Chapter 11
Brook Simons
One week. Only one goddamn week into my new job and Matteo Ricco has me wishing he’d fire me like my previous employer.
Déjà vu washes over me. Not long ago, I lamented my job loss, so I draw a mental hex over the flippant thought; I need this job more than I need my pride.
Without the money, I’ll never have the power to decimate my biological father and return my mother’s stolen inheritance.
Once I pay off my debts and start my own law firm, I can build my clientele, prove my capabilities, increase my influence, and expose my father’s corrupt dealings.
I told myself to suffer through whatever Matteo threw at me with dignity and grace, but after a long week of firsts, I’m not sure I can handle another, especially not a cryptic demand to get in the car on a Saturday morning.
I glance between the “smaller workspace” doors and the passenger seat of the car before meeting my boss’s eyes. Wearing black slacks and a t-shirt with a sparkle of mischief in his hazel gaze, he smirks and holds the door open as he gestures for me to climb into the car.
He told me today would require casual clothes, but I assumed work casual, not the laid-back weekend vibes wafting from him.
This must be a trap. I shouldn’t get in the car no matter how my body sparks to life under his hungry eyes.
I clear my throat and cross my arms over my chest. He leans against the car door and sticks a hand in his pocket.
The silent challenge both irks and calms me.
Ever since he kissed me in his office, he’s followed through on his vow to let me practice law.
He appointed me as both a company lawyer and his personal attorney, upgraded my desk in the glass alcove, gave me unfettered access to the company’s records, rescinded Ms. Lynn’s power over me, and decreased my assistant’s aide workload.
I don’t know how they managed to coordinate so many moving parts between just the two of them—they really do need another person on the executive floor especially after I serve Ms. Lynn her papers—and even though it’s only been a week, I’ve grown to enjoy working with them.
The tasks may pull me away from my research, but they also keep me aware of my surroundings instead of hunched at my new desk all day.
I internally scoff at my lame attempt to fool myself. Although he hasn’t touched me since he let me off his lap on Monday except to wrap my arm on Tuesday, the growing hunger in his eyes pulls a responding need from me. Every time he walks into the room, my entire body wakes.
He sighs and taps his long fingers against the door frame. I push away my misgivings but give him a dirty look as I settle into the passenger seat.
“Where are we going?” I demand.
“Don’t worry, little rabbit, I won’t caveman toss you over my shoulder until after you beg me to ravage you. My penthouse is off-limits. We’re strictly in public for work-related stuff today,” he says.
Relief and disappointment flow through me.
Although his filthy teasing hasn’t changed, his professional attitude toward me has shifted since I revealed my father blacklisted me.
He no longer plays petty workplace games with me, and even though he’s demanding and exact, his leadership skills and clear communication make him the most difficult yet easiest boss I’ve ever had. His intensity drives me to be better.
He leans in and pulls my seatbelt across my lap before I get a chance.
My heart squeezes and lungs constrict as his delicious, clean scent invades my nostrils, and my fingers ache as I stop myself from caressing the long, masculine column of his throat by death gripping my bag.
He snaps the buckle into place before trailing his hand up the belt.
I fight for breath as his knuckles brush against my breasts.
He teases my collar with his fingertips before dropping his hand to my lap.
I grab his wrist.
“What are you doing?”
I wince at the breathy quality of my voice. Wicked mirth darkens his eyes.
“I’m ensuring my passenger is properly buckled. After your recent luck with cars, I can’t take any chances with your safety,” he says.
Lava bubbles in my core as his deep rumble vibrates through my bones.
“You’re ridiculous,” I breathe.
His eyes dip to my lips as he skims his hand across my lap.
“I’m thorough. Very thorough,” he promises.
Every nerve in my body zings with awareness, but after squeezing my hip and patting my thigh, he takes my purse and closes the passenger door. I will my heart back into my chest as he walks around the front of the car. My mouth waters at his lithe movements.
I will not beg, but I’ve never been so sexually frustrated before, and the bastard has been working me to the bone so by the time I get home every night, I don’t have the energy to masturbate. It’s infuriating.
I peel my gaze off his enticing body as he opens his door and wedges himself behind the wheel.
