Chapter 6
NICK
My mid-morning meeting with Marcus was ultimately uneventful, like many of my meetings with him.
He’s annoyingly good at his job while still managing to keep our big brother happy with his level of involvement in the family business.
I don’t know why Bruno doesn’t just set his sights on Marcus succeeding him as Mom’s right hand.
It’d be good for everyone, and I’d have more time to do the things I care about.
Like reading through the texts Riley sent me last night instead of reading the reports I should be looking over. She’ll be more important to me than breathing soon if things keep going this way.
I won’t lie, I’ve been obsessed with her since the Halloween party.
She stepped into my office with those cute little glasses, her hair tied in a neat ponytail, and a pristine black pencil skirt falling just below her knees, showcasing just enough of her curves to have me salivating.
The hungry, demanding part of me wanted to sink my teeth in immediately. I’ve never been good at letting go.
And, well, with the world at my fingertips, there’s no reason to.
The money I spent on hiring a PI was less than what I usually spend on a suit but infinitely more rewarding. I haven’t had a chance to do much with the information, but I have everything from her medical history to the details of her childhood tucked away in a file.
My favorite thing the guy uncovered was her reading habits. She hardly ever picks up a book that’s not either dark romance or kink-related, and I can’t be anything but thrilled.
It’s perfect for my plans for her.
The things I want to do to her have always been depraved, but after last night, my obsession no longer has its teeth around my throat.
No, now they’re wrapped right around my heart, demanding more and more and more.
The taste I got from her over a year ago at the Halloween party wasn’t enough, and last night was little more than a tease.
Scrolling through our texts again is pure torture, knowing she’s only a few floors below me right now, separated by a quick elevator ride rather than the winding streets of New York.
Maybe I could convince her to go to the bathroom and take a few pictures for me, just something to tide me over.
Before I can decide if that’s a good idea or if it’ll only serve to get me achingly hard in my slacks, a quick knock sounds at my door. I lock my phone and place it face down on my desk, pulling a random file over before calling out.
“Come in.”
My assistant hustles in, a stack of folders in her hands as she balances her work phone between her shoulder and her ear.
“Yes, of course, ma’am. Could you give me one moment, please?
I just need to give the files to Mr. D’Amico so he can look them over.
” She hands the files over, then cups her hand over the receiver.
“For your meeting with the production team on the Allied project at two. Riley is finalizing the last of the numbers now. Mrs. Fourneaux will be joining as well.”
I flick through the folders briefly before nodding at Julia, and she ducks out without waiting for anything further, already back to soothing Mrs. Fourneaux’s worries.
Neurotic, that one, but she’s managed to put together one hell of a portfolio. Investing in her was a good choice.
I glance at my phone, tempted to go back to my fantasies, but I didn’t make D’Amico Global a household name by slacking off. I’ll have plenty of time to tempt Riley into indulging me later. With the thought of having her all to myself once she’s off tonight to motivate me, I bury myself in work.
The data before me is nothing new—I keep my finger on the pulse of what goes on around here.
This, though? This level of detail is almost unprecedented.
The comparisons listed in the reports I flip through are researched back almost five years, and projections are given for multiple trajectories, each with their own timelines and their own likelihoods.
If I were working Riley’s job, I never would’ve even considered doing half of this.
She’s like a one-woman analysis, marketing, and development team.
If I wouldn’t feel guilty for overworking her, I’d insist she have a hand in every single high-profile project we touch. Her competency is only serving to make me want her more.
As I scan through them, my eyes catch on a specific phrase, one that instantly sticks out to me.
In the instance of depreciation occurring at the expected rate, capital gain at the time of reallocation is likely to range…
It’s something I expect all my analysts to look into. We sell assets on behalf of our clients all the time, and it’s important to keep trends in mind along with physical wear and tear. While it’s not an unexpected addition, everyone phrases their findings a little differently.
People write reports the same way they talk—repetitively.
The only issue is this isn’t a phrase I’ve seen in Riley’s reports before. In fact, I’ve rarely ever read any of Riley’s analysis reports, at least not until I put her in charge of the current projects she’s working on. But this phrase isn’t new to me.
