Chapter 36
Chapter
Thirty-Six
“Life is more fun if you play games.”
― Roald Dahl
Jade
I didn’t know who the hell had pissed in Lazzio’s morning coffee, but damn, they must’ve hit the jackpot.
The man was fuming over everything .
The account manager had messed up the guest list and ordered way too many champagne bottles. Lazzio hadn’t wasted a second hanging up on him—except to tell him that if he hadn’t fixed it by noon, he would be fired.
Grace had brought him a tuna sandwich, and he’d groaned like she’d handed him a dead rat. He always hated tuna. Even his dog, Georgino, ate better than that.
His words, not mine.
Carlos Lazzio had come for coffee, but Angelo had sent him packing too, claiming there was no time for drinks when his employees were screwing everything up.
Normally, watching him blow a gasket was my favorite thing—like scoring the perfect pair of heels on clearance, or finally landing those concert tickets I’d been dying for.
Pure joy.
But today?
My chest tightened every time his eyes darkened or his hands twitched.
There was something in the air, something off-kilter, and I didn’t like it.
I was determined to figure it out.
Ignoring Grace’s ice-cold glare, I pushed open the door to his office and made sure to lock it behind me.
Angelo was hunched over his desk, papers scattered like a hurricane had torn through. His jacket was abandoned on the chair, leaving him in just a white shirt—three buttons undone, no tie. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, like he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours.
And somehow, he’d never looked better.
The way that dress shirt clung to his chest, his sleeves pushed up just far enough to tease at the strength beneath, and that chaotic hair? It was the kind of wreck you wanted to dive headfirst into and make even worse.
If I wasn’t about to demand answers from him, I might’ve let myself stare just a little longer.
But not today.
I’d known the man for six years, and I’d never seen him this tense. Ever.
I walked over to his desk and perched on the edge, crossing my leg.
He didn’t even glance up, just kept flipping through paperwork like I didn’t exist.
God, I hated being ignored.
I cleared my throat, louder than necessary. “I never thought you’d be the type to screw me and then act like I’m invisible, Lazzio.”
“Never thought you’d be the type to whine after a good fuck, Miss Whitenhouse. But I guess there’s a first for everything. Now get out. I’ve got a Zoom call to Paris in five minutes.”
Ouch.
“Rude,” I muttered, snatching a random piece of paper off his desk and pretending to study it like it held the secrets of the universe.
Two seconds later, I tossed it back down, bored out of my mind.
“Seriously, what’s wrong with you today?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Did someone steal your parking spot, or—God forbid—did the cleaning lady forget to empty your trash?”
He stayed silent.
I sighed. “You look like someone slapped your coffee out of your hand and then set your dog on fire, Lazzio.”
“Leave Georgino out of this.”
Him and that dog—an inseparable duo.
His future wife was gonna to have to accept being second place to a slobbering, tail-wagging soulmate.
I hummed softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I fiddled with the edge of my dress.
“Thanks for the flowers and the dress. It’ll be perfect for the masquerade ball tomorrow night.”
He nodded absently, his eyes glued to the computer screen.
Frustration simmered in my chest.
“How can I thank you, Angelo? I’m not one to let someone spoil me without giving something in return.”
His eyes flicked toward me, barely. “It’s a Christmas gift, Miss Whitenhouse. No need to thank me. Now get out. I’ve got work to do.”
I circled his desk, stepping close until I was behind him. My hands rested on his shoulders, and the tension there practically radiated through my fingertips.
I started to massage the knots in his muscles.
“You’re too wound up, baby,” I murmured, my voice soft against his ear. “More locked up than the sculptures downstairs. You really should learn to relax.”
I leaned in, my breath brushing his neck.
“Maybe I can help with that?”
“Jade—”
My name left his lips just as my hands wandered lower, fingers tracing the open collar of his shirt. I didn’t stop, sliding my hands beneath the fabric, my palms skimming the solid planes of his naked chest.
Heat radiated off his skin, tension coiled beneath it, and I pressed into him, my nails dragging just enough to leave a faint trail of fire behind.
My hands ventured further down. “Don’t worry, I won’t bite… unless you beg me to.”
“I’m the one who’ll make you beg, Jade. But trust me, you won’t like it.”
I snorted softly.
“Let’s play again,” I said, the words slipping out before I could stop them.
He let out a dry chuckle. “No.”
I inched closer, my nose brushing his ear, my lips grazing his skin. “Please?”
“No.”
“Two truths, one lie. C’mon, it’ll be fun.”
“Miss Whitenhouse?—”
“If you win,” I interrupted, my lips curling into something wicked, “I’ll let you do whatever you want with me for an hour. But if I win, you’re telling me what happened. Deal?”
He grabbed my hands, pulling them away from his shirt, and leaned away.
“I don’t need to win anything to make you do whatever I want, Miss Whitenhouse.”
Asshole.
Though, unfortunately, he wasn’t exactly wrong.
