Chapter 5
Giselle rushed into her office, shutting the door behind her quietly before pressing her back against it.
Her heart was pounding.
Hard.
She closed her eyes, willing her breath to slow, to push away the utterly ridiculous, wildly inappropriate thoughts racing through her head.
What the hell had just happened?
Dimitri De Luca was… everything.
He was the embodiment of every fantasy she had ever conjured about the kind of man she wanted. Powerful. Intense. A walking furnace of strength and control, wrapped in a perfectly tailored suit that barely contained the raw masculinity beneath.
And the way he looked at her…
She shivered, pressing her palms to the cool surface of the door, trying to rein in the heat sizzling through her veins.
Heaven help her, she’d wanted to move closer. To breathe him in.
And, for the love of everything sane, she had wanted to lick him.
Like some kind of deranged lunatic, she had imagined leaning in, letting her fingers explore the bristled line of his jaw, her tongue tracing the curve of his lips just to see what he tasted like.
Like he was a dark, dangerous lollipop.
Her knees felt weak.
And it wasn’t just about attraction—it was much more than that.
She wanted to undo him. To make him lose control. To push him to the point where that perfect, collected composure of his cracked, and he was at her mercy.
She wanted to straddle him, explore the hard muscle underneath those expensive clothes, feel him tense under her touch.
She wanted to watch him come undone under her hands, to know that she had the power to shatter a man like Dimitri De Luca.
The thought sent a jolt of pleasure straight to her core.
Okay, pull yourself together, Giselle.
She inhaled deeply, forcing her thoughts to shift gears, to focus on anything other than mounting her boss in the middle of his ridiculously large office.
Her phone vibrated yet again, flashing a name across the screen.
Mom.
Giselle groaned, tilting her head back against the door. Of course.
Nothing could kill the rush of adrenaline quite like one of these calls.
She hesitated for a moment, knowing exactly how this was going to go. Then, with a sigh of resignation, she swiped to answer.
“Hi, Mom. What’s up?”
“Hey, darling!” her mother’s voice cooed over the line. “What are you doing?”
Giselle resisted the urge to roll her eyes.
“I’m fine. Working.”
Her mother giggled, the sound light and practiced. “Oh, dear. You work too many hours, darling. Why don’t you ever relax and enjoy life?”
Giselle clenched her jaw.
Relax? Enjoy life?
Maybe because she was too busy making sure her mother’s reckless spending habits didn’t land her in financial ruin. Maybe because she was always the one people turned to when they needed saving from themselves.
And she knew—beyond a shadow of a doubt—that this conversation wasn’t about checking in on her well-being.
It never was.
“How much do you need?” she asked, cutting straight to the inevitable request.
There was a small, scandalized gasp on the other end. “Why would you assume I need money?” her mother asked, an exaggerated lilt in her tone, as if she were deeply offended.
Giselle pinched the bridge of her nose.
Here we go.
“I might just want to talk with my lovely daughter,” her mother continued.
Giselle exhaled through her nose. “Is that it? You just wanted to touch base with me and see how I’m doing?”
“Of course, dear!” her mother chirped.
And then…
Silence.
A long, drawn-out pause that stretched between them, thick with unspoken words.
Giselle didn’t fill it.
She knew what was coming.
She waited, staring blankly at the ceiling, fingers tapping against the back of her phone as she counted down the seconds before—
“Well,” her mother finally said, her voice taking on that faux-sheepish tone, “since you brought it up… I think I might be a bit short on the funds needed for my credit card bill this month.”
Giselle’s eyes snapped shut, frustration curling through her like a slow burn.
Of course.
Her mother never thought she needed help but, the truth was, she always needed help.
“Any chance you have some extra cash you could give your dear mother?”
Giselle’s fingers curled into a fist.
She wanted to scream.
She wanted to hang up.
She wanted, for once in her damn life, to not be the person forced to fix everything.
But she already knew how this would play out.
Because this was her mother.
