11. Riley
ELEVEN
I waketo the soft white sheets tangled around my legs. I”m still wearing the black silk lounge outfit from the night before, and my entire body feels vaguely sweaty.
Squinting and blinking, I stare out the window at the water view. A ginormous yacht soars past. I sit up, confused. I check my smart watch that I got as a graduation gift from my brother and it”s dead. Still, it seems early, from the angle of the sunlight just starting to filter into the room.
Where the fuck am I? Oh, right.
Not in my shitty apartment in the suburbs, that”s for sure. I flop back onto the plush pillow and groan aloud. Normally I”d be thrilled to wake up in this kind of luxury.
But.
I”m at Gabriel Greco”s mansion and I”m spending the weekend here. Oh, and I made out with him last night and then had a ménage à moi, twice. Once immediately after the kiss and once furiously in the middle of the night when I couldn”t sleep. All while thinking about him.
The man I”m supposed to be writing an article about.
It”s all so fucking wrong. Never mind unethical, it”s downright dirty.
I scrub my face with my hands and try to shift my legs, but they”re all bound up in the sheets. I whisper aloud a string of swear words and then comes a sharp knock at the door.
My whole body freezes. I”m in no position to face Gabriel now, all sweaty and sticky with my hair tangled and messy.
I free my legs from the twisted sheet and the knock echoes again through the room. ”Coming,” I yell.
It takes a little while to get to the door because the room is so big, and I pause before I open it.
”Uh, hello? Gabriel?” I call out. ”I”m busy.”
Well, that”s idiotic. What would I be doing in here? Catching up on TV?
”Miss Murphy?” It”s a woman”s voice.
”Yes?” Now I”m genuinely puzzled.
”I”m one of Mr. Greco”s assistants. He instructed me to give you the day”s schedule and some other things.”
A schedule? What is this? A cruise ship? With more than a little hesitancy, I unlock the door and open it. A smiling, pert brunette in a white polo shirt and navy blue shorts is beaming at me. She”s probably ten or fifteen years older than me, and her expression is positively too bubbly for this hour.
”Hey.” I”m aware that”s probably not the most intelligent thing to say, but it”s all I can muster. I scratch my head.
”Hello. I”m Cassie. May I come in?”
That”s when I notice there”s a cart next to her. It looks like something out of a hotel, with a tray holding a glass pitcher of water, a carafe, a coffee cup, and a glass. I spy a fruit platter and my mouth begins to water. And a...red rose in a crystal vase?
”If you don”t want me to come in, I can leave this here and give your instructions,” Cassie says, never dropping her pert tone.
”Oh, uh, no, I mean, yes. You can come in. Yes, please come in.” I”m flustered by this entire situation, possibly even more so today. Last night feels like a long, hazy, erotic dream.
I stand aside and she pushes the cart into the room, carefully setting the tray on the long, low bureau. She holds out a folded piece of paper. ”Here”s the schedule. If you need anything, you can just ring me, I”ve put my number on a card on the tray.”
”Uh, I don”t have a phone.” What happened to my purse? Where did that bodyguard take it yesterday? And what about my car? I pluck the piece of paper out of her hand.
She blinks. ”I see. In that case, I”ll check back in periodically.”
”Thanks.” I draw out the word, not knowing what else to say. ”Oh. What time is it?”
”It is”—she looks at her watch—”seven-fifteen. Mr. Greco will be eating breakfast poolside in fifteen minutes if you wish to join him.”
With an efficient smile, she nods and walks out of the room. I go to the tray and grab a strawberry, shoving it into my mouth. It”s bursting with flavor, and only then do I realize how hungry I am. But the thought of seeing Gabriel right now makes my stomach flutter, and I”m not sure I want to eat around him, so maybe this fruit will be enough.
I unfold the paper while chewing. The note is handwritten in perfect cursive, and I wonder if Gabriel penned it himself. If he did, it”s pretty impressive.
Good morning, Riley.
I”m already admiring his use of punctuation. When it comes to men, it takes very little to impress me. The bar is so low, in my experience. My last date—a cute guy I met at a bar here in Tampa—was to the movies.
That guy brought me to a porn. A 3D porn, with glasses and everything, so we could get the full spurting effect. I laughed so hard that I excused myself, knowing I was interrupting the others” enjoyment of the movie, then caught a taxi home.
So, the man bar is in the basement at this point.
I”ve sent a simple breakfast and coffee to your room. If you desire something more substantial, you can join me on the terrace. I will be there until 10 a.m.
I stop chewing. What does he mean by something more substantial? Sweat blooms on my neck just thinking about the possibilities and all the dirty things I fantasized about last night. Although, now that I consider it during the harsh light of day, he probably means bacon and eggs. Not sex. I continue reading and eating.
My schedule for today will be the following. Please plan accordingly.
What the hell does that mean? Plan what? What does he expect me to do all day, if I”m not following him around for my article?
7:30–9 a.m.: breakfast
9–10 a.m.: gym
10 a.m.–11 a.m.: shower/office/work
11 a.m.–2 p.m.: meeting with business associates
2 p.m.–3 p.m.: light lunch, unless business meeting goes long. This would be an appropriate time for you to rest.
”Dictating when I take a nap. Good lord, dude,” I whisper aloud.
3 p.m.–7:30 p.m.: Prepare for event. Appointments have been made for you with stylist and designer. Please be showered by 3.
”What the fuck?” Apparently when one is filthy rich, they can hire stylists and designers on a whim for women they only just met.
