Chapter 10
Dimitri stalked into his office the next morning, just as irritated and restless as he’d been the night before. He’d tossed and turned overnight, his body on fire with the memory of that damn kiss. One wasn’t enough. Not even close.
He wanted more. Needed more. He’d held back, deliberately keeping it light, but that had been a mistake.
Because now, the hunger had grown worse.
It gnawed at him, made him impatient, made him fantasize about yanking her into his arms and kissing her properly, the way he wanted to. The way she wanted him to.
Because she did.
Her pupils had dilated. Her breath had caught. He had felt the way she had leaned into him, silently begging for more.
And yet, he’d gone to bed alone, while she had probably spent the evening chastising herself for letting him get too close.
It was infuriating.
He had taken the liberty of reviewing the time stamps of her badge swipes in and out of the building over the past several months.
The woman practically lived at work, putting in twelve-hour days like it was normal.
That wasn’t acceptable. He wanted her spending some of those hours with him.
Dinners, lunches—hell, if he had to start showing up at her desk with breakfast, he’d do that too.
The conversation they’d had over dinner had been one of the best he’d ever had. Correction—the best. And it wasn’t just because he wanted to drag her across the table and kiss her until she stopped overthinking everything.
He’d enjoyed talking to her. And that pissed him off. He barely made it two steps into his office before his gaze landed on the boxes stacked neatly on the low coffee table. His mood immediately soured.
“What the hell is that?” he growled, ready to fire someone for invading his private office.
His personal assistant, always composed, glanced up. “They were delivered this morning by courier from your friend in Las Vegas. Ms. Ava Santos requested they be sent directly to you.”
Dimitri exhaled sharply. Right. The clothes!
He strode over, opened the first box, and immediately recognized Ava’s signature style—clean, simple, well-tailored basics that could be dressed up or down.
A sleek red sheath dress without frills, just simple elegance.
In another box, there was a black one, and also one in navy blue.
Ava had also sent five pairs of slacks, some fitted and structured while others were more along the lines of palazzo slacks.
There were also jackets, and a thick, cashmere, belted winter coat.
Perfect.
With a nod of grim satisfaction, he grabbed the box with the red dress and headed straight for Giselle’s office.
Sure enough, she was already there, typing away at her computer like she hadn’t just completely ruined his sleep last night.
“Good morning, sir!” Giselle chirped, bright and professional even as a blush warmed her cheeks.
Dimitri rubbed the back of his neck, feeling unexpectedly awkward. He’d never actually given a woman a dress before. Sure, he’d paid for women’s clothes, but that usually involved handing over a credit card and suggesting they have fun.
This felt… different.
More personal.
More dangerous.
And because he had no idea how to approach her, he fell back on what he knew best—being gruff and demanding.
He realized almost immediately that it was a mistake.
Apparently, saying, “Put this on. It will look better,” wasn’t the most effective approach.
The shy, hesitant woman he’d enjoyed yesterday vanished. Giselle took the dress carefully, smoothing her fingers over the fabric, but her silver-blue eyes hardened.
So did his body.
“Sir,” she started.
He stepped closer before she could finish, drawn by the flash of defiance in her eyes… and the faint rise and fall of her breath.
“Giselle,” he murmured, his voice low and full of warning, “if you call me sir one more time, I’m going to paddle your adorable ass.”
The sharp gasp sent a thrill through him.
Her fingers tightened on the edge of her desk, knuckles whitening. Her pupils expanded, and he watched the quick flick of her gaze toward his mouth before she caught herself.
She liked that.
She liked him.
Heat slid through him, tightening every muscle. It took every ounce of restraint not to reach for her — to pull her up, press her against the desk, and find out exactly how much she liked him.
Instead, he forced himself to step back.
He adjusted his cuffs, using the movement to regain control, then let his gaze sweep deliberately over her. He hadn’t bothered with a jacket today — just slacks and a crisp white shirt — and he caught the way her eyes dipped briefly before snapping back to his face.
Good.
He liked that she wasn’t immune.
“Come to my office,” he said, his voice rougher than he intended. “I’m changing your job title.”
Her brows lifted slightly, surprise flickering across her face.
But he didn’t give her time to respond.
He turned and walked out, fully expecting her to follow instructions.
He’d thought wrong.
Moments later, his office door flew open.
Giselle marched across the floor, her steps sharp and determined, the red dress clenched in her hand. Her cheeks were flushed, her eyes bright with anger.
She tossed the dress across his desk. It slid toward him in a ripple of red fabric.
Dimitri had to bite back a laugh.
Damn, he liked that simmering fire in her.
She wasn’t timid now. She wasn’t hesitant. She looked like she was ready to start a war — and he found it far more appealing than he should have.
She’d been beautiful before.
But glowing with righteous anger, Giselle Carrington was glorious.
And he had the sudden, undeniable urge to push her even further… just to see how brightly she burned.
"Why don’t you wear it if you like it so much," she snapped, planting her fists on her hips like she was about to lead a rebellion. "And I don’t want my role changed. I like my job, and I’m very good at it."
Dimitri barely managed to keep his face straight. This woman had no idea who she was challenging.
Dimitri fought off the inappropriate grin.
