His Dirty Demands (Dirty Billionaires 1)

“Also, I don’t know if you noticed, but there are more women than men, eighty percent women to twenty percent men. Cesare and Dante leave many of the decisions to the employees—there aren’t managers who run around demanding sales and projections like in other property firms around the city.

“But as much as I genuinely like and respect Cesare, you’re too soft and dare I say inexperienced to deal with him.” The question is there in the tilt of her head. Her light blue eyes shimmer with concern.

I shrug. I’m not ashamed of being a virgin. I guess at twenty-nine and it not being for some religious reason—I consider myself more atheist than anything—it’s definitely not the norm for women my age. “Even if I weren’t a virgin, I’m very aware getting involved with Cesare Sabatini would be a complete disaster. I’d much rather have a good job where I’m not living paycheck to paycheck than a few hours with a man who won’t remember my name six months later.”

Jeanine’s eyes widen. “You’re a virgin?” Crap, she hadn’t figured it out. “Wow. How is that even possible? You’re a pretty, smart, interesting woman. Zack admitted he often thought about asking you out but didn’t want to ruin the good working relationship you two had.”

Another shrug is all I give as I wonder if she really means it. Then I glance up, and the confusion on her face is sincere. I had no idea Zack thought about asking me out. I’m relieved he never did. Zack is a great guy, I just don’t see him like that. “I don’t know, I was busy with Bethany for years and didn’t have time for men. When I did...” I shake my head as I remember. “Thank you for your kind words, from men all I get are how lucky I am that they’re willing to be seen with me, so I’d better give it up or at least give them a blow job for their time and money they spent on the date.”

Her hand is soft on mine as she squeezes lightly. “I’m sorry, there are some assholes out there. You’re a pretty woman and a wonderful person. I believe there are men out there who would think they were lucky to date you. Don’t give up on men entirely, they aren’t all bad, and some are even worth all the shit you’ve gone through to get to them.”

I shrug again, not convinced. “I really am happy the way my life is. Men aren’t the end all and be all to making your life complete. If it’s meant to be then it will happen.”

Jeanine looks like she wants to say something else, but the waitress bringing our plates cuts her off. Thankfully, once I ask about work, Jeanine accepts the change of discussion. We keep talking about what I’m to expect throughout lunch.

Pulling up outside the store, I stumble as I get out of the car. “Here?”

Giggling like a little girl, Jeanine pushes me forward. “I told you, they aren’t stingy. Dante wants you ready to go as of today.”

The next hour is a whirlwind, leaving me with my head spinning and utterly exhausted. At first, I’m overwhelmed by the number of clothes Jeanine considers basics. I have a rainbow of button-down silk blouses that cost more each than the last six shirts I’ve bought combined. Mock turtlenecks in cashmere so soft I don’t want to take it off, and two different style blouses also in silk and also in a rainbow of colors at prices I have to stop looking at before I have a panic attack. Suits, both pants and skirts, are lined up and put to the side so they can be altered per the instruction of the stylist Lydia, who is amazing.

Not even my underwear is left to the imagination—I’m measured when Lydia doesn’t like the way I look in the first blouse. I find out I’m not the 38D I thought I was but a 42DD; it’s so annoying that I instantly feel better in the new bra, one of twelve also in a variety of colors and styles.

Then Lydia brings out a rack of dresses that blow my mind. I’m afraid to touch them, let alone try them on. Both women override my opinions on the dresses. Some are too damn clingy, and all I can think about is how fat I look in one or another. Jeanine

smacks my arm hard.

“Oh my god, woman, stop saying that shit about yourself right now. What would you do if I called you fat?” The moment she says it, it feels like a whip cracking against my skin. “Exactly. If it’s not okay, and it sure the fuck isn’t okay, for me to call you fat, then you’d better not call yourself that fucked-up word.”

