Chapter Twenty
Raya
I’M DOING STRETCHES ON the floor of Lorenzo’s office at Black Gold, trying to get my blood flowing after sitting in front of a screen for the past three hours.
It’s been over a week since I’ve seen or heard from Stefano, and things with Gio have been weird.
Distant. He’s suddenly always too “busy” to hang out.
So, by default, I’ve been spending most of my time with grumpy, grunty, hate-everything-that-breathes Lorenzo.
Who, at this very moment, is staring at me from behind his desk with an expression I can’t quite place.
I try to ignore it, but the longer he stares at me like that, the more concerned I become.
Is his brain broken today? He normally ignores me after giving me his long to-do lists, no matter how much I try to nag him on purpose.
The only thing that gets this much attention from him is the surveillance footage of that lawyer woman he’s been stalking.
With a worried laugh, I ask, “Did you forget to take your vitamins this morning or something? Need a hit of caffeine?”
His lips part like he’s about to say something, but nothing comes out.
He presses them together again in a tight line, drums his fingers on the desk, frowns, then tries again.
“Are you...? Is it—uh—” He stops and shakes his head in frustration.
“Okay, so, when you were growing up, and...um…is your—what do you like?”
I pause mid-stretch and blink at him for a few seconds, trying to process what the hell is happening.
Then I burst out laughing. “Oh my God. Are you trying to bond with me right now? Like, a real human being?”
He scowls at me.
I laugh harder.
“Aww, that’s so sweet, boss. But please don’t force yourself,” I say, grinning.
“I accept you exactly as you are. Grumpy human-hater and all. We don’t need to bond.
Our relationship is clear: you tell me what to do, and I deliver.
You don’t hate me or have any malicious intentions toward me, and that’s all that matters to me. ”
He exhales, shoulders visibly relaxing, like the idea of ‘bonding’ with me had been some unbearable weight. “You alright, Raya. You alright.”
Still snickering, I resume stretching. “Cora put you up to it, didn’t she?”
He shrugs. “She likes you.”
“And I like her. She’s the auntie I never had. But I prefer people exactly as they are.” I thrust my hips into a bridge hold. “All you have to do is feed me good food and I’m happy.”
“And it’s about that time.” He shoves to his feet and rounds the desk, heading for the door. “I’ll go grab you some lunch.”
“My tummy appreciates you!” I call after him as he disappears through the door.
Sliding into a wide-legged stretch, chest to the floor, arms outstretched, I creep my fingers toward my phone. Unlock it and pull up my text thread with Gio. While my muscles hum from the deep stretch, I tap the mic button and record a voice note:
“Hey. So, thanks to my glaring lack of dating experience, it’s taken me a minute to realize what’s happening. You’re ghosting me, right? Is that what this is? Which, follow-up question…does that make you a ‘fuckboy,’ as the Americans say? Or is that only if you actually fucked and then ghosted?
“Anyway. If you’re avoiding me because of the kiss, there’s really no need. I assure you, I’m not doodling your name on my vision board or daydreaming about our future children. I just miss my tennis partner, okay? So stop hiding and come whack balls with me this evening.”
As I send off the voice note, his voice fills the room, cool and sharp. “Find a new tennis partner. Gio’s busy.”
Carefully, I come out of my stretch and twist around.
Stefano is leaning against the doorframe, hands in his pockets, looking like he owns the damn air.
Just seeing him hits like a warm, caressing, velvet wave.
My heart is such a pathetic simp. For that face, that body that wears the hell out of a suit, for those eyes that stare with purpose, clawing at my barriers, trying to pry me apart.
Ugh. I need help. “Oh look, he lives!”
“Don’t tell me you missed me, too,” he deadpans.
“Life gets dull when the devil naps for too long,” I return. “We all need a little torment now and then to stay sharp.”
He doesn’t flinch, expression unreadable. “Where’s my brother?”
“Fetching me lunch.” I stretch my arms over my head, letting my blouse ride up just enough to tease. “You should take notes. That’s how he keeps me happy.”
“I have zero interest in your happiness.” His gaze roves over me, lingering on the sliver of exposed skin at my waist. “I have zero interest in you at all, larvae.”
“Ahhh. Now my day feels complete.” I grin. “Thank you for showing up and doing your job today, Satan.”
One corner of his mouth twitches. Barely. A crack in the mask. “Tell Lo to call me.” He nods toward the desk. “He left his phone.”
Before I can respond, he turns and leaves.
A few minutes later, I’ve just settled back at my workspace when the air changes again. Hot and electric.
That velvety, caressing energy coasts down my spine.
He’s back.
