XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

Chapter 28

Arietta

I take one last look at myself in the mirror.

I’m wearing a pink dress that I bought months ago at Past Over. It’s sleeveless with a fitted bodice and a skirt that falls just above my knee.

Before Sinclair left to have dinner with Berk and his daughter, Stevie, she helped me pull my hair into a high ponytail. My makeup was also her handiwork, even though I argued that I could handle it on my own.

She did a fantastic job though. My eye makeup is a mix of pink shadows, and black liner finished with a coat of mascara. The lipstick I have on is a shade lighter than my dress.

I slide my glasses back on when I hear a faint knock at the apartment door.

After one last look in the mirror, I head out of my bedroom.

Inviting Lowell here to pick me up wasn’t a strategic move. He offered to stop here so we could take an Uber together to the restaurant. It will save us both a little money. Since I started living in this city, I’ve realized that every extra dime counts.

Another knock at the door lures a playful bark from Dudley. He leaps off my bed and heads toward the foyer at breakneck speed.

I chase after him, giggling as he slips on the hardwood before he finds his balance again.

We reach the door at almost the same time.

I swing it open.

“Lowell,” I say to the solid chest of a man who is at least six inches taller than my date.

Blinking my eyes in confusion, I follow the man’s chest with my gaze until I reach his lips and then his dark eyes.

“Mr. Calvetti?” I whisper his name, not sure if I’m seeing what I’m seeing.

With mussed hair, and his jaw freshly shaven, my boss looks down at me. “Arietta.”

I glance past him to where the elevator is at the end of the corridor. “I wasn’t expecting you.”

“You were expecting Lowlife,” he says matter-of-factly.

“Lowell,” I correct him because it’s not funny anymore.

I don’t feel any loyalty to Lowell. I don’t have to defend him, but since The Dick has never met him, he doesn’t have a right to judge him.

“May I come in?” he asks in a low tone.

My gaze drops to the bouquet of pink and red roses in his hand. The stems are tied neatly together with a white ribbon.

I step aside, curious about why he stopped here when he’s obviously on his way to a date. I always wondered what he dresses like outside of the office.

He’s wearing dark gray pants, a black V-neck sweater, and very nice black wingtip shoes.

My heart thunders inside my chest as he brushes past me.

Why did he have to come here right before Lowell is set to arrive? I can’t be thinking about my ridiculously hot boss while I’m eating shrimp and imitation crab with a guy who kissed me on the cheek in a way that didn’t fan any flames inside of me.

Right now, I feel like I’m standing in the center of a roaring inferno.

Shutting the door, I turn to face him. “How can I help you, sir?”

He rakes me from head-to-toe slowly, his gaze catching on the gold heart necklace I’m wearing. “You look lovely, Arietta.”

I’m taken aback by the compliment. He looks more handsome than a man should ever look, but I keep that to myself. He knows it. Men like him are well aware of how every head turns when they walk into a room.

“I have a date,” I blurt out even though he overheard me telling Clarice that this afternoon. “He’s going to be here any minute.”

His gaze drops to the bouquet he’s holding. “These are for you. I wanted to thank you again for introducing me to Mrs. Blanchard.”

With a shaky hand, I take them. I’ve never seen such a beautiful arrangement of roses. There are at least two dozen of them, each perfect in shape. “Thank you, sir.”

His gaze flits to the door before it settles back on my face. “We need to talk. It’s important, Arietta.”

Since he’s never given me flowers before, I can only assume that he’s going to rescind the offer to compensate me for Clarice signing with Modica.

I knew I should have gotten it in writing and had his signature notarized.

The flowers are lovely, but they’re not an ironclad legal agreement.

I don’t have time to do this now. This is a discussion we can have tomorrow morning after I’ve gathered my thoughts so I can present a compelling argument as to why I am entitled to what Judd promised.

“I’m having dinner with Lowell tonight,” I explain in an even tone. “I think any conversation concerning a work issue should take place at the office.”

His brow furrows. “This isn’t a work issue.”

It takes a second for that to sink in. I bring the flowers to my nose and inhale. The scent is sweet, enveloping. Taking a breath, I exhale. “Why are you here?”