Chapter 15
Chapter Fifteen
Picture Perfect
Raf
“Don’t even think about bringing her to the office,” I command, not bothering with pleasantries.
“You’re lucky you’re getting fair warning,” Avery says. “Your overnight guest was adamant she wanted to surprise you.”
“She stayed in the guest room,” I snap.
“I didn’t ask. Whatever you two get up to is your business. My job is to keep her out of trouble.”
“Nothing fucking happened.”
“Again, I didn’t ask,” Avery says.
“Also, good luck with keeping her out of trouble,” I huff. “She’s a walking hazard.”
“If I didn’t know better, she’s somewhat of a hazard to you too…”
“When did you get so fucking mouthy. One morning with the devil and she’s got her claws in you too.”
His chuckle rumbles down the line.
Avery is not a shit-stirrer like my brothers and Marco, but he’s very fucking observant. The fact he’s calling me out is telling.
“She’s coming, I gotta go. Unless you want to have this little chat with her yourself?”
“Avery, do whatever you need to convince her I can’t see her today.”
“I think we both know that’s a losing battle.”
“Fuck you.”
Just before the line goes dead, I hear the door open and her gleeful voice echoes down the line.
“Come on, Avery. Take me to Law Daddy.”
Fuck.
I close my eyes and pinch the bridge of my nose, which turns out to be the worst thing I could do because all I see is her.
As if on a loop, I replay the moment this morning where I allowed my eyes to freely roam over the lines of her body, cataloguing the way my T-shirt draped over her full, perky tits and wrapped around her hip before stopping to admire where she had tucked the excess fabric between her thighs.
The sight both knocked the wind out of me and ignited a sense of urgency to get out of the house so I wouldn’t have to face her looking all doe-eyed and tempting at the same time.
I need to get a handle on these irrational thoughts and the need to protect her. I try, more professionally this time, to convince Avery to stop her from coming here. I need more time to formulate some sort of plan to disassociate myself from the information I now wish I could unknow.
Avery, can you please tell Ms. Gigioliotti my calendar isn’t open for client meetings today.
As if right on cue, the devil herself texts. Multiple times as is her style.
Little Devil:
Mr. Princi, I write to inform you that your attempt to cancel our scheduled appointment is denied. I will see you at 10a.m. I’ve emailed you the contract.
Little Devil:
Before you interrogate me, Sophia gave me your email address.
Little Devil:
I also suggest you don’t try to get my sexy bodyguard to do your bidding. It’s beneath you. And we both know you have my number.
Irritation and something with a lot more fizz than fury bubble to the surface.
When Avery delivered his findings on the surveillance I had him do to triple-check Marco’s deal with AJ Gigioliotti wasn’t going to be a death knell for my best friend, I got the assurance I needed that Marco and AJ’s business deal was legit.
What I didn’t count on was learning the part Chiara has been chosen to play in this supposed truce between the two Mafia families.
Does she know what’s expected of her? Or has she been kept in the dark with no say in the matter?
Regardless, she’s on her way over to my office on a Sunday so I can help her with the legalities around her sponsorship and work visa. If AJ’s heated reaction is anything to go by, I’m certain her overbearing family had no inkling about any of these plans.
Indignation on her behalf plays tug-of-war with my stubbornness.
Yes, I saw the transcript of a meeting between her uncle Gino Gigioliotti and Domenic Rizzo, with Arty providing legal counsel.
Yes, that transcript may have detailed a deal that will most certainly derail every plan that Chiara has carefully laid out to make the move to New York and follow her dreams. Yes, it’s a plan that will strip this young woman of her autonomy to make one of life’s biggest decisions.
But it’s not information I need for my case.
Therefore, it’s not my problem. None of my business.
And yet my subconscious whispers, But what if someone was trying to do that to your sister?
Dammit! I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale deeply. An idea sparks. Despite the evident disapproval of her surprise job reveal, Marco said Chiara’s close with her cousin. Surely AJ would put an end to this madness if he knew about it. I make a snap decision I hope I won’t regret.
The intercom buzzes to tell me someone would like to access the elevator to our floor. I walk to the intercom mounted near my door and press the button to receive the call.
“Hello. Is that you, Avery?”
“Mr. Princi. How rude to assume I need a man to do my bidding. Please, would you be so kind as to let me up for our scheduled appointment.”
“Access denied,” I rumble even as I press the button that will, in fact, give them access to this floor.
