Chapter 32
SAbrINA
As I crossed the polished black marble floor, its gold diamond-shaped mosaic glinting under the lights, the sharp echo of my heels rang out, perfectly in sync with the erratic rhythm of my heart.
The sound seemed to ripple through the space, drawing a sudden pause.
Conversations stilled, as every face turned in our direction.
Damn it. Stupid heels.
Heat rose in my cheeks, and I fought the urge to lift my fingers to cool the burn.
But then, with a sharp pang of relief, I realized—they weren’t looking at me.
All eyes were on Sebastian.
He strolled through the imposing lobby with the confidence of a man who knew he not only controlled but owned the world around him.
My body instinctively shifted closer to his.
For the first time since I’d met him, I walked into a room without his guiding hand at my lower back, and I missed the protective gesture.
As we neared the impressive reception desk made of two massive slabs of onyx, several staff members rushed up.
Keeping pace with Sebastian’s quick steps, they all spoke at once, holding up files.
Without breaking stride, Sebastian signed several forms and responded to their questions in deep, clipped tones.
I faded into the background as Sebastian turned into Signore Diamanti, CEO and owner of the House of Diamanti. It was an orchestrated business dance, with more and more people swirling around him—until one of the staff tripped me.
It was probably mostly my fault. I was so busy looking around that I didn’t notice where I was going and stumbled over the pointy toe of my slingbacks.
As I pitched forward, already imagining the bloody, broken nose I’d get from the hard marble floor, a strong arm caught me around the middle and hauled me backward against a wall of solid muscle.
Sebastian had caught me.
Silence blanketed the crowded lobby.
His arm tightened around my waist. “Are you all right?”
Afraid to speak, I just nodded.
He released me, but I didn’t move as he marched a few steps behind us to retrieve my shoe. There were shocked murmurs as he went down on one knee and lifted my foot.
My eyes widened, and I pressed my hand to his shoulder for balance. “I can put it on myself.”
He winked as his hand slid under my low skirt, grazing my calf. “I like the reminder of how we met.”
The world stopped.
It was just the two of us…and his touch on my skin.
He slipped my shoe on and stood. Without a word, he slowly turned his head, glaring at the surrounding staff. One by one, they lowered their heads before pivoting on their heels and retreating like chastised dogs.
Sebastian didn’t seem to notice the curious glances cast our way during their hasty exit.
He marched toward a set of elevator doors separate from the others.
This time with his hand on my lower back.
The polished brass elevator doors opened, and we stepped inside. After the noise and clamor of the lobby, the small elevator sounded repressively quiet.
“Should I make my way to the HR department? There’s probably paperwork I need to fill out, and I need to give them my EU visa information.”
“That is all being handled by an assistant. Today you will stay close to me.”
The opening of the doors masked the high-pitched squeak of my voice. “To you?”
He raised an eyebrow as he looked down at me. “Do you have an objection, Signora Badalamenti?”
Yes, of course I do!
“No, of course not, Signore Diamanti.”
I scrunched my toes into my shoes to keep them from flipping off again. This floor seemed much quieter. Various staff offered sedate nods in greeting before returning to their computer screens.
An attendant ran up, took our coats, and remarked to Sebastian that they would begin preparing the morning meeting’s refreshments. After a quick thank-you, Sebastian took out a set of keys and unlocked a pair of double doors.
Pushing them open, he gestured for me to enter.
I hesitated at the doorway, my pulse fluttering as I stepped into Sebastian’s office.
The herringbone parquet floors gleamed like polished gold, and the vaulted ceilings made the space feel almost like a cathedral, a shrine to his success.
It wasn’t just an office; it was a lair.
I could picture him sitting at that sleek, custom-made desk, plotting his next move like a supervillain, pulling invisible strings to control the world’s riches.
He moved straight to the files on his desk and answered a call.
Without any introduction or niceties, he fired off, “Explain the inconsistent carbon rates in the Chemical Vapor Deposition from the latest reports. Now.”
My nerves spiked, and I forced myself to look anywhere but at him.
The floor-to-ceiling windows drew me in, offering a stunning view of Piazza di Spagna below. People bustled through the cobblestone streets, blissfully unaware of the puppet master seated in the corner office above them.
I tried to ground myself in the scene, but my gaze strayed to the painting above his desk, Venus and Cupid. Their beauty and passion somehow unsettled me in this space.
It was a perfect reflection of him: captivating, powerful, and just a little dangerous.
An assistant entered with a silver tray holding fresh cream and biscotti. She set it near the sideboard by the espresso machine.
One by one, people filed into the office.
Each greeted Sebastian with a nod before taking a seat around the conference table near the windows, often fixing themselves an espresso first.
Some smiled and nodded in my direction; others avoided eye contact altogether.
Sebastian ended his call, accepted an espresso handed to him by the assistant, and moved to stand at the head of the conference table.
Before sitting, he set his espresso cup down and addressed the nearest person seated to his right. “That seat is to be occupied by Signora Badalamenti.”
The man frowned. “But I always sit here.”
Sebastian placed both palms on the table and leaned down. “Move,” he growled.
The man sprang up like a jack-in-the-box.
I stretched out my arm. “No, really. He can sit there. I’m fine over here.”
Without taking his eyes off me, he pulled the chair out farther.
The unspoken command weighed between us.
Avoiding the curious gazes in the room, I silently took the seat beside him.
My knee bounced under the table as the heat of their stares burned through the silk of my dress.
