XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

Lowell wiggles his dark brows. “How can I say no to that?”

Dropping my gaze, I open the unread email from Dominick that just arrived.

Subject: Re: Re: Today

Miss Voss,

It seems the spell check in my email program auto-corrected his name.

By the way, how is your evening going?

Signed,

Dominick Calvetti

I should ignore the question, but I don’t. Instead, I hit reply.

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Today

Fine.

I press send. It’s one of my boss’s favorite responses to my questions, so I’m giving him a little taste of his own medicine.

As the server approaches to take our dinner orders, the sound of fingernails running down a chalkboard fills the air again.

Lowell laughs. “I thought my boss was a hard ass.”

I try not to think about Mr. Calvetti’s ass, so I smile.

Lowell starts a conversation with the server as I drop my gaze to my phone’s screen.

Subject: Re: Re: Re: Re: Today

I’m sorry to hear that.

Maybe Lowlife isn’t the guy for you.

Signed,

Dominick Calvetti

How dare he? He doesn’t know anything about Lowell, and there’s no way in hell that auto-correct is at fault again.

I curse under my breath when my phone sounds again with an incoming email. I put it on vibrate as I open the message.

Subject: Tomorrow

I’ll see you in the morning, Miss Voss.

I need you at the office at 5 a.m., so make it an early night.

Signed,

Dominick Calvetti

Five? In the morning? What the ever-loving crazy is that?

“Are you ready to order, Arietta?” Lowell asks.

Sliding my phone back into my clutch, I look up at him and the server. “I’m ready.”

I won’t fall victim to Mr. Calvetti’s latest test. If he’s expecting me to respond to ask why I need to be at the office so goddamn early, he’ll be disappointed.

I’ll show up at four-thirty just to spite him.

I order my dinner, silently calculating in my head how long it will take me to eat it, have dessert, and get home and into bed so I can get at least a few hours of sleep.

Fortunately, I only live a few blocks from here.

“Arietta,” Lowell says my name before he reaches across the table to cover my hand with his. “I hope we can do this again tomorrow night. Maybe at the seafood restaurant we planned on going to tonight?”

I’ll be dead tired by this time tomorrow, but the soft smile on his face and the dimple in his left cheek sways me to agree to his proposition. “I’d like that.”

He squeezes my hand gently. “It’s a date. I have a feeling I’m going to dream about you tonight.”

I’m going to have a nightmare tonight about my boss. It’s already started.

Chapter 25

Dominick

In my effort to sabotage Miss Voss’s date with Lowlife, I screwed myself.

Why the hell did I order her to the office at five a.m.?

When I sent the email, I chuckled, thinking that she’d end the date and rush home to bed to get her eight hours in.

She didn’t.

How the fuck do I know that?

Because I’m the asshole who decided it was in my best interest to continue standing near the entrance to Axel Tribeca after Miss Voss put her phone back into the clutch purse on the table.

Yes, I’m that guy.

I went to get take-out at the same restaurant where Arietta was dining with Lowell. I convinced myself it was because I was craving the pan-seared salmon and the ‘medley of fresh vegetables,’ which turned out to be thinly sliced red peppers and green beans.

I fucking hate green beans.

As I waited for my food, I watched her. Lowlife’s back was to me, but I could see Arietta. I saw the expression on her face as she read my emails, and then Lowlife reached for her hand.

The smile that sat on her bee-stung lips after that was pure torture.

I grabbed my take-out, took off, and handed the bag of expensive food to a guy on the street corner asking for spare change.

Then I went home. I tossed and turned for hours before I finally fell asleep.

I’m exhausted and irritated.

Why the fuck do I care if she holds hands with a man? She’s available. She should be dating.

I exit the elevator on the floor that houses the offices to my company.

The lights are on.

That means Miss Voss beat me at my own game.

She’s here early.

I shouldn’t be surprised. She’s always early, right, kind, thoughtful, patient, and has soft gray eyes that reflect wisdom far beyond her years.

I shove a hand through my hair as I round the corner toward my office.

She bolts to her feet. Her hands fall to the waistband of the skirt she’s wearing. It’s patterned with red and blue butterflies. The white blouse she has on is buttoned to her neck.

Her hair is piled on top of her head in a bun that sits a little too far to the left.

She’s so fucking beautiful.

“Mr. Calvetti,” she calls out to me in her sweet voice. “How are you today, sir?”