And because this was what she did.
Giselle sighed, long and slow, already running the numbers. She had some extra cash, sure. Not a lot, but enough to make it work.
Except she had planned to use it for herself this time.
For once.
Her clothes were a mess. She knew it. The thrift-store pieces were ill-fitting, the fabrics too stiff, and the colors usually left her complexion sallow or too pale.
She had meant to carve out a bit of her hard-earned money to buy something decent.
Something that actually fit her properly.
Something that didn’t make her look like she was trying to disappear into the background.
Her thoughts flickered back to him.
Dimitri De Luca.
Yeah, she’d caught the way his gaze had flicked over her outfit—how his lips had pressed into that almost-imperceptible line, how his eyes had narrowed for a brief moment.
He had definitely noticed.
And she hated that it made her stomach twist with embarrassment.
Maybe if she invested in a few nicer pieces—sleek skirts that actually fit, crisp blouses that weren’t two sizes too big—maybe he would take her more seriously. Maybe everyone would.
But of course, her mother had called, and whatever plans she’d had for herself were circling the drain. Again.
"Just wait until you see the Christmas decorations I got today!" Diane’s voice was bright with excitement. "They’re going to completely transform the house for the holidays. Everything is going to look amazing. Just you wait!"
Giselle gritted her teeth.
Christmas.
It was August.
Her mother was already buying things at full price instead of waiting for sales, instead of pulling from the literal mountain of Christmas bins cluttering their basement.
"Mom, why did you need new decorations?" she asked, irritation sharpening her tone before she could soften it.
There was a pause.
Giselle glanced down at her own outfit, at the drab skirt she’d thrown on earlier without thinking. Then her thoughts flickered to the one indulgence she’d allowed herself—the lace thigh-high stockings she’d splurged on last week.
They were completely unnecessary. But they made her feel good. Feminine. Sexy.
Just like how her mother’s Christmas obsession made her feel good.
The thought sent an icy chill of horror down her spine.
No. No, no, no.
She was not like her mother.
She didn’t hoard. She didn’t spend recklessly on things she didn’t need and couldn’t really afford. She was careful. She calculated every expense.
Right?
Her mother’s voice interrupted the terrifying spiral of self-reflection.
"Dear, don’t be selfish," Diane said, with that well-practiced, guilt-inducing lilt. "This is for the family. Everyone loves my Christmas themes every year."
Not everyone, Giselle thought darkly, but she bit her tongue.
Her father would be too drunk to notice. Her brother would be too stoned. And she? She’d be the one paying for it. Again.
"Mom, I need to get back to work."
"Okay, darling," her mother said, breezy as ever, as if they’d just had a lovely little chat. "Just don’t forget to send that money over. I’ll text you the amount."
"I'm sure you will," Giselle muttered, pressing End Call button before she could say something she’d regret.
Slumping down at her desk, she rubbed her temples, staring at the files in front of her.
It wasn’t fair.
She worked hard. She was good at what she did. She wasn’t supposed to be the one constantly cleaning up after other people’s bad decisions.
But here she was. Again.
With a slow, deep breath, she forced the frustration down and focused.
She had another problem to solve, one that had nothing to do with her mother or her family.
She reached for the paper copies of the invoices, wanting to see the actual totals instead of just the electronic versions. She’d check those, too, eventually, but something about having physical files in front of her helped her investigate better.
Her eyes flicked between the columns of numbers, searching for patterns, anomalies, anything that might offer a clue as to who was stealing from Dimitri De Luca.
At some point, the background hum of the office around her faded away. The sky darkened outside.
It wasn’t until her stomach let out an angry growl that she finally glanced up at the clock.
Well past dinner time.
She exhaled.
She should go home. Get some rest.
But then again, maybe another hour wouldn’t hurt.
Maybe if she could find something in these numbers—anything—tonight, she’d have a reason to see Dimitri again.
And this time, maybe she’d be the one catching his attention.