7:30 p.m.: leave for charity event
These times are approximate, of course. If you wish to discuss this schedule, please meet me for breakfast. Other requests should be addressed to Cassie. You may wish to use the pool and sauna while you”re here, and you will find bathing suits in new packaging in the dresser in your room.
—Gabriel
I mull this over while munching on fruit. When will I have time to interview him for my article? Tomorrow? I”d prefer to observe him doing things, so I can create a fuller profile, but I also know spending time with him will be dangerous, given how my body reacts to him. We can”t have a replay of that kiss. Absolutely not.
Maybe in bright sunlight, I won”t be so drawn to him. Anyway, I should be able to separate my pent-up loneliness and lust and focus on being an actual professional journalist. Yes. I need to get my act together, join him for breakfast, and start collecting details. I”m going to take control of this situation today and get what I need from him, then get the fuck out of here and forget this ever happened.
For starters, I need a notebook. There”s no way I can remember everything for the article in my head. Having notes will also help if he decides to sue for defamation later—a fact I learned in journalism school.
I glance into the nearby dresser mirror. My flushed cheeks are stuffed with fruit, like a chipmunk. My blonde hair is frizzy and wild, and the silk outfit is rumpled. I”ll need to change before I meet Gabriel for breakfast. Not to impress him, but so I won”t feel embarrassed.
Pulling open the drawer, I notice several plastic-wrapped bathing suits. I tear a few open. It takes a while to find one that”s my size and that isn”t an indecently small string bikini. I settle on a black one-piece. The tag inside is the same as on the clothing in the armoire, and apparently, Gabriel”s sister also specializes in sexy swimwear. I spot something that looks like a cover-up, too, and take both into the bathroom.
Tamping down my earlier apprehension, I give in and step into the luxurious shower. Oh my God. The hot water coming from the rainfall-like shower head is the perfect temperature, the perfect pressure, the perfect everything. The shampoo and soap smell expensive and subtle, like I”ve teleported myself into a spa, and when I get out, the towels softly caress my body dry.
I even take the time to blow out my long hair, enough so that it falls in beachy waves. Since I can”t find my hair tie from last night, I let it flow long and loose. I tug the bathing suit over my body and I”m shocked to see it fits perfectly and is almost inappropriately too revealing in the boob area. I tug and yank, trying to cover more of my skin. The only other alternative is a bikini that resembles dental floss, so I sigh and reach for the beach caftan. Made from the finest Italian silk crepe, the tag says.
I slip it over my head. This probably costs more than I make in a week—it has that kind of quality woven into every fiber.
At least it”s quite pretty. It”s a tye-dye, in shades of the Florida sunset, and it feels soft and luxurious against my skin. It”s not the kind of caftan I”m used to, though. My mom and grandma used to wear long cotton ones to the beach on Cape Cod, and they”d call them muumuus and laugh. This is more of a long shirt, with flowy sleeves. Like something Stevie Nicks would wear.
Taking a huge breath, I march out of my room and down the hall. I”m just as confused as last night, only in the bright daylight, the place doesn”t seem as menacing. I wander for a while, enjoying the feel of the cool tile on my bare feet, and come to an open door. Poking my head inside, I see that it”s an office. His office.
Oh, right. I spotted this briefly last night. The house is so damned large that I”ve lost my sense of direction.
It”s a beautiful space, with black-hued furniture and pale gray accents. One wall behind a modern bookcase is gray, and the rug is nearly the same color. Everything is as angular as Gabriel”s jaw, and the entire room smells faintly of his spicy cologne.
I never imagined a room could be sexy, but here we are. I step in, hesitantly. Instinct tells me to snoop, but common sense yells to get the hell out before one of his big bodyguard goons or Gabriel himself comes in. There”s no telling how he”d react to me rifling through his stuff.
Why is his office door even open, anyway? He must trust his staff. Probably pays them a lot, and threatens their lives, and the lives of their families, if they talk. I snort out a breath, and all my old anger about the mob comes rushing back. How could I be attracted to a man like this? So shameful, wringing orgasm after orgasm out of my body while thinking of that terrible man.
As I mentally flog myself, I hear a loud breathing sound and freeze. I”m standing in the middle of the room, my heart hammering.
And then I see Reese barreling toward me.
”Hello, pupper.” He sure is cute. I bend down and he hurls himself into my arms to give me a face bath. Good thing I didn”t wear makeup.
I scoop up the dog and speed out of the room, worried that one of those women from last night will look for the dog and find me in here. If I”m going to nose around in Gabriel”s stuff, I”ll have to be a little more strategic and methodical about it, and definitely keep Reese out of the room.
When I”m back in the entranceway, I glance around. This time, I find the door to the outside right away, and let the dog down. He skitters off, his nails clacking against the tile.
I push open the door and immediately spot Gabriel, like he”s a magnet for my eyes. He”s sitting several paces away at a table, wearing a blue linen button down, with the sleeves pushed up. He doesn”t spot me because he”s scowling and speaking into his phone, and my heart skips a beat as I walk slowly toward him down a crushed-shell path.
As I get closer, I realize that his shirt is unbuttoned to his abs, revealing smooth, olive skin and muscles that I”d love to touch. He continues talking in melodic Italian while staring in my direction, sliding his sunglasses off. His dark hair is rumpled, like he just got out of bed, and yet he looks radiant and rested.
His scowl turns into a lazy smile that tugs at the corners of his lips. In response, my stomach doesn”t just flip or flop. It acts like a washing machine on the spin cycle, and that”s when I grasp that I”m definitely not in control of anything right now, or maybe ever, when Gabriel Greco is nearby.