From the corner of my eye, I watch Lydia nod. It hits me then: Jeanine’s right. If it hurts my feelings for her to call me fat, then I shouldn’t be calling myself fat. Well, fuck, how am I going to stop doing something I’ve been doing for what feels like forever?

***

Alicia

Once a time is set for the store to deliver the clothes later tonight, we’re finally back in the office. I’m worried we took too long, yet no one is in the least bothered. Hannah greets me warmly and chats with me as Jeanine gets settled. Dante simply responds “good” when Jeanine instant messages him that we’re back after spending an insane amount of money.

“I told you, he’s not stingy. Okay, let’s go over these emails. As you can see, Hannah has gone over the box. We share both Dante’s and Cesare’s boxes, so if either one of us is away from our desk, their emails never go unmonitored.”

I nod as I start to make notes. Over the next few hours, I’m engrossed in everything Jeanine says. Except for this tiny sliver of me that is waiting, tense with the need to see Cesare, and with each passing hour the tension grows. I hear his voice once as Hannah leaves his office. A little after four thirty Hannah leaves for the day.

“Dante comes in between nine and nine thirty—he’s a night owl. You’ll come in at eight thirty to prepare his day and stay until five thirty, or if they need you you’ll stay later. If you are going out for a dinner meeting, then you leave at three and a car will pick you up. Don’t worry too much about late nights because it doesn’t happen often and they do their best to make it up to you. Like if you need to stay until seven or something, then you can come in late the next day or take a longer lunch or leave early. Dante will usually ask you how you want to do it.”

An instant message comes through from Dante asking me to come into his office. “Speak of the devil. Go on in while I finish putting the finishing touches on this report.”

His suit jacket is off, his tie is undone, and his shirt is unbuttoned to the middle of his chest with the plain white shirt beneath visible. It’s startling after the pressed, neat appearance from the last time I met him.

He chuckles. “I’m surprised Jeanine didn’t warn you. I detest the suit and tie thing. I don’t care if they are made of silk, they are constricting. Cesare can sleep in his. Then again, he has to wear suits, his ink would give him away for the hood he used to be before we became respectable.” Ink, tattoos, hood? I know the brothers grew up in a middle-class neighborhood, their first language was Italian at their prosecutor for the city of Chicago father’s insistence. That they even attended a top-rated private Catholic school up until high school when they went to another private school, at least Cesare did, after what happened Enzo and Dante went to public schools. There is a lot written about their years before the murder-suicide of their mother and father but the time between the deaths and their appearance on the real estate scene flipping property is filled with nothing but rumors.

“Oh yes, once the suit is off none of us are as respectable as we look. Those are stories for another time, like how Cesare’s nose came to look as if it’s been broken, and it has been, three times actually.” He motions for me to sit. “So how was your first day? What are your thoughts?”

“So far it’s as advertised—I don’t foresee any issues. Hannah is great, and Jeanine is thorough in her training.”

“Good to hear. Tomorrow night Cesare will need you to accompany him to dinner with a client. Rodney Billings is a major commercial leasing client who has been out of Chicago for a few years. He’s moving back after a bad divorce so it won’t be heavy on the business, more about personal support. In fact, we debated you going but Cesare isn’t seeing anyone right now, and there was no woman he felt like bothering with to accompany him.” My attempt to appear nonchalant at the idea of a night out with Cesare apparently fails miserably, as Dante pauses then tilts his head as his eyes narrow. “That won’t be a problem, will it?”

Fighting the blush I feel spreading across my face. “No, not a problem at all. Should I look into Mr. Billings’ history, just in case?”

Two seconds stretch into what feels like eons before he leans back to study me thoroughly. “You are an intelligent woman. I won’t go into all the reasons why becoming involved with Cesare is a bad idea. If he should do anything, say anything to make you uncomfortable, let me know. You won’t need to endure anything you find unacceptable. However, if you do welcome it, be absolutely sure you’re willing to accept everything that comes with it. Cesare would like to speak to you—you can go directly into his office.”