For some twisted reason, my body seemed to have an inconvenient obsession with Angelo Lazzio.
Guess I do have a soft spot for assholes.
I leaned in closer, “ Per favore ?”
He sighed, checking the time on his Rolex like I was wasting his precious minutes.
Which, in a way, I knew I was.
“Fine, but make it quick.”
I grinned, flipping his chair so he was facing me.
I straddled his lap without thinking twice, arms wrapping around his shoulders.
“Alright, here it goes. I’m lactose intolerant, I had a pet bunny in high school, but it randomly died one night, and… I’ve already won the lottery.”
He raised an eyebrow. “The lottery, huh?”
I giggled, leaning in a little closer, my lips brushing against his neck as I whispered, “Why don’t you try to find out?”
“I’ve watched you drink that sickly-sweet coffee for six damn years—caramel macchiato with whole milk. So, no, you’re not lactose intolerant.” He raised an eyebrow. “And when you had your ice cream the other night, your lips swelled up a little. But I knew it wasn’t the ice cream.”
Yep, he’d kissed me so damn good, so deep that night, my lips had deliciously swelled from it.
My fingers trailed over his jaw, lightly grazing his stubble, moving down to his full lips, and then slowly back up again. I leaned in, brushing a barely-there kiss against his lips, before pulling back.
“I never realized you paid that much attention to me, Lazzio,” I murmured softly.
His gaze softened slightly, the dark intensity melting into something deeper, something that made me blush. His fingers brushed against my cheek.
“How could I not? You’re the only thing I see.”
The words wrapped around me, sinking into my skin.
You’re the only thing I see.
Angelo’s phone had barely rung before Grace’s voice slithered into the room through the speaker.
“You can connect to the Zoom call now, sir. Mr. DuMarrais is waiting for you.”
I groaned so dramatically you’d think someone had just told me the Jimmy Choo sale had been canceled.
“Seriously? Now? Of all times? Can’t Mr. DuMarrais wait another five minutes while I save your soul from corporate monotony?”
Angelo didn’t even look up, just pinched the bridge of his nose in that infuriatingly calm way that told me that now, I was really getting on his last nerve.
“Miss Whitenhouse, not everyone has your flexible relationship with time.”
I gasped. “Flexible? I’ll have you know I’m a paragon of punctuality when it matters.”
He finally glanced up. “When does it ever matter to you?”
“Wow, harsh,” I shot back, digging a hand in his hair. “You wound me, Lazzio. I was this close to calling you my favorite workaholic.”
“Get out, Miss Whitenhouse.”
“But we didn’t finish the game,” I shot back, spinning his chair just enough to make the desk dig uncomfortably into my back.
He wasn’t amused.
Before I could blink, his hands had gripped my hips and pushed me to my feet.
“Later,” he muttered, his focus already drifting toward his computer.
A malicious idea bloomed in my head.
The kind of idea that would absolutely make him hate me—just a little.
Which, obviously, made it all the more irresistible.
“Fine,” I huffed, circling his desk. “But for the record, you would’ve lost anyway.”
His eyes flickered to me, sharp as ever, before he redirected his focus to the screen.
“ Bonsoir, Monsieur DuMarais, ” he said, smooth as sin, his Italian accent somehow getting thicker when he switched to French.
“ Bonsoir, Monsieur Lazzio,” came the Minister of Culture’s voice, rambling on about the Louvre and expanding museum contracts or whatever.
Blah, blah, money, blah.
Angelo’s eyes shifted back to me for half a second.
A warning. Don’t push me.
So, of course, I pushed.
Placing a single finger against my lips, I dared him to stay silent as I reached for the zipper of my dress.
His jaw tightened, and for a moment, I thought I heard his teeth grind.
I moved slowly, dragging the zipper down until the fabric slipped over my shoulder, pooling at the curve of my arms.
His hand, which had been so confidently clicking away at his mouse moments ago, froze completely.
“… et en plus, nous pourrions envisager un partenariat avec le chateau de la Loire… ” DuMarais droned on, blissfully unaware of what was happening behind the computer screen.
Angelo’s knuckles flexed against the desk.
His eyes, dark and unreadable, locked onto mine.
Honey and dark wood draped in silk sheets.
The dress slid further, exposing the curve of my collarbone.
I tilted my head, letting my hair fall to one side.
He blinked, once, twice, before snapping his attention back to the screen.
Victory tasted sweeter than I’d imagined.
I wasn’t sure whether I wanted to laugh or combust.
Probably both.
The dress crumpled to the floor in a heap of defeated fabric, and I stepped out of it with deliberate ease, leaving me in my favorite sparkly navy Agent Provocateur set—the one that screamed trouble —and a pair of glossy black Louboutins so sharp they might as well have been weapons.
If the dress was surrender, the lingerie was a declaration of war.
Angelo didn’t even blink.
His eyes stayed glued to the screen like his life depended on it, but the tightening of his jaw gave him away.