With the radio playing softly and the windows blocking out the sounds of the late Saturday morning crowd, we sit in a strangely comfortable silence as he pulls away from the curb and navigates through traffic. When he pulls up to the valet stand of a renowned boutique shop, I snap my gaze to his.
He doesn’t even spare me a glance as he grabs my purse, exits the vehicle, and tosses the keys to the valet. I glare up at him when he opens my door and extends his hand for me to take.
When he stares at me, completely unperturbed, I sigh and slip my hand into his. Heat flashes through me when he pulls me to my feet and tucks me against his side with ease.
“Mr. Ricco,” I scold, reminding him of our professional relationship, but he tightens his arm around me and digs his fingers into my hip. Lust steals my voice.
“Trust me, little rabbit, you want to stay close to me today. Just think of this as a perk of overtime,” he murmurs.
“I’m salary. You don’t pay me for overtime,” I snark.
He chuckles. I reach for my purse, but he tosses it onto the passenger seat.
“We’re using my card today. You won’t need this.”
He shuts the door and tugs me across the sidewalk, ignoring my protests. I clamp my teeth together as he hauls me into the fancy shop.
With a few curt words to the saleswoman, he slips a black and gold card across the counter. She perks up and agrees enthusiastically with his demands. I bite the inside of my cheek as she guides us into a lavish changing room.
The moment she sashays out toward the main store, I shove against Matteo’s rock-hard abs and hiss, “What are we doing here? I am not discussing business while you try on clothes.”
“We’re not discussing business.”
“You said this was work related,” I remind him.
“It is. I’m also not the one trying things on,” he says.
His smirk drops my heart into my toes.
“No. No way in hell am I—”
“We have several galas and parties to attend in the upcoming weeks. Your work wardrobe needs an upgrade.” I open my mouth to tell him off, but he cups my bruised arm as though to remind me of every hardship I’ve suffered since he hired me.
“You are my employee. Providing you with suitable clothing is my responsibility.” My stomach bottoms out as he threads his fingers into my hair.
“And as my woman, you deserve to have the very best. Let me pamper you, little rabbit.”
The longing in my soul steals my breath even as I tell myself not to fall for his trap.
“I’m not your woman,” I argue.
His smirk awakens a throbbing low in my belly.
The saleswoman returns with two other ladies, each one pushing a rack full of items. After staging them beside the couch, all three women disappear without a word.
“Should we start with evening wear or business suits?” Matteo asks.
“No. This isn’t happening.”
He turns to the first rack.
“Let’s start with three of each, then,” he says.
“No, I’m not—”
“Four of each?”
“God, you’re infuriating,” I snarl.
Deciding I should take advantage of his offer of free clothes, I hip check him out of the way, snatch the first three items off rack one and two, then stomp behind the privacy screen in the opposite corner of the room.
After checking for hidden cameras and ensuring there’s no way for him to peek without walking around the partition, I slip the padded silk hangers on the wall hooks and lift my shirt.
“Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help.”
I yelp as Matteo’s voice sounds from beside me, but when I whip my shirt off my head, I realize he’s still on the other side of the screen.
“Don’t you dare!”
“My offer stands, little rabbit,” he chuckles.
“Noted. Go sit on the couch,” I demand.
“Only if you promise to show me each outfit,” he says.
The throaty rumble in his voice arrows straight to my core. I grit my teeth as my arousal dampens my panties.
My threadbare, basic cotton panties. Mortification rolls through me as I recall how faded the floral pattern has become. I bought the variety pack so long ago I already threw away the solid-colored pairs because I’d worn holes in them.
“Fine, now go sit down,” I say through gritted teeth.
When no sound of movement filters through the screen, I peek around the side and confirm his location. With his large frame taking up half the couch, he lifts a brow at me. I duck back behind the partition, unnerved at how silently he moved.
I change into the first outfit and marvel at the buttery soft fabric. The cut of the pantsuit accentuates my curves while remaining comfortable enough for all-day wear. I smooth my hair down and roll my shoulders back before striding out from behind the partition.
Despite my best attempts to ignore him, my senses tune to Matteo’s response. He leans back against the cushions and crosses his arms over his chest. Other than his eyes roaming over me, I don’t know whether to interpret his reaction as good or bad, so I focus on my reflection.
I love it. The color, fit, and style make me feel like a professional powerhouse.