, taken aback, and I can see the surprise in her eyes. “Lunch?” she echoes, surprised. “I didn’t even have a chance to put on mascara.”
I wave off her concern, already heading for the door. “You look fine,” I tell her as we walk out to the hallway, texting Red and Bats to join us. “But if it bothers you that much, Red and Bats can take you shopping first. Buy whatever you want, then meet me at Angelo’s.”
She opens her mouth to protest, to argue, but I don’t give her the chance. I turn and leave, heading down the hallway, knowing that she’ll follow my instructions. I’ve given her a glimpse into my world, a taste of the power and influence I wield, and she’s starting to realize just how deep she’s stepped into it. But something tells me she’s not going to turn back.