She scoffs, adding, “Raf. How does one say, I’m with the Mob?”
I hear Avery clear his throat in the background like he’s trying to stifle a laugh.
“I believe you just said it,” I grit out, because if only she knew the so-called Mob she thinks will protect her doesn’t give a fuck about her. “But there’s no need for threats, Ms. Gigioliotti. You’re free to come on up. Just key in the floor.”
“If that is your attempt at a joke, I sincerely hope you’re a better lawyer.”
I regret leaving her that double espresso. It seems it’s given her sharp tongue extra bite.
“Oh, and Mr. Princi? I don’t make threats. I make promises.”
I sigh heavily and bow my head in exasperation. She doesn’t back down from a fight. Except when I found her last night, when it looked like it had all but left her, and I wonder if maybe it wasn’t just the alcohol but something more that left her in a heap on the floor.
I shake my head to rid myself of the nagging thoughts. At the rate I find myself doing this lately, I’m going to need a chiropractor on staff.
I return to my desk and stack a few more files on the ones already there, then scatter a few papers about to really cement my argument when I break the news to Chiara that I cannot take on her case or any more work, for that matter.
Those walls she accused me of having need to be high, bullet-proof, and one hundred percent impenetrable.
Especially to ward off the devil herself.
“Mr. Princi, permission to enter?” comes Avery’s deep voice from the door. He is well-trained, unlike his charge who is already striding through the door, instantly sucking up more oxygen than someone of her stature should.
“My appointment is for 10 a.m., so Mr. Princi should be awaiting my arrival. Therefore, we’re on my time, and that’s all the permission I need.”
“Ms. Gigioliotti, delightful to see you again,” I can’t help but snip as I take in her tiny skirt, with a fitted, knit button-down sweater and those god-forsaken thigh-high boots she should be banned from wearing—not because they look bad, but because they increase the likelihood of injury to both her and me by the way my blood heats and rushes to my dick all at once whenever I see her in them.
I use my self-control to squash their effect on me and get ready to play the part of the professional asshole.
“Avery has the good sense to understand that there is a plethora of sensitive information in this office, and seeking permission is not entirely necessary but certainly appreciated. And courteous.”
“Are you accusing me of not being courteous?” she demands, eyebrow arched and a knowing smirk tugging at the side of her mouth.
“Not your strongest trait, but I’ll let it slide.”
“I’ll just go and wait in the foyer for you, Ms. Gigioliotti,” says Avery.
Turning to give him a sweet smile, she says pointedly, “Thank you, Avery. I’d like to give you the courtesy of being well-informed.
I’ll be going to meet the girls for Stella’s famous Better Than Cock Cocktails after this meeting.
I believe we’re going to Marco and Sophia’s house. Do you have his address?”
I choke on my saliva and cough, while Avery just rolls his lips and gives a silent nod before retreating.
Lucky bastard. Me, not so much.
“Is there a problem?”
“Bit early for hair of the dog, don’t you think?”
“That’s not what I’ll be drinking. I’ll be having Better Than Coc—”
“You do not need to repeat it,” I say, wishing she would stop saying the word cock. Especially in that raspy, low voice. “I got it the first time. I’m simply suggesting you might want to slow down on the alcohol after last night.”
“Raf—do you mind if I call you that? Or perhaps Daddy would be more fitting as you continue to feel the need to scold me.” Her eyes bore into me, and I glare back.
“Not a fan of Daddy? Fine. Then I’d say we’re at least on a first-name basis seeing as I had a sleepover and saw your show in the shower but did the courteous thing and left you to it. ”
This fucking woman. The urge to beat her at her own game is bubbling within, but I choose to ignore her needling and the urge to show her who’s boss, going for matter-of-fact instead.
“No, you may not call me Raf, Daddy, or any other nickname you think will get under my skin. You’re a client now, and I prefer to stick with formalities with clients. ”
“Except you told Avery to tell me you’re too busy to take me on as a client.
Thrilled to know that you’ve been able to get me on the roster.
” She gives me a devious smirk, like she’s just called me out at my own game.
Which she kind of has, but I take the moment to pause before speaking again, turning over in my mind the best way to let her down.
But I don’t get a chance before she speaks again, reaching into her large Chanel tote bag before she does.
“Now, before we get to business, I have a gift for you,” she says, clutching a black rectangular box with an embossed black ribbon.
“I can’t accept gifts from clients.”