9. Chapter Nine
Chapter Nine
D om
My gaze swivels to the door as I bring my glass to my lips and take a sip. The liquid touches my tongue cold and warms as it flows down my throat.
She’s late. I check my watch absentmindedly. Ten minutes late.
Then again, I wouldn’t expect her to be on time… or even show up at all. I’ve thrown two curveballs at her in less than forty-eight hours—the offer for One Construction and now, asking to meet at a seemingly normal restaurant outside work hours.
Except that the restaurant is half-owned by Enzo Bellini, her uncle, who also has long-standing dealings with One Construction.
“Huh,” I murmur. “Maybe she’s not so stubborn after all.” Or determined, either. “Too bad.” In some way, I was really looking forward to seeing how she would handle the project.
The door swings open as I raise a finger to signal for the check. As she walks in, my hand drops like a dead weight, and everything else fades.
She’s in a dress—something simple.
Her hair’s loose tonight, falling over her shoulders like easy waves touching the shore. The lighting near the bar where she stands talking to a uniformed employee catches her earrings—gold, delicate—and for a second, they flash like warning lights.
My eyes drift lower, past the lashes that frame the crinkles around her eyes, to the deep red that makes it impossible to look anywhere but her lips.
And I don’t. Not until she spots me from across the room. Her mouth curves into a half-smile, her gaze straight on me as she mutters something to the server. Then she takes off, walking towards my table with her hips swinging with every step.
“I’m sorry I’m late,” she murmurs. I’m unsure if it’s the lighting or the soft jazz in the air, but her voice slides through the air like honey over smoke, smooth, sultry, and seamless. “I had something to attend to, and it ran longer than expected.”
“It’s outside work hours.” My voice doesn’t sound like mine.
It’s rougher, scraping the corners of my throat.
“I didn’t expect you to be on time.” I didn’t expect her to still have an effect on me, either, but my mind is painted red, and it’s taking all of my willpower not to focus on the way she lowers herself into the chair, one ankle crossed high over the other.
“Still,” she says, lifting one shoulder in that elegant little shrug that makes restraint feel like punishment, “you gave me a deadline, and I failed to report to you yesterday.”
She sighs—loud enough to be dramatic, soft enough to feel like silk over skin—and leans forward.
The neckline of her dress dips low. Not scandalous or desperate. Just enough to remind me of what’s underneath. And worse yet, what it feels like.
Who would’ve thought knowledge could be this close to torture?
I reach subtly for my shirt collar, tugging on it to breathe better. Sophie’s not flirting with me. She’s playing mind games, one syllable, one glance, one slow, impossible inhale at a time.
And the sick part?
A small part of me wonders what it’d feel like to let her. To do the one thing nobody else has ever done—take control from my hands.
But that part gets buried faster than it can take root. “So?” I ask, stifling the urge. “What is your report?”
The imperceptible smugness falls off, replaced by a look of regret.
“Making a play for One Construction at this time is a wrong move. The company is falling apart, literally, from the inside. The contracts that put them on the map were completed by outside agencies, real construction firms who signed under the table to make it look like One Construction was capable.”
She tuts, resting her arm on the table. Her eyes gleam with something too vague to pin. “They just took a cut and slapped their name on it.”
Her voice is steady, and her tone is serious, like she did thorough research. Only I know it’s a lie. It’s not like Blackwater, where I was convinced of what the public knew.
I knew she would pull something like this, so I had Rodrigo dig into it. I wasn’t surprised when he said that One Construction and Enzo Bellini signed a five-year contract just yesterday.
“I see,” I murmur, reaching for my drink. I swirl it once, then set it back down untouched. “So they’ve been selling smoke and mirrors.”
“Yes,” she replies without hesitation. They’re barely functioning. If you’d like,” she smiles, “I could look into other options for you. It’s my job to make your dreams come true, after all.”
Oh, she’s a good liar.
My tongue touches my teeth as I chuckle quietly. “Strange,” I say casually, my fingers drumming at the edge of the table, “because I had the finance department, alongside an independent audit company, run a quiet audit two weeks ago. Their accounts, assets, subcontracts—they all checked out.”
It’s a lie, much like her earlier statement, but it catches Sophie off guard. She blinks, just once, as her forehead creases. Then her expression flattens and her shoulders straighten. “They must’ve missed something then,” she says coolly. “Much like Blackwater. That’s possible, no?”