I’m fairly certain it’s one I’ve seen used in Sloane’s reports.
Her quarterly analysis, specifically.
I turn to my computer, pulling up the last quarterly report she sent in. The phrase I’m looking for is easy to find, sticking out like a sore thumb. It takes me less than five minutes to find six instances of that phrasing in her reports.
It only started showing up about a year and a half ago.
If Riley were anyone else, I’d assume she was having her superior help her with her work. But she’s not.
I’ve seen the way her face crumples when Sloan talks to her through the cameras, and it’s no secret that Sloane’s desperate for my attention.
It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if she’s been having Riley do her work for her, hoping to catch my attention with her skill since she was failing at getting me to look twice by shoving her tits in my face.
Not to mention that this would explain all the overtime Riley’s been working. She got the longest Fourneaux files to me within a day, and she’s already working on the last one. It’s obvious she’s not a slow worker.
While I’d be pissed at anyone in the company abusing their subordinates, it’s even worse that it’s Riley being forced into all this work.
I could wring Sloane’s neck.
I swivel to the landline on my desk and punch in Riley’s personal extension, positively fuming. She answers on the second ring, sounding distracted.
“Hello?” she asks, the clatter of her keyboard muffled through the phone.
“Riley.” She squeaks in surprise, the sounds of typing stopping immediately. “I need to see you in my office. Immediately.”
“Mr. D’Amico!” she says breathlessly. “Yes, of course. I’ll be right up.”
I hang up before I can call her a good girl, my anger soothed just by the sound of her voice. It’s not enough, though. Nothing short of Riley admitting the truth and knowing that I won’t let Sloane keep this up is enough.
Riley is mine, and I take good care of what’s mine.
She makes it up in record time, tapping out a hurried knock on my door barely two minutes after I hang up the phone.
“Come in.”
Her ponytail is frizzy, and she smooths a hand over it as she steps into my office, a nervous smile tugging at the corners of her lips.
The sight of her calves beneath the hem of her skirt conjures up the memory of that leg peeking out of bubbly bathwater.
I have to grit my teeth to stop myself from growling at the thought.
“I’m so sorry it took me so long, sir,” she says, rushing over to my desk to place a file in front of me.
My brows furrow in confusion before I realize what she’s apologizing for. She thinks she took too long getting this file to me and that I’m frustrated with her.
God, nothing could be further from the truth.
“You’re the only person I’ve ever had get me reports this detailed so quickly,” I assure her. “You do excellent work. Sit.”
I keep myself stern and serious as I wait for her to sit, but I can’t help praising her a little. It’s true, but I’d say it even if it was a lie just to see the sweet flush of pride on her face. She tries to hide it by pushing her glasses up, but it’s impossible to miss.
I hate the way it vanishes as soon as I continue speaking.
“How long have you been doing Sloane’s quarterly reports?” I ask bluntly.
There's no point beating around the bush when we both know the truth.
Her hazel eyes blow wide with panic, and she glances down at the folder on my desk like she wants to snatch it back up. “I—No, sir, I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me,” I say sharply. “Answer the question.”
Riley bows her head, not meeting my eyes as she balls her hands into fists in her lap, sucking in a nervous breath.
“I—it’s not all the time,” she says quietly. “Sloane asks me for help occasionally when her workload is too heavy for her.”
I hum thoughtfully, glancing back to the reports I have on my computer screen that date back a year and a half.
“Occasionally?” I ask, watching Riley nod, stilted and unsure as she looks up again. “Sloane shouldn’t be asking her subordinates for help at all. She’s the department head, although I’m starting to rethink that decision. And ‘occasionally’ shouldn’t mean every quarter since you started, Riley.”
Riley pales further, the slight blush that decorated her cheeks when she came in nonexistent now.
“Why didn’t you report it?”
“It’s fine,” she insists, looking even more terrified at the thought of saying anything. “I like my job. I don’t mind a little extra work, and I didn’t want to cause any problems.”
A little extra work wouldn’t keep her here several hours after everyone else goes home every day.
I sigh heavily, a sharp huff of breath out of my nose. I’m pissed in all directions. At Sloane for daring to do this in the first place, at myself for not catching it earlier, and at Riley for not telling me.
