His Dirty Demands (Dirty Billionaires 1)

“Okay, yes, two o’clock.”

“All right, no need to bring a resume or anything. Just wear the nicest, most professional outfit you have. As sexist as it sounds, a skirt or dress is best. Dante and Cesare prefer women to dress like women, they can be a little old-fashioned that way. You can do leggings under it though. It is January in Chicago.”

I’m already flipping through my meager wardrobe. “I will.”

“I’ll see you Tuesday.”

“Yes, and Jeanine, thank you so much for this. I really appreciate it.”

“You earned it. I know you’re good for it.”

My heart continues pounding for minutes after Jeanine ends the call. I do a search on the Dante and Cesare. Like I told Jeanine, I know of them as with their looks and their money, they’ve made the gossip page in the Tribune often and the front page with some of their deals almost monthly. However, they don’t like reporters, have never posed for pictures or done interviews. Their company is private, without any plans of ever going public.

The more I read about them the more I’m afraid to get my hopes up. Seventy-five grand. I only make forty-six thousand a year now paid monthly, so I don’t go hungry over the summer months. Half of my take-home pay goes to my rent. The other half goes to bills and Bethany’s rent and her bills and food. If it weren’t for me making quilts to request and selling others online, and trading stocks very, very carefully, I wouldn’t be able to afford groceries. Getting this job could change everything.

***

I look up to find a woman staring at my hand as if she wants to smack it. Immediately I still my hand from the drumming that inspired the hate glare. I smile weakly. I’ve been sitting here for almost twenty minutes. I check my watch for the fifth time in the last four minutes. Even though I still have almost ten minutes until my meeting with Dante Sabatini, if I don’t go up now, I’m going to spontaneously combust from nerves.

The elevator is already opening as I walk up to it. A few other people get on, but no one has pressed the button for the seventy-fourth floor, where I’m going. Eyes down, I fiddle with the temporary badge I was given at the security desk before I was allowed to get more than ten steps inside the huge glass doors. One by one the elevator empties, then shoots up to my floor.

I look up from my watch at the sound of the doors opening. Cesare Sabatini is there, filling the doors of the elevator. There’s a private elevator only he, Dante, Enzo, Jeanine and Hannah have access to, so I wasn’t expecting him in three-dimensional living, breathing color less than five feet from me. That has to explain why my breath is stuck in my chest. He’s huge. Bigger, bolder, darker than the pictures I’ve seen. A snow-white shirt against a black silk tie that matches the suit he’s wearing, heightens the rich glow of his olive skin. Despite his suit obviously being cut to fit, it doesn’t hide the muscle that ripples beneath it as he brushes a hand through his silky black hair. I follow the movement, my eyes drawn to the glowing silver at his temples.

The air around him vibrates with raw masculinity. Even wearing a silk suit perfectly tailored to him and shoes I recognize as being handcrafted, beneath the surface that screams money is a hint of something utterly primitive. Especially when it’s clear his hawkish nose has been broken and reset. Vaguely I wonder who in the world had the guts to take a swing at him. A face of harsh angles and planes has no right to be beautiful—it’s not a word that should fit him. Yet it does, because somehow his heavily lined forehead, squared jaw and sharp cheekbones combine into a visage so stunning he doesn’t seem real. There is only one flaw: a thin beard covering the skin of his jaw. I resent the beard for hiding a single inch of skin when something deep down inside me longs to see all of him. His lips catch and hold my attention, thick, wide, and sensual. I wonder how they would feel against mine.

The moment the thought is out, I wonder where the hell it came from. It’s completely unlike me. I feel a blush wash over face. Those lips spread slowly into a predatory smile as his black eyes glisten with intent. My heart doesn’t flutter, it pounds like a jackhammer—enough to shock me back to almost normal.

“Cesare Sabatini, how may I help you?” His voice is smoky and deep rumbling out of his broad chest. He leans against the elevator door to keep it open, as casual as he appears there is a tension in him I feel in the air. Jeanine had pronounced his name the same way—"Chezeray”—yet the way he says it, with the lightest of an Italian accent, turns it into something erotically unique. Instantly it calls up fantasies of him whispering naughty, dirty things in my ear.

“Alicia Jeffries. I’m here to meet with Dante about the personal assistant position?” Shit, it sounds like a question and could I sound any more breathless?

His smile disappears as his eyes shutter closed. My senses trip at the sudden change in the air, in him. Even as I’m wondering what I did wrong, he looks to the women at the main reception desk. “Katherine, see Ms. Jeffries to Dante’s office.”

