Chapter 6
Matteo Ricco
With her posture stiff and her lips in a thin line, Brook glares at me with such ferocity my fingertips itch to reach out and touch her, but I dig my nails into my hip inside my pocket and lift a brow in challenge.
Despite the feminine cut of her suit, it belongs in a courtroom, not a casual meeting.
A wicked glint joins the anger in her rich brown eyes as she lifts her hands.
With a few practiced moves, she pulls the pins from her hair before fluffing her locks and slipping the pins into her pocket.
My mouth waters as she unbuttons her coat, shrugs it off her shoulders, drapes it over her forearm, and meets my stare.
She holds me captive as her graceful fingers unwind the knot of her tie and slip the strip of fabric away from her neck. With sensual ease, she unbuttons the top three buttons of her off-white shirt and parts the fabric to reveal creamy flesh.
Last night’s release was nowhere near enough. Need pulses at the base of my spine and lava swirls in my balls.
Brook tugs the fabric of her shirt away from her torso until only the bottom hem remains tucked in, creating a relaxed fit in otherwise professional clothing. When I finally peel my stare away from her hips, the satisfaction in her eyes as she reads my interest arrows straight to my cock.
Fucking hell, she wins this round. With her dark locks glowing in the early morning sun and victory lighting her face, she’s the sexiest woman I’ve ever seen. I long to discover if she makes the same expression after coming all over my cock.
Unwilling to concede so easily despite my obvious loss, I don’t hide my interest as I nod my approval.
“Much better, Ms. Simons.”
Electing to have the last word just to rile her up, I dismiss her by walking toward the wall of screens. As I grab the system remote and prepare the monitors, Brook approaches my assistant and accepts the tablet and his directions without balking.
I expected her to arrive at the time I gave her, but I forgot our history.
In the earlier years of high school, we battled over who could show up to class the earliest. I rarely won.
No matter how early I walked into class, she’d already be in her seat with her head buried in her classwork, but she flipped the script in our senior year one morning when she walked in half a second before the bell rang.
As composed as ever with condescension clear in her expression, she pinned me in my seat with her chocolate eyes and declared she could earn top scores without cramming before class.
She was never the first one into the classroom again. Her arrivals always seemed so sporadic, but I got used to watching her walk in from the hall after sitting down. The sight of her always outweighed her comment. I forgot her previous punctuality.
It was a mistake I won’t make again. I assumed she’d show precisely on time to make her point, but she showed up early and called out the flaws in my plan.
I was foolish to tamper with my assistant’s hard work.
Liam Brunswick has devoted almost seven years to me and my company’s success.
Without him, my day-to-day life would be a chaotic mess. I won’t fail him again.
My resolve waivers as she smiles at him.
I shove my jealousy aside and select the whiteboard feature on the monitors before heading toward the hall.
Mr. Brunswick heeds my beckoning with a nod and follows me out of the room.
As Brook studies the tablet and familiarizes herself with the coffee order, I lead my assistant to the far side of the hall and speak in a voice too low for her to hear.
“Give Ms. Simons everything she needs to take over meeting preparations for the foreseeable future.” At his troubled glance over his shoulder at her, I realize he might be the best person to put her in her place, so I say, “Treat her as your assistant and give her responsibilities as you deem her capable.”
He hesitates before nodding. I cross my arms over my chest.
“What’s bothering you, Mr. Brunswick?” I ask.
In an uncharacteristic display of uncertainty, he runs his hand through his hair before straightening his spine.
My brain struggles to remember a time when he didn’t have a stack of papers or a device tucked against his side.
This may be the first time in seven years he’s stood before me empty-handed.
“She seems overqualified to be an assistant’s aide,” he says.
I quirk a brow.
“What gives you that impression?” I ask even though the same thought echoes in my mind as she slips the tablet behind her back and quietly recites names as she points to the different coffee cups.
“She’s nothing like all the other interns we’ve interviewed,” he states.
“You’re right. She’s not an intern. I hired her already,” I say.
He stiffens as though I stabbed him in the back.
“Are you unsatisfied with my work performance?” he asks.
Fuck. I didn’t consider the repercussions of hiring my little rabbit beyond getting to keep her close to me.
“No, I’m not. You will remain as my personal assistant unless you submit either a resignation or a title change request. Brook, I mean, Ms. Prescott, erm…
” I curse my wayward tongue and force her new name through my lips.
“Ms. Simons is an old acquaintance in need of employment, so I hired her to temporarily fill the assistant aide position we discussed several months ago.”
“So she’s a temporary placement?” he asks.
“Yes, but don’t limit her responsibilities. I hired Ms. Simons to work, not to waste space,’ I sneer.
“I don’t think Ms. Simons could waste space if she tried,” he mumbles.
My hackles rise at the appreciation in his tone even as his features twist in dislike.
“I’m sorry for questioning your judgment, Mr. Ricco, and thank you for clarifying. I have both items you requested yesterday, if you’d like to look them over now,” he says, referencing the background check on Brook and the security footage from the restaurant.