Okay, I’m not mad at Riley, but I’m upset that she didn’t give me a chance to solve her issues until I inserted myself.
She didn’t even let HR try to step in. I suppose I can’t expect less.
She’s so sweet and is always willing to help others in the company.
I’ve heard from other departments countless times over the past year about how helpful and kind she’s been.
Why would I think anything less in this sort of situation?
Not to mention Sloane isn’t the nicest person to work with. I don’t know why I’ve kept her around. All I’ve had are complaints against her.
“Am I going to be written up?” she asks meekly, and I look up sharply to see her shoulders trembling as she stares blankly at the hardwood floor.
My mind unhelpfully conjures up the sight of her on her knees for me as I tell her we can work something out instead of a write up.
I push the thought away without hesitation.
Now isn’t the time to be thinking with my dick and she doesn’t deserve that. She didn’t do anything wrong, per se. It isn’t a violation that she did the reports; it’s more of an ethical thing on Sloane's part.
“No,” I say gruffly. “You’re not the one in trouble. I’ll handle this so you can focus on your own work.”
Her ponytail flies through the air in an arc of honey-brown as she shakes her head, looking at me pleadingly.
“Mr. D’Amico, it’s fine, really. Sloane will be furious if she finds out I said something, and I really don’t want to cause any more problems. Please, sir, she probably won’t interrupt me if I’m working on files specifically for you.”
She somehow manages to continue being timid even as she argues with me, and at any other time, I’d find it cute. Right now, I simply narrow my eyes at her. “What do you mean by more problems? Is there something else going on?”
I swear, I’ll send Sloane packing without any warning if she’s been doing more than this behind my back.
Fuck her daddy’s connections; I’ve built my own.
And I have no problem ruining her and her father if she continues to get in my way.
She came here as a favor to her father, a way to give his spoiled daughter a reality check when it comes to hard work.
And clearly, she’s learned nothing. So firing her isn’t an issue and her daddy’s bridge is one I’d gladly burn just to watch her crumble.
Riley glances away nervously, obviously skirting the question when she says, “I just don’t want to make waves. All I want to do is keep my head down and do my job.”
Annoyance flares in my gut at the thought of sending her back down to get bossed around and have work heaped on top of her, at the thought that she believes she deserves it.
She’s the most brilliant employee I’ve ever had.
If I thought she’d go for it, I’d promote her to department head here and now.
“I’ll handle my business how I see fit,” I say firmly.
She flinches away from the chill in my voice, and I curse myself internally.
I keep forgetting that she isn’t like the other women around here who beg for my attention.
She’s softer, sweeter. If I wasn’t so obsessed with her, I’d probably have my assistant give her pointers on surviving the corporate world.
I don’t want to make so much progress with her only to take ten steps back by losing my temper. Gentling my voice, I take a deep breath before I continue.
“I’ll keep your name out of it when I talk to Sloane,” I promise. “You have nothing to worry about, Miss Morgan.”
Her eyes snap up to mine in surprise, and I realize my mistake instantly. Fuck, I should have picked a nickname that I wouldn’t accidentally call her at the office while I was texting her.
Why couldn’t I just stick with Princess?
I steel my spine and pretend nothing happened, refusing to show even a flicker of recognition on my face. Calling her by her last name is totally normal. If I don’t give her anything to read into, she won’t think about my slip up for long.
“That’ll be all. Get back to work for now. If Sloane keeps any of this up, I expect to know about it.”
She hesitates for a moment longer but shakes it off and nods before standing.
“Yes, sir.”
I let myself ogle the trim cut of her waist and the curve of her ass as she turns and heads back to the door.
My imagination torments me with thoughts of telling her everything before bending her over my desk and fucking her until neither of us can talk as she slips out quietly, closing the door behind her.
I scoff and lean back in my chair, dragging a hand down my face in an attempt to get my errant mind back in order.
She’s not ready for the truth yet. I need to play the game properly if I want her to stay mine, to keep her for myself.
Allowing my impatience to get the better of me won’t do either of us any favors.
And I’m not willing to lose her.