XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

Even though her oldest brother, Berk, is the owner of the publishing company that contracted her to ghostwrite the book, Sinclair never asks for extensions or favors. She takes her job seriously.

I do too.

I have a mountain of work to get through today. I’m starting that with a large coffee and another phone conversation with the very persistent Teagan.

“Listen.” She sighs heavily into the phone. “I need you to give him a message for me. Promise me you’ll do that.”

How can I keep that promise?

Before I have a chance to relay that to Teagan, she starts talking again. “Tell him his lips are the purest form of pleasure this side of the Mississippi.”

The pen in my hand tumbles to my desk.

“Pardon....um...what did you just say?” I stutter out the question.

She repeats what she just said word-for-word at a snail’s pace, enunciating each syllable.

I follow along, writing it all down. I read it again and then again. Is she talking about the way he kisses or oral sex? Is Mr. Calvetti that good at eating a woman out that it’s pure pleasure?

“Repeat it back to me,” she demands.

Um. No. That’s not happening.

“Hold please,” I say to give me a second to catch my breath.

I have a date tonight with Lowell. I can’t be thinking of Mr. Calvetti with his face between my thighs. No, Teagan’s thighs. It was Teagan’s thighs, not mine.

Just as I’m about to take Teagan off of hold so I can end this call, the elevator dings in the distance, signaling its arrival on this floor.

I dart to my feet. There’s only one person who would show up this early.

I brace myself for it, but I’m still not prepared.

My heart does that flip-flop thing it always does when Mr. Calvetti comes into view.

Today he’s wearing a dark gray suit with a light blue button-down shirt and a striking royal blue tie.

If he didn’t manage billions of dollars, he could be a model.

For the briefest of seconds, I imagine him cruising shirtless up and down a runway at New York Fashion Week wearing a pair of board shorts with a T-shirt slung over his shoulder.

“Miss Voss,” he calls out to me, ending my fantasy. “You’re here early.”

I nod my head up and down, trying to knock the vision of him half-naked out of my mind.

A red light on my desk phone starts blinking. It’s a reminder that Teagan is still waiting on hold.

I bite the bullet and pass on the message because I don’t think she’s going to give up until she gets another taste of his lips. Or his lips tasting her. The gist is that she wants his lips and him.

“Sir, there’s a woman on line one.” I suck in a deep breath. “She’s called numerous times. She wanted me to tell you that ...” I glance down at the message pad on my desk. “Your lips are the purest form of pleasure this side of the Mississippi.”

He stops mid-step just mere feet from my desk. “What did you say?”

Seriously? Why does everyone want me to repeat that sentence?

I rip off the message and shove it at him. “Here.”

He doesn’t glance down.

Balling the paper into his fist, he leans toward me. “I have told you repeatedly to ignore all messages left for me by women who are not related to me or those in need of financial advice.”

He tosses the crumpled paper toward the wastebasket next to my desk. Naturally, he makes the shot. “Is that clear?”

“Yes,” I whisper, not bothering to add ‘sir’ on the end of it because he’s more of a selfish jerk than a man who deserves respect right now.

“Good.” He starts toward his office door. “I want my coffee in...”

“Ten minutes,” I interrupt because we do this same song and dance almost every morning.

Without so much as a glance back at me, he walks into his office and shuts the door behind him.

I drop back into my chair and pick up the receiver of the phone. For the first time, I can finally tell Teagan the truth, even though it’s bound to give her false hope. “Sorry to keep you waiting. I gave Mr. Calvetti your message.”

“You did?” Her voice is giddy. “What did he say?”

“He has a busy morning.” I close my eyes, wishing I could tell her to forget about him because he’s undoubtedly forgotten about her.

“I’ll wait to hear back from him.”

Since I can’t tell her that she’ll be waiting for the rest of her life, I end the call by wishing her a good day.

I sure as hell hope mine improves.

So far, this Friday is turning out to be a flop.

Chapter 11

Dominick

Scanning her from head-to-toe, I take the cup of coffee that Arietta offers.

Black sensible shoes, a green and white striped skirt, and a black turtleneck are quite the look for a spring day.