Chapter 12
12
Mateo
G inny’s been here for all of three days, and just her presence has been sheer torture. It’s like she’s everywhere at once, catching my eye, passing by my office, sometimes exchanging a glance that lingers a beat too long. If I thought I’d be able to keep things strictly professional, that idea went out the window the first night I climbed into bed and fantasized about her being in it under me.
Every day, I find myself looking for reasons to check in on her progress, to see her as she has fabrics, paints, and furniture brought into that wing, to catch that spark in her eyes when she’s excited about something fitting that space just right. She’s brought life into my home.
Most days, I order lunch and have it sent to her without asking. She’s usually in the middle of a paint project or working on some small detail I would never notice, like the crown molding. I watch as she stands back to assess her work and nods her approval. I live for those moments, to see her light up. She clearly loves what she’s doing, and that makes it easier to justify her presence here. Truthfully, I’m already dreading the moment she leaves.
She hasn’t complained about the lunch intrusions, and they’ve become the highlight of my day. Sometimes, she even looks at me, surprised, her eyes softening for a second, and it’s enough to get me through the rest of the day.
It’s the nights that are torture, knowing that her room is just mere feet away. I toss and turn, battling with my desire, not wanting to let my fantasies get the best of me. It would make seeing her in real life that much more difficult. I can’t be jerking off to mental images of her in her new cream-colored sweater that clings to her curves so temptingly because then I would have a hard time not trying to rip said cream-colored sweater off of her during our lunch ritual.
Today, though, my attention is split. I’ve been on the phone for hours, dealing with a mess that is no doubt the fault of the Savinis. I own a number of different legitimate businesses around the city. Many of them started off as fronts for illegal activity, but I’ve been trying to keep more of them legit these days. In this political climate, it’s better not to give the Feds any reason to look my way.
One of those businesses is a small grocery store in an urban part of the city. It’s one of the only grocery stores in a food desert, and the margins are beyond excellent. The city has, begrudgingly, given me several awards for my innovation with that store. Last night, one of their shipments was tampered with, crates busted open and rifled through. Technically speaking, we don’t have proof yet that the Savinis are behind it, but my gut is telling me it’s them. The timing, the precision, all reek of their handiwork. I’ve already been on three separate calls, issuing orders and making it clear that whoever’s responsible will answer for it.
I also need my guys on the ground to step up and take a little more responsibility to get the situation sorted. The store needs the shipment as there are people in that community who are relying on it. My line of work may get a bad rep, but at the very least I could do a solid for the people that the government won’t give a shit about.
I finish a call and look over at Rocco, who’s just come in and is sitting across from me, his brow furrowed. He’s not looking his best today, a bit pale and tired.
“Go home, Rocco,” I tell him quietly, waving him away. “You’re working too hard. I’ve got this handled.”
He gives me a look like he might argue, but I raise a brow, making it clear that I don’t intend to discuss it. He finally nods, getting to his feet with a weary sigh.
“All right, boss,” he answers reluctantly. “You’ll call me if anything else comes up?”
“Will do,” I promise, watching him leave. I know Rocco, and this isn’t like him. He’s never sick, and I don’t like seeing him like this. I think back to our conversation about his retirement, and I realize that his health isn’t what it once was. I’m worried about him.
Before I can dwell on it too much, though, there’s a knock at the door. I look up and see Ginny standing there, buzzing with excitement. She can barely stand still. I feel an involuntary thrill as she steps in, her eyes flicking around the room before they settle on me.
“Good afternoon, Ginny,” I say, standing to greet her. The sight of her lifts my mood instantly, the day’s stress sliding off my shoulders. “Come on in.”
She steps into the office, her gaze catching on a few changes around the room.
“The renovations are coming along well,” she tells me, sounding proud. “It’s looking like a whole new house!”
I nod, gesturing for her to take a seat.