The image of her bent over his lap was almost enough to distract him from the far more inappropriate thoughts that had already taken hold—thoughts of bending her over his desk, flipping up that god-awful blue skirt, and discovering just how loud he could make her moan.
Focus.
"I’m shifting you to head up a new investigative team," he explained, fighting to keep his voice level. He had thought about this last night—well, in between other, more interesting, thoughts—and knew it was the best move. "You won’t just be working for this company. You’ll be in charge of looking for theft in all of my companies. "
He watched as excitement sparked in her eyes, lighting them up in a way that made his chest tighten. There it was.
"You’ll need to travel with me," he added casually, waiting for her reaction.
As he expected, she stiffened like he’d just told her to run into a burning building. For a moment, he caught a glimpse of the vibrant, unstoppable woman lurking beneath all those layers of control, but then—just as quickly—she shut it down.
The light in her eyes died.
Dimitri felt the shift immediately, and it pissed him off.
"I can do the research from my office, thank you very much," she said primly, crossing her arms.
"Not good enough," he shot back, standing up and stepping forward, narrowing the distance between them.
He refused to let her hide from this.
"I saw the stack of invoices on your desk last night," he continued. "You’ll need to compare them against the shipping container labels and the manifests. The only way to know for sure that the number of boxes or items in a shipment matches what was received is if you’re actually there.
" He caught the way her lips parted slightly, the flicker of hesitation as she realized he was right.
"Plus, you’ll need to verify the contents of the boxes at the retail stores.
" He took another step toward her, enjoying the way her breath hitched.
"That’s going to require a lot of traveling. "
"That sounds… incredible, but I can’t travel, sir. I have… obligations here."
“Family obligations?”
Dimitri studied her, waiting for the confirmation. Sure enough, after a brief hesitation, she nodded slowly.
"Yes, sir," she said, but this time, she immediately winced.
Dimitri didn’t even bother to hide his amusement, grinning openly at her.
She knew what she had done.
She backed up a step, suddenly wary, her hands twitching like she was fighting the urge to cover her mouth…or her behind. But the moment of uncertainty didn’t last long. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin, and glared at him defiantly.
Damn, she was sexy when she was pissed.
"We’ll work out the details later," he said smoothly, clearing his throat.
Not “if” she traveled with him. When.
"Also, I’m moving your office closer to mine," he added, watching as her mouth opened—probably to argue—before she snapped it shut again, eyes narrowing.
"That’s not necessary, sir," she said tightly, clearly trying to maintain control of the situation.
Dimitri barely held back a laugh. She actually thought she had a say in this. Adorable.
She opened her mouth to speak, but a sharp knock at the door cut her off.
Saved by the bell. For now.
“Come in,” Dimitri called.
Mike stepped into the office, his expression smooth, professional—as always. But when Dimitri said, “Cancel my next meeting,” something flickered across the shorter man’s face. Small. Controlled. But there.
A hesitation.
“Of course, sir,” Mike replied evenly, though his voice carried the faintest strain. His eyes shifted—too quickly—to Giselle. They lingered a fraction longer than necessary before he forced them back to Dimitri.
Dimitri didn’t like that.
Mike had worked for him for years, precise as clockwork, never sloppy. But right now? There was an edge beneath the surface. A shadow. Irritation? Resentment? Or something else entirely?
Dimitri’s gaze tracked the subtle movement as Mike adjusted his cuffs—pointless, fidgeting. “Something wrong?” he asked lightly, his tone almost conversational.
Mike’s head snapped up. “No, sir.” Too fast. Too sharp. He smoothed his face into neutrality, but the seams were visible. “Shifting everything last-minute may cause… conflicts.”
Dimitri arched a brow. “Are you saying you can’t handle it?”
Mike’s throat worked as he swallowed. “Of course not. I’ll take care of it immediately.”
Still, he didn’t leave. His fingers drummed once against his thigh. His jaw flexed. And again—his gaze flicked to Giselle. Not long, not obvious. But Dimitri saw it. He always saw it.
And then there was Mike’s glance toward Dimitri’s desk—the files stacked neatly on the corner. Mike’s lips pressed thin, like he wanted to speak but thought better of it.
Interesting.
“Giselle,” Dimitri said smoothly, his eyes never leaving Mike, “pour yourself some coffee. We’ve got a long morning ahead.”
Giselle scoffed lightly. “That won’t be a problem, sir,” she replied primly, her eyes glinting with mischief.
Dimitri let his mouth curve into the ghost of a smirk—but his attention was fixed on Mike. His assistant’s shoulders tightened at the exchange, just barely, but enough.
Out of the corner of his eye, Dimitri watched Mike finally move, clearing his throat. “I’ll shift those meetings now,” he muttered. His words were clipped. Controlled. But the rigid set of his body spoke louder.
And then he was gone.
The door clicked shut, leaving behind silence—and tension thick enough to taste.
Giselle seemed oblivious, blowing lightly over the coffee as she poured two cups, unaware of the current that had just swept through the room.
Dimitri, however, wasn’t oblivious to anything. Mike was unsettled. And it wasn’t just the schedule. He didn’t want Giselle here. Didn’t want her digging.
The only question was why.
Because he wanted her for himself?
Or because she was about to find something he didn’t want uncovered?
Either way, Dimitri intended to find out.