Without looking up, I mutter, “Yes, Lucifer?”
Footsteps move closer. Closer.
“Look at me when you speak to me.”
Tyrant much? I lift my gaze to meet his. “Apologies, my lord.”
“Do you speak or understand Korean?”
“I do,” I answer, in Korean.
“Of course you do,” he mutters, almost to himself.
His eyes flick around the room, annoyed for reasons I can’t quite pin down, then settle back on me.
“I have a dinner meeting tonight with South Korean associates. A potential partnership. Negotiations have been dragging on over a year. I want you to come with me.”
I arch a brow. “It’s highly unlikely that Korean businessmen conducting international deals don’t speak English.”
“I never said they didn’t.” He slides his hands into his pockets. “They like to mutter in their language, assuming I can’t understand. I want you to listen. Observe. Tell me afterward what they really said.”
“Maybe that’s why it’s taken a year to seal the deal.” I tsk under my breath. “You want their money but won’t even bother to learn their language. If I were them, I’d talk shit in front of you, too.”
His lips twitch into something akin to a smirk. “Good thing I’ve got a know-it-all little shit at my disposal now, huh?” He turns to leave, calling over his shoulder, “Villa parking lot. Nine sharp. That’s not a request.”
And with that, he’s gone again.
~
LATER, BACK AT the villa, I’m fresh off a sweaty tennis match with Luca—who, for the record, plays like a drunk octopus. Never again—when my phone chimes with a text:
Stefano: Make it 8:00. I don’t trust you to dress yourself.
Me: Yes, daddy.
Stefano: And don’t overwork those toys too much…
Me: You went through my package?!
Stefano: You’re smart enough to know every package delivered to you would be searched by me.
Me: Just admit it, you’re obsessed with me.
Stefano: Correction, I dislike you.
Me: Same difference.
Me: Don’t worry about my toys. They’re having the time of their lives between my thighs. Jealous it’s not you?
Anxiety tightens in my chest as I watch the little typing bubbles blink. Then stop. Then blink again. Then disappear.
Holy shit, am I seriously flirting with this man? And expecting him to flirt back?
Five minutes pass.
Nothing.
With a wicked grin tugging at my lips, I toss my phone onto the bed, then peel off my tennis clothes as I head for the bathroom.
Stepping into the shower, I reach for my favorite toy.
The one I’ve nicknamed King.
~
“YOUR SENSE OF style is appalling,” is how he greets me when I meet him in the villa parking lot.
Perfect. Just what I was going for when I threw on this frilly floral blouse, khaki slacks, and flats. Just to see that snobby look on his face. So worth it. “While yours is flawlessly perfect, Mr. Debonair.”
“Waste of breath to tell me what I already know.” He opens the car door. “Get in.”
“Oscar!” I sing as I climb in.
As always, he ignores me like a true champ.
But that doesn’t stop Stefano from snapping, “No chitchatting.”
Moody bastard.
We drive in silence to the private boutique, where Stefano promptly shoves me toward Wendy with all the grace of a man throwing out garbage.
“Fix this tasteless rag doll,” he tells her.
I stifle a laugh, which only earns me a scowl. His brooding meanness doesn’t ruffle me anymore, because I know something he doesn’t know that I know. Something I discovered three hours ago, and have been quietly giddy about ever since.
There’s a soft, beautiful king hiding underneath that Teflon mask.
And I see him.
As Wendy whisks me away, I toss Stefano a saccharine smile over my shoulder.
He scowls harder.
I see you, Stefano.
Once inside Wendy’s mirrored fitting room, I take the reins. “I’ll pick my outfit. Show me what you have in red, emerald-green, and gold. Modest pieces, shoulders and cleavage covered, but still alluring.”
Wendy hesitates. “I don’t think Mr. Castello—”
“Don’t worry about him. If you like the end result, you can take full credit.”
She bites her lip, uncertain, but eventually nods and signals for her assistant, getting to work.
Once I’ve chosen my outfit and jewelry, I direct glam on the makeup and hair. Light, but dewy. Braids undone, hair straightened and swept up away from my neck.
When it’s done, Wendy steps back, eyeing me with wary surprise. “Wow. You’ve learned a lot about tasteful fashion since the last time you were here.”
“I’m a fast learner,” I reply with a shrug. “I hate not knowing things, so I did a crash course to understand body type, silhouettes, color theory, hair, all of it.”
Wendy nods slowly. “I’m impressed.”
“The credit’s all yours.”
When I return to the waiting area, Stefano gives me a quick once-over with that familiar brand of detached indifference.
At first.
Then, his gaze returns. Slower this time. Lingering.