XOXO (The Calvettis of New York 3)

“It will give us a chance to discuss how we’ll handle correspondence with Clarice moving forward.” He slides right back into boss mode as the smile slips from his lips. “I’m confident that you can handle it, Arietta, but it’s important that we’re on the same page when she reaches out to you.”

Sure, boss.

Tell me my date is a married cheater, and then effortlessly shift the conversation to work.

Since Sinclair is at Berk’s for dinner, and I have nothing to look forward to but watching TV with Dudley until she gets home, I nod. “Okay.”

This evening isn’t going the way I thought it would, but now I know Lowell Wellington is a waste of my time, and I have Mr. Calvetti to thank for that.

The least I can do is spend an hour or two with him while he tells me what I should and shouldn’t say to Clarice Blanchard. Little does he know that I’m following my instinct when it comes to Clarice. It worked when I met her, so it’s bound to work going forward.

Chapter 29

Dominick

The short white cardigan that Arietta put on over her dress is enough to ward off the wind that picked up while I was in her apartment. She pushes a wayward strand of hair back from her cheek as she glances at me.

Jesus, every single fucking time I look at her, I see pure beauty.

I’ve never known a woman who can capture attention with just a smile.

Arietta is doing it now.

She grinned at a couple pushing a toddler in a stroller as we exited the lobby of her apartment building. They both stopped to wave to her.

From the bits and pieces of the conversation she’s having with them, they’ve never seen her before today. The woman wanted to know where Arietta got the dress she’s wearing.

I missed the answer as I called the driver I often use to pick us up. He told me he was on Judd duty tonight, so I fired him.

Thankfully, he’s been with Modica long enough not to take me seriously.

As I debate whether to flag down a taxi or order an Uber, Arietta steps in place next to me.

“Our Uber will be here in a couple of minutes, sir.”

I glance over to see the couple she was speaking with walking away. “You ordered a car?”

“Yes,” she says with a nod. “I did it when we were in the elevator on our way down. I told you. You don’t remember?”

No. Not at all. That likely has everything to do with the fact that I was staring at her. Her body in that dress is out of this world, but the way she was biting her bottom lip as she typed into her phone was hypnotic.

I didn’t realize the elevator made it to the lobby before she stepped out.

I drag a hand through my hair. “How long have you lived here?”

It’s a generic question. It’s random enough that my cock will calm the fuck down. There’s nothing sensual about living accommodations.

“Before I moved to New York, I arranged to live in Midtown in a three-bedroom apartment with five other people.” She shakes her head. “It was dirt cheap, and I thought I’d make new friends.”

Lifting a brow, I ask the question she’s waiting for. “It didn’t work out?”

Rolling her eyes, she lets out a laugh. “There was no apartment, and the five other people were one scam artist with a bogus ad on Craigslist. He took my deposit, and when I went to the building, no one knew anything about it.”

Damn, that’s a cold welcome to the city.

“Asshole,” I spit out.

Her eyes brighten. “It all worked out. I rented a room at an airport hotel, and a week later, I met the woman who owns the apartment I live in now. She’s Sinclair’s sister-in-law. She gave me a cut on the rent as long as I took care of the cleaning and cooking.”

She’s lucky. Most stories like hers end with the scam victim fleeing back to wherever they came from.

“I’m glad it worked out, although that’s a tough blow about the security deposit.”

Glancing down at her phone, she takes a step toward the curb. “It did all work out. I contacted him again when he posted another ad a month later. I used a different name and told him I could only pay in cash, so we agreed to meet up at a diner.”

This woman has steel balls. It takes courage to do that.

“What happened?”

She gestures to an approaching black SUV. “There’s our ride. I told him that he was guilty of committing wire fraud. Since it’s a misdemeanor, he faced up to a year in jail, and I was prepared to present my evidence to the prosecutor’s office that afternoon.”

I hold back a chuckle as the car stops next to us. “You had evidence?”