Chapter 19
Giselle arrived at her desk early the following morning, her cheeks burning every time she thought about her last words to Dimitri. Had she really said that? No, she must have imagined it. But then she remembered the stunned expression on his ridiculously handsome face, and—yeah. She had said it.
Good grief.
She groaned inwardly, slumping into her chair.
She’d have to apologize. Dimitri had been nothing but a gentleman, patient and respectful despite their obvious chemistry, and she’d gone and—she shivered, swallowing hard as her thoughts briefly entertained what would happen if he decided to take her up on that challenge.
No. Bad idea. Dimitri De Luca was dangerous. He lived in a world of power and control. She was just a geeky accountant with family issues and a habit of hiding from conflict.
Her phone buzzed, pulling her attention away from her spiraling thoughts.
When she checked the screen, her stomach twisted.
Five messages from her mother. The tone varied from pleading to coaxing, to emotional blackmail—I was in labor with you for sixteen painful hours!
You owe me!— the last one, laced with anger.
Giselle sighed, guilt and exhaustion pressing in on her. Every time she tried to set a boundary, even a small one, her mother reacted like it was a personal betrayal. And yet, for the first time in her life, Giselle hadn’t immediately caved. She hadn’t sent the money.
Suddenly, there was a low, buzzing sensation in the air, a shift in energy that sent a prickle down her spine. Her heart stuttered.
Dimitri walked into her office.
And closed the door.
Her pulse leaped, and she sat up straighter as he advanced, his eyes locked on hers, his presence consuming every inch of space between them. He moved like a predator—calm, focused, entirely in control. Her fingers tightened around the arms of her chair.
“Did you mean it?” His voice was steady, but there was an intensity straining beneath it, a burning hunger that made her blood boil in her veins.
She swallowed hard. “Did I mean… what?” She knew exactly what he meant, but she wasn’t ready to admit it just yet.
“Last night.” He braced his hands on her desk, leaning in close. “Did you mean what you said before you ran away?”
Her breath caught. His nearness was overwhelming, the scent of his cologne, the heat radiating off his body, the sharp focus of his gaze pinning her in place.
“I didn’t run away,” she snapped, needing to reclaim some control.
Dimitri’s lips curled, a hint of amusement flashing across his face before the intensity returned. “That’s exactly what you did. And I’m still waiting for an answer.”
Giselle’s mind raced. She had two choices. She could lie, pretend she had been teasing, make a joke about too much pasta clouding her judgment. Or she could be brave. She could tell him the truth.
That, yes—she absolutely had meant it.
Before she could speak, he leaned closer still, then pulled her out of her desk chair, right into his arms. “I’d like you to make me very unsafe, Giselle.
” Then he kissed her! It wasn’t a soft kiss either.
It was hard and demanding, just like the man.
One hand cupped the back of her head, angling her so that he could deepen the kiss.
She opened her mouth, wanting more. Dimitri’s tongue slid over her lips and she gasped, pulling back slightly.
She’d been kissed before. But never like this! This was so much more. This was a seduction.
He pulled back, his eyes on fire as he watched Giselle lick her lips, her fingers reaching unconsciously to cover her mouth.
“We’ll discuss this tonight,” he promised, then turned to leave. At the door, he paused and glanced back over his shoulder. “By the way, you might want to tell your mother that she needs to take back all the Christmas crap she bought instead of demanding you pay for it.”
Then he was gone. For a moment, she was confused. What had he said? Something about later tonight? And Christmas crap?
Unfortunately, the music indicating that her mother was calling again interrupted her thoughts. She was so overwhelmed, she didn’t stop to think about what she should do, it just happened.
Answering the call, she lifted it to her ear and said firmly, “Mother, if you can’t afford to pay your credit card bill, then you’ll have to return what you bought. I’ve been your personal bank for too long already.” Then she hung up before her mother could argue.
There was a long moment while she stood there, staring at her phone, shocked that she’d actually said that. To her mother! The woman would come back with a stream of vitriol or emotional blackmail that could cripple Giselle.
Sure enough, her phone started ringing again. She silenced it, unwilling to listen to whatever her mother had to say. Giselle didn’t want to hear it. After last night’s revelation that her mother was a shopping addict, Giselle refused to help her out anymore.
She should also cut off her father too. The next time he called, asking for money to get “a few beers” or for help paying his tab at the local bar, she’d tell him no. The years of Giselle enabling her dysfunctional family were over. She was done!
The rest of the morning went by without incident.
Giselle continued to trace the pattern of thefts, narrowing the window of when the merchandise was going missing.
Once she fully identified that window, she would cross reference the people that were working during that time frame.
Then she’d turn everything over to the security department.
Even now, she had a meeting with Tony, Dimitri’s head of security, this afternoon.
Would Dimitri be there? Would she get to see him again during the day?
The thought thrilled and terrified her. She was damn good at her job, but not when she was distracted.
Heading out for lunch, Giselle walked for a bit, trying to clear her head.
“It was just a kiss,” she told herself. She had been walking for about five minutes when a hand suddenly clamped around her arm.
A jolt of adrenaline shot through her, and she wrenched away, stumbling back as she turned to face her attacker.
After a moment of blind panic and a tussle, she recognized her “attacker”. “Elliot?” she blurted, her heart hammering against her ribs. “What are you doing here?”
Her former boss stood too close, shifting nervously, his eyes darting around as if he expected someone to be watching. “I need your help, Giselle,” he said urgently. “Not here. Will you come with me?”
Every instinct in her body screamed to run. The hairs on the back of her neck stood on end, and a cold unease settled in her gut. She had no idea why he had stopped her, but one thing was clear—he had been waiting for her.
“What do you want, Elliot?” she asked, her voice sharp with suspicion.
“Just to talk,” he insisted, reaching out again, but she stepped back. “I need your help, Zelly. It’s really important.”
Her skin crawled at the nickname, the way he said it like they were old friends. Why had he shortened her name like that? “Elliot, you need to move on. I can’t help you.”
“Yes, you can!” he pleaded, his voice rising with desperation. “If you wanted to, you could talk to Mr. De Luca! You could get him to give me my job back.”
Giselle barked a humorless laugh. “Not a chance, Elliot. He’s furious with you.”
Elliot’s expression darkened. “Why the hell is he so angry? I mean, I know I got upset, but seriously. You have to get my job back. It’s—” He stopped abruptly, looking around again, as if realizing he’d said too much.
Something about his paranoia sent a chill through her.
“Elliot, I don’t know what you think I can do, but even if I could help, the answer is no,” she snapped.
“According to the personnel records, you were underpaying me and dumping all your work on me.” She folded her arms, her frustration bubbling over.
“You used me! Do you have any idea how many people use me?”
Her voice rose, her emotions spilling out unchecked. “Everyone! Everyone seems to think I’m their personal sucker to exploit!” She sliced her hand through the air. “Well, no more! I won’t do it. I won’t do it for my family, and I certainly won’t do it for you.”
Elliot flinched, startled by her uncharacteristic outburst, but she didn’t give him time to recover. Spinning on her heel, she stormed back toward the building, her hands shaking, her pulse pounding in her ears.
Anger churned in her gut, but beneath it was something else—unease. Elliot’s desperation, the way he had been waiting for her, the nervous glances, the cryptic way he had said it’s really important…
Something wasn’t right.
And that made her blood run cold.