Sebastian’s warm hand covered my knee.
I quickly turned my head forward, cricking my neck, feeling hot blood rush beneath my skin. I tried desperately to focus on the meeting instead of the touch of his hand.
He’d touched me three times since we entered the building—not that I was keeping track.
Due to the House of Diamanti’s international staff, the meeting was conducted mostly in English. Occasionally, someone would mention something in Italian before quickly repeating it.
It reminded me of my time working in Paris, where communication was often a mix of gestures and languages.
It was one of the things I loved about the fashion industry.
I loved how I was part of a process that dated back to the earliest trading days of society, where people from different regions communicated in elementary ways to trade glass beads and polished bones.
Sebastian introduced me as the newest member of the stylist team.
Florian, the Creative Director, half rose and bowed his head in greeting. If he was angered by Sebastian’s unilateral decision to hire me, he didn’t show it.
Not everyone was as gracious; the hostile looks directed at me were hard to miss.
Sebastian’s whore.
The unspoken accusation like a flashing red sign over my head.
My cheeks burned with humiliation.
When it became too much, I shifted my seat back.
Ignoring the person speaking, Sebastian asked, “Where are you going?”
My cheeks burned brighter under the heightened attention. “I was just going to get a pen and pad.”
He set his pen on a leather portfolio pad and slid them across the table. “Use mine.”
Murmuring a soft “thank you,” I scooted my chair back under the table. The pen warm and heavy in my hand, its elegant calligraphy tip exuding authority.
The meeting continued, covering supply chain management, labor, and the current pricing market. When the discussion changed to marketing efforts for the upcoming holiday season, I sat up straighter. This was my realm.
“As you know, in the new year, we will be launching our new lab-created diamond initiative. Florian, I want Sabrina in charge of the campaign photo shoots. Tell marketing that she will be their direct liaison.”
Audible gasps rippled around the table.
The House of Diamanti, the world’s largest diamond supplier, entering the controversial lab-created diamond market was seismic news.
And Sebastian had just placed me in charge of its aesthetic direction.
“Sebastian, I don’t think I should—” I began.
“Are you questioning my authority on the matter, Signora Badalamenti?” He raised an eyebrow.
I licked my lips. “No, of course not, sir.”
“Good. If there are no other objections, meeting adjourned.”
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
As everyone rose, Florian approached me with a stiff smile.
“Signora Badalamenti, if you will follow me to the third floor, I’ll show you our offices and look into getting you a desk.”
“Thank you. That would be—”
“Signora Badalamenti’s office will be here on the fifth floor—next to mine,” Sebastian interjected.
Florian’s shoulders tightened. Several staff members paused, their gazes darting between us.
My eyes widened, praying for the floor to open and swallow me whole.
Tilting his chin up, Florian’s smile remained tight. “Very well. If you would be so kind as to join me in my office, I’ll introduce you to the support staff.”
I moved to follow him, but Sebastian’s hand on my upper arm restrained me.
Florian’s paused. “Perhaps once you are settled in.”
My throat tightened so much I wasn’t even sure if I could get my next words out. “Yes, thank you. I’ll be right down.”
As soon as I’m done yelling at your boss.
The moment the door closed behind the last staff member, I turned on Sebastian. “What the fuck?”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “What?”
I swung my arm out, gesturing to the meeting table. “What the hell was all that?”
He stepped forward.
I backed up.
He kept coming. “You made it very clear that we were to have a strictly professional relationship.”
I pivoted my head to check behind me as I continued to back up. I placed my hand on the edge of his desk so I wouldn’t collide with it. “Yes, exactly.”
He continued to press forward as I circled around the desk. “You said nothing about special treatment.”
I narrowed my eyes. “You know I meant that too.”
He unfolded his arms, shrugged out of his jacket, and flung it over the desktop. “Then you should have asked for that during our…heated negotiation.”
I could just make out the faint outlines of his chest tattoo through the thin white silk of his shirt. “You can’t put my office next to yours.”
He twisted both his cuff links off and tossed them aside as he continued to pursue me around the massive executive desk while he rolled up his sleeves. “I can do whatever I want. I own the company.”
I stumbled and grabbed the edge of the desk. Stupid slingbacks. “Fine. But you can’t put me on such an important campaign.”
“Do you doubt your abilities?”
My back stiffened as I stopped shifting backward. “Not at all.”
In fact, I already had a hundred ideas for how I wanted the photo shoots to go and hoped they aligned with whatever the marketing department was planning.
Sebastian leaned forward, placing his palms on the desk, on either side of my hips.
Caging me in.
His gaze moved to my mouth. “Then tell me, Signora Badalamenti, are you going to toss away this incredible opportunity and quit because you don’t like where I’m putting your desk?”
Well, dammit. Not when he put it that way.
“Not at all, Signore Diamanti.”
God, he smelled good.
The corner of his mouth lifted. “Brava ragazza. Now get back to work before I decide to make you earn your paycheck in a far more creative way.”
Ducking under his arm, I practically ran to the door, and with my hand on the doorknob, I turned. “By the way…”
He turned and half sat against the desk as he crossed his arms again, showing off his muscled, bare forearms. “Yes?”
“You’re wrong. Turns out, an Italian man would chase a woman around a desk.”
He rose and leaned forward, placing his hands on the desk.
With a raised eyebrow, he said, “All I just heard was—please bend me over your desk.”
I stuck my tongue out at him, then slammed the office door shut.