“Put them in my briefcase and I’ll review them tonight,” I reply.
He accepts the instructions with his normal stoicism, so I nod and stalk back down the hall to the meeting room. Brook halts me at the door.
“Your coffee, Mr. Ricco,” she says.
I take the disposable travel mug, hiss, and set it down before it scalds my hand. Despite the insulated sleeve, my fingers sting from the heat.
I grab Brook’s wrist and yank her hand toward my face to check her digits. A ring of bright pink flesh circles her palm where she held the bottom of the cup.
She tugs at her arm, but I tighten my grip and lift my glare to her face.
“You’re no use to me if you’re hurt. Plus, we can’t have you running and crying to Daddy, can we? Come with me for ointment,” I demand.
When I pull her after me, she digs in her heels and yanks her wrist out of my grasp with a surprising twist. I nearly clip the doorframe with my shoulder as I turn to glare at her.
“I don’t need ointment. I’m fine,” she says.
I tsk and reach for her hand. She pivots and steps away. The rapid beat of her heart pulses in the slender column of her throat and fury shines in her eyes.
“I’m not a child or a doll you can pull around as you please. I am an adult and a woman, so—”
“I am very aware of what you are, Ms. Simons,” I interrupt in a voice rough with lust and frustration.
Her pupils shrink. She lifts her chin.
“I am your employee,” she says.
I lift a brow. She squints.
“You should treat me the same way you do Mr. Brunswick,” she demands.
I scoff and stalk toward her. She takes a step backward for each step I take forward.
“Mr. Brunswick hasn’t climbed into my lap and taken advantage of me.
” She bumps her hip against the table but angles her body and continues to match my strides.
“He’ll never sink his sharp little teeth into my flesh or drag his claws down my chest. Never lick my throat. Never whimper and writhe against me.”
Her heel catches on the edge of a bean bag. She loses her balance and tips backward. I lunge forward and catch her. She fits so perfectly in my arms as I rise and plaster her front against mine.
“You’ll never be just an employee, Brook. You’re mine. All mine.”
I don’t know where the words come from, but I refuse to rescind them once they pass my lips.
Her reaction is too enticing. She gasps and blinks up at me in mute shock.
The need pulsing in my cock echoes in her eyes.
I wrap my long fingers around her nape. She shivers.
A needy flush colors her cheeks. Her parted lips are too much of a temptation. I dip my head.
She turns her face away and pushes against my sides.
“Stop. Let me go,” she hisses.
I tighten my hand on her nape before setting her on her feet and shifting away. I wait until she has her balance before I release her hip. She steps back and fixes her shirt before lifting frigid brown eyes to mine.
“I am not yours, and I never will be, Mr. Ricco,” she says.
“Whatever you say, Ms. Simons,” I say, emphasizing her new legal name while reminding her of her last words before she signed her life away to me.
Delight arrows down my spine as anger clouds her expression.
It doesn’t matter what she thinks I’m wrong about, I’ll unveil all her secrets and unravel all her inhibitions until she begs me to ease the ache between her legs.
I smirk and turn away as the elevator dings on the far side of the hall, announcing the imminent arrival of the attendees.
By the time I grab my coffee and settle at the corner table, Ms. Simons hides her anger behind a professional facade and scrolls through the roster—complete with photos—on the tablet one last time before setting it down beside the coffees and positioning herself by the door.
As the first group of people arrive, she greets them with a confidence and ease she never would have shown in high school.
Despite being overall liked by our classmates, Brook was fairly shy and a horrible terrible speaker. Give her a test or essay and she’d ace it without batting an eye, but force her to stand in front of a crowd and speak, and she’d turn into a robot.
None of her fear shows now. She smiles, introduces herself, and navigates small talk as though it’s the most natural thing in the world. I hide my awe and aggravation behind my cup as I sip the still piping-hot coffee.
She thwarts me again. None of the fear she suffered in public speaking classes plagues her now. I both hate and toast her for overcoming her terror.
Her skills rival mine. The thought irks.
I also struggled in social settings—the similarities between us are what fooled me into thinking she wanted to be friends with me—but thrived in speaking in front of a crowd. Relaying information in a way others can understand it is a reward in and of itself to me.
The magnitude of her growth astounds me. She seems like a different person as she laughs and compliments others.
Brook Simons wins yet another round.
I underestimated her. Again.
With a grimace, I swallow a mouthful of scalding bean juice and track the burn all the way to my stomach.
I was overzealous and barreled ahead without knowing my target. I assumed after one drunken night she was the same girl I knew eleven years ago. Rookie mistake.
It will not happen again.
I’ll uncover her secrets, reveal her flaws, and flaunt her shortcomings, all while making her so hot for me she forgets herself.
Brook Simons will beg me to fuck her.
I’ll make her mine. All mine.
One slow, agonizing, thrilling step at a time.