Chapter 3 #2
That's why I valued Katherine. She knew boundaries—didn't look where she shouldn't, didn't ask what she shouldn't. Smart women like her were ideal: quiet, efficient, no extra hassle.
Chloe Bennett was the opposite. Loud, reckless, crude—the type I usually steered clear of.
But hell, today she'd piqued my interest, almost making me forget Julian's mess that needed handling.
I sipped the coffee, flipped open the folder.
Julian, my half-brother, my rival, my biggest headache right now. Last week, he'd leaked negative stories to three major outlets, accusing our South African mines of labor issues. All fabricated, but PR still burned time and cash. That was his goal—distract me while he schemed in the shadows.
I spent two hours wrapping it up, three calls with lawyers, and finalized my edited version.
Closing the file, I rubbed my temples and walked to the floor-to-ceiling window. New York's night sprawled from the 47th floor, lights blazing like an ignited sea of stars.
The wall clock hit ten. Way past quitting time.
Working late was routine for me. My schedule was packed with tasks; I'd adapted to the grind.
But sometimes, it felt dull.
Maybe that's why that loud, vulgar woman had caught my eye.
The next morning at six, I woke before the alarm.
More like my body woke me.
I'd had a filthy wet dream, set in that damn elevator.
Chloe stood there, hands crossed on her shirt hem, yanking it up. Those big, soft tits bounced out, heavy and swaying, pink nipples already stiff. She cupped them, squeezed hard, flesh spilling through her fingers, looking up at me with a slutty gaze, lips curved in a teasing smile.
Then she hiked her skirt to her waist, exposing her bare pussy. Legs spread wide, one hooked around my waist, totally open, offering that pink, wet slit right up. Her lips were swollen, shiny, juices trickling down her thighs.
She was aggressive as fuck. I grabbed her and slammed in. The elevator echoed with her slutty moans as we fucked hard and fast. She hung on me, tits bouncing against my chest, me kissing and licking.
The dream felt too real. I woke with my heart pounding, groin warm and sticky, cooling from hot to tacky cum.
I looked down. My boxers were soaked.
Fuck.
I threw off the covers, yanked off the ruined boxers, and tossed them in the bathroom hamper. Under the shower, hot water pouring, my mind replayed Chloe lifting her skirt, pressing against me. Couldn't shake it.
I gripped my still-aching, veined cock, stroking firm and steady. Eyes closed, all I saw was Chloe's innocent-yet-horny face in climax.
Breaths got heavier, hand speeding up, jerking fast and rough.
When I came, I cursed low, thick spurts hitting the shower wall.
I leaned against the tile, catching my breath, mind blank.
Damn... when had I sunk to needing fantasies of a woman to get off?
I dried my hair and tied my tie in the mirror. The reflection was cool, alert, just with a worse scowl than usual.
Probably pushing myself too hard lately. Julian's shit, Vito's issues, family cracks popping up one after another, three weeks of under-four-hour sleeps. Body protesting its way.
Time for some fun, and right now, there was a prime candidate.
I dialed Luca.
"Push the interrogation to the afternoon."
Silence on the other end for two seconds. Luca'd been with me eight years; he rarely questioned, but this silence was one.
"Enzo, Mark's been in the warehouse all night. The guys are waiting. The longer we drag, the more risks—you know that."
"I said afternoon." I was impatient, but since it was Luca, I didn't hang up.
"Something wrong?"
"Nothing. Got something more important."
Another two seconds. "More important than a traitor?"
My patience was thinner than I thought. No explanation—I hung up. Luca'd handle it, even if he thought his boss was losing it.
I drove to the jewelry company.
Arrived at 8:10, building just waking up, lobby with a few early birds who snapped alert and stepped aside at my sight. I was used to it.
In my top-floor office, coffee half-gone, I hit the intercom.
"Katherine, get Chloe Bennett from fifth floor up here. Our talk got cut short by the elevator glitch."
Perfect excuse—logical, businesslike, airtight. Yesterday, she'd cussed me out publicly; as president, calling in a misbehaving employee was standard.
Intercom paused.
"Mr. Falcone, one moment."
Three minutes later, knock at my door. Katherine came in with a white envelope. Her face stayed pro-calm, but her fingers lingered a second setting it down.
"Miss Bennett left this at the reception last night. She asked security to pass it to you."
"That's it?"
"Yes." Katherine left, closing the door softer than usual.
I ripped it open. Inside, a folded A4 sheet—standard resignation format. Addressed to Falcone Jewels HR, body short and half-assed: Chloe Bennett resigning immediately for personal reasons, thanks for the opportunity.
Dated yesterday.
She quit.
I stared at the paper for five seconds, flipped it—blank back. Shook the envelope—cash tumbled out onto my desk, with a torn notepad scrap underneath, handwritten, legible if not pretty.
"Mr. Falcone, thanks for yesterday's service. Technique was average, but since it's your side gig not main, I won't nitpick. Enclosed: $1500, per NYC market rate—might be overpaying. Best in your main and side hustles. Chloe Bennett."
I read it once, double-checked.
This woman treated me like a gigolo. Not only did she bolt after, she left cash. Priced the Falcone heir at fifteen hundred bucks, and rated me average.
I set the note down, arms crossed, leaning back.
A designer scraping by on under fifty grand a year daring to humiliate me like this.
I was pissed enough to laugh, fingers crumpling the note like I wanted to do to Chloe Bennett.
Average technique? Bold words from the woman who'd begged for it yesterday.
Fine, perfect.
I'd find Chloe, pin her back on that desk, or a bed, or any surface she couldn't escape, make her retract it in ways her body understood. I'd have her crying to stop, leave her too weak to stand.
Desk phone rang. I took a deep breath, steadied, then answered.
"Enzo." Luca's voice, urgent. "Julian's guys hit our New Jersey logistics hub. Morning count showed two shipments' routes leaked. Midpoint confirmed two key guys met Julian's people—might be flipped."
I closed my eyes.
Chloe Bennett and my empire—clear priorities, and I, Enzo Falcone, never fucked up priorities.
I fired up the computer and pulled New Jersey logs for the past three months.
Julian needed time, Frankie's interrogation needed time, Vito's negotiations needed time. But it'd all wrap up. Everything does.
Once the mess was cleared, I'd go after that audacious woman.
Chloe Bennett, you'd pay dearly for your recklessness.