His Dirty Demands (Dirty Billionaires 1)

“Mmm, this is yummy. I used to think I wasn’t a wine drinker. Eating with you has changed that. Then again, I guess if you spend enough the wine can’t be bad.”

He chuckles as he wraps pasta around his fork “Money isn’t the answer to everything in wine. You’d be surprised. The wine we’re drinking is only twenty-three dollars a bottle. It was a lucky find at a local restaurant Dante will often press me to eat at. Once we had it, we asked for it to be included in our usual monthly delivery. We were both surprised to see the cost for a case was less than some of the single bottles we purchase.”

For a few minutes we both are more concerned with our food than conversation. I’m happy he seems to like it. He catches me looking at him. “This is really good. I’m impressed. You even finished the pasta in the sauce the way you’re supposed to instead of just mixing them together at the end.”

I shrug. “It’s easy when I have the contents of a five-star restaurant at my fingertips.”

His smile disappears. “Don’t do that. Do not think you are undeserving of a compliment. It’s also rude to the person who paid you the compliment. When someone compliments you, say thank you.”

He’s so serious. It’s also annoying he’s right—I’ve never been able to simply accept a compliment. “Thank you. I like to cook. I’ve missed it since Bethany went to school and it was just me to cook for.”

“You do it well. You don’t cook at all for yourself?”

“Every once in a while I’ll get the urge, but usually I work so much it’s easier to buy frozen dinners to pop into the microwave. A long time ago I used to cook food for the week then take it to work. The only problem with it was by the end of the week I was sick to death of what I made. So I got out of the habit. Do you cook?”

“I can, my mother was adamant about her boys learning to cook. Once she died, though, I spent all my time working and I’ve gotten out of the habit. Enzo became the cook of the house, then once Enzo enrolled in the Army Dante took over cooking duties. Dante is a damn good cook; I wish he did it more often. He only does it when he’s in a good mood. We’re all lazy and would rather depend on take-out. Enzo depends on dietician-created and delivered food. I used the service for a while too. I got out of the habit though—nothing appealed after I had the same thing over and over. So I fell into the habit of eating out or having something delivered.”

I’m curious. “You said you don’t spend much time at home. What does a normal day look like for you? I know you get to the office at seven. When do you leave the office?”

“Commonly not until around nine or nine thirty. Most days dinner is delivered to the office around seven thirty or eight o’clock, ordered by either Enzo or Dante. We usually eat dinner in my office as we discuss our day, sometimes we’ll go up to the apartment to be more comfortable. Sometimes we’ll hang out and watch a movie, sometimes Enzo and Dante will go out to the bars, other times, Dante and I will go home, even more often we’ll all three go our separate ways for the night. When I get home I’ll do a last check of my email or attend to anything I shut down for dinner. Then depending on the time, I’ll work out or simply get ready for bed.”

Huh, am I only going to get to see him at night? I don’t like the idea of that at all. “What about the weekends?”

He shrugs. “I work on Saturday, and sometimes Dante comes into the office for part of the day. On the Saturdays when he’s otherwise involved, I’ll have dinner ordered up then go home. On Sunday, I’ll take the day off and read or I’ll get roped into watching a movie at Dante’s. When the weather is nice we’ll go out hang out on Dante’s boat.”

I do my best to school my features to bland because I’m trying not to freak out. Cesare Sabatini is a workaholic; he also sounds like a heart attack waiting to happen. Things will have to change. I’m not going to give him any warning, though, as I’m sure if I do he’ll find ways to get out of it. Lost in my thoughts, I’m surprised by Cesare’s question.

“Where is your dog? I didn’t see any sign of him.”

“He probably hid under the chaise the minute he heard your voice going toward my room. Grover is terrified of men. So fair warning, no matter how nice you are to him, he’ll likely act as if you’re trying to kill or have kicked him.”

“Who hurt him enough to make him so scared?”

I’m relieved he’s concerned, not annoyed the way other people have been about Grover’s fear. “I have no idea—he was that way when we found him. We think he was maybe a pet of an older woman or someone who didn’t get around much because he wasn’t used to walks and hates them. When we tried to

take him to the park, he was freaked out by the grass. He does his business on a piece of Astroturf I put on the fire escape. My sister said she spotted him in an alley one day, but she couldn’t catch him at first. It took two days and an entire hamburger before he let her close enough to pick him up. Who knows what happened to him in the time it took her to find him?”

“How will he be with me here?”

It was my one real concern about my staying with Cesare. “I have no idea. He’s content to stay in one spot, his dog bed under my desk when I’m at home even when I’m not working at it. So he’ll probably just hide there if he hears you. I put some Astroturf in the room in case he gets too scared to come out when you’re around.”

He nods even though he still looks concerned. As we finish dinner, I’m surprised but happy Cesare helps me clean up the kitchen. His phone goes off with several text notifications, and he sighs as he texts back. “Heads up, Dante knows about the money and he’s coming in hot.”

Seconds later the front door opens with a bang of the door hitting the wall behind it. From down the hall Dante yells a word in Italian, and I don’t have to speak the language to know it’s bad. Dante rounds the corner, and seeing Cesare he starts spitting a stream of Italian at Cesare like the words are bullets shooting to kill. “Stop it, Dante, stop it. Please, I’m sorry. I am so sorry. I’ll quit. I understand you not wanting me there anymore. Whatever you want, but please stop talking to your brother that way.”

Shaking his head, Dante looks to me. The Italian starts again.

“English,” Cesare yells.

I’m only now able to tell Dante is drunk. He moves toward me. “I told you I would protect you if you needed it. Did you not believe me? I would never have allowed him to force you into this.”

“He didn’t force me to do anything. I want to be here. I’ve wanted to be for a long time. I told you that. Cesare would have never used me taking the money against me. I’m here because I want to be, not for any other reason.”

Cesare’s tugs me to face him; his look of relief has me smiling. “You knew I wouldn’t use the money against you? That I would have let you walk away if you wanted to?”

Rolling my eyes, I nod. “Of course I knew. One, it would have made you look bad, and you absolutely can’t stand that. Two, you weren’t going to do anything to hurt me.”

I slide my arms around Cesare’s middle, loving the way his heartbeat thumps fast against my ear. Dante stares for a moment then smiles wide before he reaches out to hug me. Cesare holds him off with a hand to the middle of Dante’s chest. “No touching my woman when you’re drunk. Go home and go to bed.”