He steps back, pointedly giving me room to exit the elevator. I step out, oddly hurt at his dismissal. Without a look back he’s in the elevator. “Good day, Ms. Jeffries.”

I blink, and the doors close. What just happened? What was that? My thoughts are cut short by the older woman with brassy red hair behind the desk sighing loudly. “Come on, I don’t have time for you to moon over the boss.”

A younger woman with blonde hair smirks at me from behind the desk as I follow the redhead. She moves fast ahead of me. The one-inch-heel black leather knee-high boots I paired with the long-sleeve gray cashmere sweater dress allow me to keep up with her, barely. The office isn’t nearly as staid and boring as I imagined. One wall is a bright mural of Michigan Avenue with the lions smiling in front of the Art Institute. In the center, the cubicles are open and white. Unlike the office setup where it seems like every inch is used, there are only four in a square with at least twenty feet between six cubicles.

I note a large break room with a row of vending machines with fresh food and frozen along one wall, and a long wall of coffee makers and tea on offer. There is a small conference room with seating for maybe four or five people. Across the hall is a larger conference room with seating for at least twenty people. Both rooms are made of glass, with the lower half frosted.

It takes a minute to realize the hallway is formed from a long office, the only place where there is wood and solid sheet rock. In front of the office is a seating area of plus

h silk sofas in gray. There is another hallway that I see ends in with two doors I can tell are bathrooms. Another office is on the right and it’s clear it’s the corner office with more wood and sheet rock protecting it from interested eyes. The desk in front of the one on the left has Jeanine smiling at me. The desk on the right has a smiling African-American woman somewhere in her fifties studying me openly.

Before I can even say thank you, the redhead is gone again. I look at Jeanine. It’s been almost a year since I last saw her, when she came to an event to honor Zack as best principal in Illinois. Her sandy blonde hair is in a pixie cut that fits her small, lithe frame perfectly. Despite her being almost eight months pregnant, her baby bump is barely there. “Ignore Katherine. She resents doing anything she deems beneath her. I swear Cesare makes her do stuff just to annoy her. Take a deep breath, you look like you’re about to fall over. You also look great. Remember, I told you this is a formality. Dante was pleased with your resume. He talked to Zack yesterday and I don’t know what the hell Zack said but it clinched Dante wanting you. There are a few questions he has for you though. Go on in.”

Opening the door, I’m not sure what to expect after my encounter with Cesare. When I see him, relief pours through me. While Dante Sabatini is attractive, he pales in comparison to Cesare. Although it’s clear they are brothers, with the same chin and brow, Dante doesn’t have nearly as many frown lines and his nose is thinner without it ever having been broken. And while tall somewhere around six foot one, he’s at least three inches shorter than his brother and not nearly as broad shouldered.

I step deeper into an office so big I’m pretty sure my one-bedroom apartment is only bigger by maybe five feet. Light streams through the huge wall of glass behind him. Impressive. Dante Sabatini stands with a welcoming smile as he offers his hand. His grip is strong, firm, warm. He motions for me to sit in the chair in front of his desk. “Thank you so much for meeting with me, Mr. Sabatini.”

“How could I not? Jeanine sang your praises, your resume is excellent, and your boss told me I would be a dumbass not to hire you.” I blush at the idea of Zack calling Dante Sabatini a dumbass. Dante laughs. “It was refreshing—no one but my brothers has questioned my intelligence in years. Did Jeanine give you the full lay of the land?”

“I think so. She told me I would be knee-deep in reports for rents, sales, and prospective properties.”

“Did she make it clear the hours are a little different? There will be times I will need you to accompany Cesare or me for business dinners or breakfast meetings. Hannah’s normal time in and out is from seven when Cesare comes in, then she’s out at four. She will cover the working lunches. She’s also willing to work late from time to time with the clear line she is firmly out the door no later than five thirty. She feels she has paid her dues in that regards. Considering she’s been with us for over twelve years, Cesare agrees with her. It’s the reason why you’ll have a monthly clothing allowance.”

“Jeanine told me, it’s not a problem. The clothing allowance is appreciated. I don’t have a wardrobe I think would be up to standards. I don’t have much of a life,” I admit without embarrassment. I like my life the way it is, and I’m not ashamed of it. “While I do have a dog who won’t be ecstatic about me getting home late, I have a neighbor who will be willing to take care of him on late nights.”