I nod. “It is.” Her chest rises slightly. Relief. “Which is why I’ll have them run another audit. Not because I don’t think you’re thorough,” I add, “but I think it’s best not to leave anything unchecked, don’t you?”
Sophie tucks the edge of her bottom lip between her teeth, and something in me snaps. A muscle jumps in my jaw before I can stop it… because I’ve felt those lips. I’ve heard the sounds she makes when she bites them for entirely different reasons.
And now she’s using that same mouth to lie to me, while trying to make me believe it’s all business. My fingers curl around the glass, tighter than necessary. The liquid sloshes, and the ice clinks against the rim.
Her eyes drop to my hand. “I agree,” she says smoothly, as if she didn’t just see past the crack in my restraint. “Double-check everything. We wouldn’t want you making a misstep.”
That word. Misstep. It feels like everything I’ve done since she walked into my life has been a misstep, placing my foot on unsteady ground and making rash decisions.
I lean in slightly, ignoring the sharp pulse at my temple.
“No. We wouldn’t.” For a second, neither of us breathes.
Or maybe we just stop pretending we’re breathing normally and that the conversation hasn’t shifted from lies to the tension brewing between us.
“Then again,” I say, raising my hand for a waiter, “you’re the ace.
If you can’t hack it, I doubt anyone else can. ”
The waiter arrives, polite and unaware he’s interrupting a slow, smoldering disaster. “Could you see to it that Miss Greco gets what she wants?”
My gaze flicks back to her long enough to let the double meaning hang between us like smoke.
“Put it on the company’s tab,” I add, already pushing back from the table. “Goodnight.”
Her voice follows me, startled. “Good—” She blinks. “You’re leaving?”
I pause, just slightly, enough to let her wonder. Then I look over my shoulder. “Would you prefer I stayed?”
Her lips purse. “I guess not.”
I nod. “Good. I’ll be expecting your report tomorrow morning.” As I walk away, I don’t look back. But I feel it—her eyes on my back and the image of her in the dress burned into my mind, teasing me all the way home.
***
“I’m not saying you have to consult me on every decision you make—” Raff steps into my office the next morning like he owns the air inside it and makes himself comfortable, “—but I would’ve assumed you’d tell me about making a move like that.”
He gestures toward the file on my desk, and I flip it shut before he can get a real look. “What move?”
“One Construction,” he says, watching me closely. “You’re thinking of making an offer, aren’t you?”
“How did you—?” I stop myself. It doesn’t matter how he found out. “I’m simply looking into it,” I say, leaning back in my chair.
Raff scoffs. “You don’t just look into something. Not unless you’re planning to pull it apart piece by piece. You asked Sophie to look into it, didn’t you? That means it’s something you’re invested in, not out of curiosity.”
Not One Construction, but Sophie. Everything revolves around her.
But I don’t say that out loud. “It’s due diligence, nothing more.”
He lets out a low laugh. “Sure. And I’m in this job for the pension.”
“Anyway,” he waves a hand, “I heard someone else made One Construction a better offer. Which probably explains why you’ve decided not to pursue it anymore, although that wouldn’t be the Domenico I know.”
He grins. “But… I might’ve found another way. There’s a party happening tomorrow night. Downtown. Very hush-hush, very exclusive.”
“I’m not interested,” I cut in flatly, reaching for the closed file like I’m already done with this conversation.
“You haven’t even heard the best part,” Raff drawls. “The CEO of One Construction, Mark Ross will be there. Maybe Sophie can work her charm better in a more… relaxed setting. That’s if you’ll take her as your plus one.”
The thought slams into me. If he’s there, Enzo Bellini won’t be far behind.
And if Sophie runs into her uncle? Everything unravels.
The cover. The lies. Even if she tries to hide it, I’ll be one step closer to finding out what she wants from me.
Raff’s still talking, amused with himself. “Or, if you’d rather not, I could go in your place. Represent the company. No big deal—”
“Send me the invite,” I say sharply. He lifts an eyebrow, but doesn’t push it as a smug smile touches his face. “I knew it,” he tuts. “You weren’t doing due diligence. You didn’t want to admit you’d missed the timeline.”
It’s not that I missed the timeline. Rather, I’ve found the best way to set the clock ticking.
It’s finally time for Enzo Bellini and me to meet.