22. Chapter Twenty Two
Chapter Twenty Two
Donna
The office still does not feel entirely like mine.
I have been here long enough to unpack every box, hang the blinds, and learn which floorboard near the window creaks beneath my weight.
My name is finally painted on the glass door.
My license is framed on the wall. The filing cabinet contains actual files now instead of office supplies I had nowhere else to put.
Yet every morning, I unlock the door and feel as though I am still moving in.
Mocha trots ahead of me, makes one complete circuit of the room, then stops beside the window to inspect the street below.
“You did that yesterday,” I tell him. “Is it ever any different?”
He glances back at me and tilts his head.
“I didn't think so.”
Apparently dissatisfied with my judgment, he returns to the door and sniffs along the bottom edge.
I set my coffee on the desk and shrug out of my jacket.
The office is quiet this early. The business next door has not opened yet, and there is little traffic in the hallway beyond my door. Sunlight comes through the blinds in narrow bands, falling across the rug, the desk, and the chair.
I sit behind my desk and wake my computer. There are invoices to send, expenses to enter, and three messages from people whose problems sound far less interesting than my very first case.
I don't know how any other will live up to it.
One wants me to confirm whether her business partner is stealing from the company.
Another thinks his neighbor has been entering his garage at night.
The third left no details, only a number and a request that I call as soon as possible.
Normal, quiet work.
The kind I told myself I wanted when I opened this place.
Mocha abandons the door and comes to sit beside my chair.
I tear a corner from the piece of toast I brought with me and hold it out.
He takes it carefully from my fingers.
I drink my coffee and open the first message.
For several minutes, I manage to concentrate.
Then Mocha lifts his head.
A knock sounds against the glass.
I still with my hand resting on the mouse.
I think back to my first day in this office.
I had been surrounded by boxes and trying to convince myself the office didn't look as shabby as it really did.
Then Lorenzo Conti walked in wearing an expensive suit and dripping with sex.
Oh, I had no idea.
“Come in,” I call.
The door opens, and déjà vu washes over me.
Lorenzo steps into the office wearing another dark suit, the jacket fitted perfectly across his shoulders, his tie precise, his expression composed.
Still so unfairly sexy.
Except now I know exactly what is beneath that suit.
I know the warm olive skin stretched over his chest and stomach. The lean muscle in his body. The marks my nails leave across his back when he won’t stop teasing.
I also know exactly what he can do with that mouth. With that tongue…
My thighs press together beneath the desk before I can stop them.
Mocha rises and crosses the room at once.
Lorenzo closes the door behind him and looks down as Mocha reaches him.
“Good morning to you too,” he says.
Mocha leans against his leg.
The betrayal continues.
Lorenzo runs one hand over the dog’s head, then lifts his gaze to me.
I lean back in my chair. “If you're expecting me to get up and greet you like that, keep dreaming, pal.”
His mouth curves.
“Then I will come to you,” he says and does just that.
I watch him, letting my gaze travel slowly over him.
The first time he came here, I had watched him with suspicion.
Today, I watch the way his trousers move over his thighs and remember having those thighs between mine.
He rounds the desk, slides his hand into my hair, and roughly drags my head back before leaning down to kiss me.
My hands slide up the front of his shirt.
I moan when he nips my lower lip with his teeth, before he pulls back just as abruptly as he began.
“Good morning, Donatella.”
“It is now,” I say and am irritated at how breathy I sound.
He releases me and rests his hip against the desk.
“I came to see you.”
I raise my eyebrows. “Clearly.”
“I have a proposal for you.”
“I'm not sleeping with you on this desk.”
He considers it.
“Not today,” he agrees. “But I will remember you suggested it.”
“I didn’t—"
“I like where your mind is at, cara, but later,” he says. “First, work.”
Frustrating, sexy man.
I sit forward and lace my fingers together. “What kind of work?”
“We would like to hire you for another case.”
My smile fades slightly.
“We?”
“My family.”
I glance toward Mocha, who has settled beside Lorenzo as if he belongs there.
“And what does your family need investigated now?”
“The person who helped Rachel.”
I lean back in my chair.
“The person who set Alessio up,” I clarify.
“Yes,” he says. “We know she did not alter the footage or move Genevieve’s body alone. Whoever assisted her is still out there. Whoever targeted my son, my family, is still out there.”
“And you want me to find them.”
“Yes.”
I pick up my coffee again and study him over the rim.
“Why?”
He furrows his brows.
“What do you mean, why?” he asks, confused. “You did a good job for the first job, and we want you to continue.”
“You have people who can do this, don't you? You hired me the first time because you needed legally obtained evidence to clear your son. That is no longer the case. Unless you're planning on putting whoever this is behind bars.”
“No,” he says and leaves it at that.
“So why hire me?” I watch him steadily.
“You found Rachel when none of us knew she existed,” he says. “You saw things our people missed, followed them to the right places, and cleared Alessio in less than a week. We want to hire the person who's already proven she can solve this.”
“So this isn't some excuse to keep me close?” I ask. “This is just about results?”
He looks me in the eye and says something I don't expect. “Quite the opposite, actually.”
I lower the mug.
“What does that mean?”
“It means hiring you gives you a reason to put distance between us.” His gaze stays on mine. “You were very clear about your rules concerning clients.”
For once, I have no quick response.
“So you don’t want me to take the job?”
“I want you to take it,” he says. “I simply know what it may cost me.”
My pulse gives a strange little jump.
“And what exactly might it cost you?”
His eyes move over my face.
“This,” he says quietly. “Whatever is happening between us.”
I set the coffee down.
“You think I’ll end it if I work for you again.”
“I think you may try.”
I stare at him.
“And you came here anyway.”
“My son was targeted,” he says. “Whoever did it is still out there. I cannot let what I want interfere with finding them.”
I fold my arms. “You make it sound as though I’m the only one who might complicate this.”
“You are the one with the rule.”
“And you are the one who came in here and kissed me senseless.”
His lips curve. “I said you might try. I did not say I would make it easy.”
I narrow my eyes. “That sounds suspiciously like a challenge.”
“It is a statement of confidence.”
“In yourself?”
“In us.”
That catches me off guard.
Lorenzo straightens from the desk, but he does not move away.
“You can set whatever professional boundaries you need,” he says. “I will respect them.”
“And the personal ones?”
“Those, I intend to fight.” His gaze drops to my mouth. “And I intend to use every weapon in my arsenal.”
Heat curls in my stomach.
“That sounds less like confidence and more like a threat.”
“It can be both.”
I hold his gaze. “You realize this is exactly why sleeping with clients is a terrible idea.”
“And yet you are considering it.”
“You're not a client. Yet.”
He leans down, bracing his hands on the arms of my chair, trapping me.
“That’s right. I’m not,” he says, his voice deepening. “So you shouldn’t have any qualms about what we’re about to do.”
His mouth lowers toward mine.
I meet him halfway.