XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

That conversation has shifted to the clouds gathering in the sky. Judd is talking weather. He doesn’t use it to fill in the uncomfortable blanks in conversations. He’ll carry an hours-long discussion about cumulus clouds and heat waves.

I clear my throat. “As fascinating as this is, Judd, we need to work.”

He shoots me a look that tells me to fuck off, but his words convey a different message. “Sure thing, bud. I’ve got a few things to take care of.”

By my calculations, he has more than a dozen things that need his immediate attention, including a preliminary meeting with a prospective client in five minutes. “I’ll touch base with you before lunch.”

“If you buy me lunch, you have yourself a deal.”

I hold in a laugh. “Calvetti’s at one.”

Setting off toward the corridor that leads to his office, he calls back. “I’ll be there.”

“I’ll get your coffee in ten minutes,” Arietta says quietly with her gaze pinned to the floor. “I checked your schedule for the day and noticed that you have free time between eleven and eleven fifteen. I’m wondering if I could have a word with you then.”

I step aside to give her a clear line to enter my office. “We’ll talk now.”

She glances at the watch on her wrist. “You have a phone meeting in fifteen minutes. You need this time to prepare.”

That’s what I’ve always told her before my meetings. I used the ‘I need time to prepare’ line to grant me time alone to edit the photographs I take or text one of my sisters. I’ve always viewed it as the calm before the storm.

“My office, Arietta,” I insist as I gesture toward the door.

She reaches into the large purse that is still slung over her shoulder. With a tug, she yanks out a file folder. “I’m ready.”

I search her face for some clue as to what she’s hiding in the folder, but all I get is a half-grin from her.

“Lead the way.” I point at my desk, wondering what the hell is about to happen.

Chapter 39

Arietta

I’ve rehearsed this in my mind for hours, but I’m still nervous.

When I left Dominick’s apartment on Friday night, I went home. I took Dudley for a walk and cuddled with him while watching an episode of the legal thriller that Leta recommended.

I don’t remember any of it. The only things I’ve been able to focus on have been the way Dominick kissed me and the promise he made about my job.

I need this job if I want to keep my life plan on course.

That’s why I spent time this weekend working on something that will guarantee my job security even if things don’t work out between my boss and me.

I don’t expect them to.

I’ve witnessed firsthand through emails and phone calls how cold he can be to women he’s slept with.

My better judgment is telling me to end whatever is happening between us now, but I want him. I want to be with him, even if it’s just for one night.

“What do you have there?” he asks as he moves to stand next to me.

He hasn’t ordered me to sit in one of the chairs that face his desk, and he hasn’t taken a seat either, so I stand on shaking legs and look up at him. “The other night was really nice. I had a good time.”

Easing into this is the best approach, or at least I hope it is.

“I did too.” His gaze volleys between the file and my face. “I hope we can have dinner together soon.”

“I’m free all of this week unless my boss forces me to work late.”

A ghost of a smile passes over his lips. “I heard he’s a dick.”

Shaking my head, I chuckle. “He’s The Dick.”

His teeth tug on the corner of his bottom lip, and every thought in my head disappears save for the one where he’s doing that to my lip, or my thigh, or my clit.

I’ve never had good oral sex.

My first boyfriend didn’t know what he was doing. I’m very sure Dominick could teach a master class on how to eat pussy.

Since I want to experience that, I need to explain what I’m holding in my hand. I breathe deep, trying to calm my racing heart. “I have something to show you.”

His gaze rakes over my body, stopping just above my breasts. “Show me.”

I raise the file folder, so it’s in his line of sight. “It’s this.”

“Did you write me a poem?” he asks with the hint of a smirk on his sexy lips.

Where the hell did that question come from?

Leaning back on my heel, I shake my head. “Why would I write a poem?”

His eyes search mine. “I assumed you like poetry. There was a book of poems on your coffee table the day I stopped by to bring you soup. It belongs to you, doesn’t it?”