DuMarais’ voice dragged through the speaker, some nonsense about expanding accessibility to provincial museums.
Fascinating stuff. Really.
“ Forse questo attirerà la tua attenzione, capo, ” I whispered.
His brow arched.
Without a word, I dropped to my knees, crawling under his desk.
Sliding between his legs, I nestled in as his chair pulled back, giving me the room I needed.
His gaze lowered, tracking the way my hands skimmed over his thighs.
“ Madame Jean, propriétaire du chateau de Chambord, accepterait de vous louer ce chateau emblématique de l’histoire des rois de France …”
He snapped his attention back to the screen as I pressed my lips against his groin through his pants, dragging my tongue slowly, already feeling him harden.
He inhaled deeply. “ Merci beaucoup, Monsieur DuMarais .”
I yanked his zipper down, quiet but swift, as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and cursed under his breath.
My finger slowly traced the shape of his bulge before I reached for the top of his boxer briefs and lowered them, freeing his cock.
“ Je vous en prie, Monsieur Lazzio. Examinons ensemble le contrat que votre employée, Madame Whitenhouse, m’a envoyé hier .”
I leaned in, my lips just brushing his cock, my voice low. “That’d be me.”
Angelo remained silent as I let my tongue lick him slowly from base to top, his pulse growing under my tongue.
I heard his breathing change ever so slightly as I did it again, this time reaching the top and circling it with my tongue before taking it between my lips, my eyes fixed on his face.
“ Nous aimerions renégocier le contrat, non pas pour 30 millions de dollars, mais pour 28. ”
My hands gripped his cock, a low groan rumbling in his chest as his eyes shot me a dark look.
I shook my head and mouthed, “Do not negotiate.”
I took him back in my mouth, sucking slowly, and feeling him deliciously hit the back of my throat. His hand tangled in my hair, pulling me back up briefly before lowering me down again.
His dick throbbed even faster, and I rolled my eyes as he slipped from my lips just long enough for me to catch my breath before I quickly sucked him down again.
“ Le contrat est non négociable, Monsieur DuMarais. Donc, à vous de décider si vous souhaitez continuer avec nous ,” Angelo said, his voice a tiny bit breathless, which almost made me giggle.
“ Très bien. Nous acceptons alors votre proposition ,” Monsieur DuMarais said, his voice smooth and assured. “ Je vais vous envoyer le contrat signé par mon secrétaire. Au revoir, Monsieur Lazzio .”
As soon as the meeting wrapped up, Angelo tipped his head back, fingers digging into my scalp as he shoved my mouth down on him harder.
“Fuck, Jade, that feels too damn good,” he groaned.
I finally let out a throaty moan I’d been stifling through that dull meeting, feeling him pop out of my mouth.
Without missing a beat, I took his balls in my mouth, my hands expertly stroking his shaft as I sensed his thighs start to tense.
“Where can I?—”
He barely had time to finish before I dove back down, taking him deep in my throat, and sucking like my life depended on it.
A loud groan tore from his lips as he came in my mouth.
Fucking glorious.
I swallowed every drop, then teasingly licked the tip a few times before pulling him back under his briefs, planting soft kisses on the fabric before zipping him up with a satisfied grin.
“Feeling better now?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.
He laughed incredulously.
I gave his chair a playful shove, sending him rolling back just enough for me to stand.
As I bent down to grab my dress, I felt his hands circle my waist, pulling me back onto his lap.
“Not so fast,” he murmured, his lips finding their way to my neck.
I chuckled, trying to wiggle free. “Wow there, Romeo! Just because I gave you a blowjob doesn’t mean I’m giving you a free pass to push my buttons again. I, too, have a meeting—a really important one. You’re not the only one working hard around here, you know.”
“I thought we were just getting started with our productivity, Miss Whitenhouse.”
I giggled but finally freed myself from his grip and snatched my dress from the floor, pulling it back on with flair.
“As much as I love your dedication to my sexual well-being, I really do have to run. I’m all about that professional vibe today.”
“Of course, nothing screams more professional than sucking your boss’ cock.”
I grabbed his pen holder and flung it in his direction, watching it crash to the floor as he laughed. He quickly stood up, grabbing my face in his hands and kissing me deeply, which caught me completely off guard.
I pulled back, breathless.
“How about this—dinner at my place tonight? I’ll cook, you can relax. We can discuss all your hard work and the many ways I plan to promote you for it.”
“Hmm, dinner at your place… This promotion better be something spectacular. I’m talking over-the-top, mind-blowing, passing-out-from-pleasure good.”
He winked. “Oh, I assure you, it will be the best kind.”
I turned around, unlocked the door, and left, feeling Grace’s glare burning into my back. I couldn’t resist—I dragged a slow finger across my lips, wiping them clean, watching as her eyes widened when she realized exactly what had just gone down.
By the time I hit the elevator, I was feeling… suspiciously cheerful.
Who’d have thought that giving my boss a blowjob could do wonders for my mood?