“Hopefully you’ve got everything you need. If you don’t, you simply have to ask,” I remind her, enjoying the way she blushes under my gaze. “Manpower, supplies, any of it. And I agree, from what I’ve seen so far, it’s looking great.”
She sits across from me, a small smile on her face.
“You’ve already given me so much,” she gushes. “The workers you’ve sent in have been a dream. At this rate, we’ll be finishing up by the middle of next week.”
“Well, it’s like I said, there are plenty of opportunities you can have if you’d like them. You’ve done great on this project.”
“I’m glad you’re happy with it,” she says in a quiet voice.
“And hey, feel free to slow down,” I reply, meeting her gaze. “There’s nothing wrong with taking your time. Being thorough.” I pause, letting a hint of a smile show.
She arches a brow, clearly picking up on the double entendre, and slowly grins at me.
“Well, if that’s what you want, I wouldn’t want to disappoint you,” she says, and I could swear there’s a note of seduction in her voice.
I shrug, leaning back in my chair, letting the silence stretch between us for a moment before I respond.
“You couldn’t disappoint me if you tried,” I tell her earnestly.
Unlike her father, she’s exactly who she says she is. She keeps her word and her skills are in alignment with her promises. I did admittedly take a chance on her knowing that she was slightly inexperienced, but she’s proven her talent and her willingness to work hard.
She holds my gaze, a flicker of amusement or intrigue dancing in her eyes. For a moment, it feels like we’re both skirting around what’s really going on here, the unspoken sexual tension that’s been building since the moment we met. But she doesn’t say anything, and neither do I.
“Anyway,” she says with a small cough. “You told me to come here today to get paid.”
She shrugs awkwardly as if she’s embarrassed to ask for what’s hers. Meanwhile, her father would be salivating if he knew that he would be receiving a large amount of cash. The more she shows me how different she is from Rex, the more I like her. Her humility is refreshing in this industry.
I reach for the small, locked drawer in my desk, opening it with a key I keep on me at all times. From inside, I pull out a thick leather binder, setting it on the desk. Ginny’s eyes widen slightly as I open it, revealing a small stack of cash bound with a slim rubber band. I take it out and hold it out to her.
“Your payment,” I say, watching her reaction.
She stares at the money, clearly taken aback.
“You weren’t kidding,” she murmurs quietly, clearly not intending for me to hear her. Then she looks up and speaks a little louder. “Mateo, really, this is far too much! I couldn’t possibly accept it.”
“Don’t be so humble,” I reply, waving off her concern. “There’s a lot more to come. You’ve earned every penny of it.”
She hesitates for a moment before taking the money, her fingers brushing mine briefly. The touch is electric, a quick, subtle spark that leaves me wanting more, though I mask it with a calm smile.
“Thank you,” she says softly, glancing up at me. “You really don’t know how much this means to me. All of it. This has been an amazing opportunity.”
I nod, holding her gaze, realizing that I’m not ready to let her go just yet.
“Next week, I would like twice daily reports on how the project is going,” I tell her. “Just to make sure we’re staying on track.”
Her eyes darken a fraction, her eyelids fluttering a bit, and now I know that she’s feeling this the same way I am.
“Of course,” she answers with no hesitation.
“I’m glad to hear it,” I smile, gently tapping the desk in a rhythmic pattern that betrays the nerves I feel around her.
After a beat, I decide to push my luck, tilting my head slightly as I ask, “What are you doing for dinner?”
The question catches her off guard, and I see a faint blush rise on her cheeks. She shakes her head, smiling a little as she replies, “I didn’t have anything planned.”
“Good,” I say, standing and extending a hand to her. “Join me tonight.”
For a moment, she hesitates, like she’s weighing the idea, but then she reaches out, placing her hand in mine. Her skin is soft, her grip firm, and as she stands, she gives me a look that tells me she’s still not sure what to make of me.
We exit the office, her hand still in mine, and it feels like it belongs there.