The rest of the week ticks by. I keep my head down and do whatever Inez tells me to—clean the toilets, mop the floors, polish the mirrors, vacuum the VIP section, and on and on. By the time Friday rolls around, I’ve learned the entire layout of the club, and it doesn’t feel so massive anymore. The daytime staff start to recognize me and even say hello.
Then comes Friday, and with it, my final assignment. De Rossi’s office.
I have to admit, I’m a bit curious to see where he spends his time. Ras meets me when I arrive and walks me down a hall I’ve only passed through a few times before. We stop in front of a heavy-looking door, and he knocks. No response.
“Guess we’ll have to come back later,” I say.
“I have a spare key. Don’t touch anything you’re not supposed to.” Ras turns his key inside the lock and holds open the door for me.
Well, it’s definitely way fancier that I expected it to be. The room reminds me of my Papà’s office back home, with dark oak shelves laden with books and a massive desk adorned with geometrical paperweights. My attentions snags on a picture frame hanging on one of the walls. I make a note to examine it more closely once Ras leaves.
“He wants everything dusted, the floor swept and mopped. Said something about a big cobweb in the corner behind his desk.”
“Lovely,” I mutter. “Have you been working for him for a while?”
Ras nods. “He’s the only boss I’ve ever had.”
“How did you get your job? Did he have you scrub floors too?”
“No, that’s just for you.”
“I feel so special.”
“Him and I go way back,” Ras says vaguely, clearly trying to end this conversation. “I’ve got somewhere else I need to be. Any questions before I leave?”
“Yeah, one.”
He cocks his head. “Why do I have a feeling I’m not going to like it?”
He’s wary of me. I wonder why? What has De Rossi said to him about me? “It’s Friday. Do you think I passed the trial?”
“You’ve still got one shift left.”
“But you know De Rossi. Which way is he leaning?”
Ras looks behind me. “You’ll have to ask him yourself.”
I turn around and see De Rossi enter the room. He slaps Ras on the shoulder as he passes him, which Ras takes as a signal to leave.
“Did Ras tell you what you need to do?” he ask once we’re alone in the room.
“Yes, he gave me all the instructions for cleaning your lair.”
“My lair?” De Rossi asks. He leans against the desk and gives me a smirk. “It’s more of a torture chamber, as far as you’re concerned. If you think I’m going to give you a break just because it’s Friday…”
His words pass by me as my brain latches on to torture chamber. Lazaro’s basement flashes in front of my eyes. The torn, bloodied flesh. The glint of the knife I’m holding in my hand. And the worst of it, his voice penetrating my ears with cruel commands to inflict unimaginable pain. “Take his hand, Vale. I want you to cut off his fingers for me.”
“Ale.”
De Rossi’s voice snaps me out of it. He’s standing very close to me now.
“I’m sorry,” I say as I take a step back. I can’t let my thoughts wonder like that, damn it. I need to get through the next few hours without giving De Rossi a reason not to hire me.
His expression is strange. If I didn’t know any better, I might think there’s a hint of concern reflected in his eyes. “Were you having some kind of a moment, or were you just ignoring me?”
“I was ignoring you.”
He doesn’t look convinced. “Why did you apologize?”
Why do you care? I want to scream. Instead, I say, “I can’t remember.”
He’s not impressed with my response. “Do you need to sit down?” he asks, surprising me.
“I’m fine.” I begin to rummage through the cart for a clean cloth. “Can I get started now?”
De Rossi flexes his jaw and nods, but he doesn’t leave like I hoped he would. He sits down at his desk and watches me as I climb up the step ladder and begin to dust his shelves. His gaze heats my skin, and a drop of sweat rolls down the valley of my spine.
“There must be something more important for you to do,” I exclaim when I can’t take it anymore.
“Nothing more important than quality control.”
“Don’t tell me you can see an errant speck of dust from all the way over there.”
“Do you want me to come closer?”
“No, thanks.” I climb down the ladder and move it over to the next bookshelf. This guy has thousands of books in here, mostly classics and non-fiction. Rows and rows of tomes on business, strategy, marketing…
“You really built your business by yourself?” De Rossi looks fairly young for a business mogul. No more than thirty. How does one become so successful in such a short amount of time?
He leans back in his chair. “I had an investor when I got started. I doubled his money in three years.”
“What was the company?”
“Concrete.”
I yawn. “Boring.”
Amusement flickers over his face. “Nightclubs are a lot more fun.”
“Fun? All I see you do is sulk on your balcony.”
“You saw me doing that once.”
“I’m sure I’d see it again if I came back here after midnight.”
“Is that what you’re planning to do tonight?”
“No. I’m going to crash as soon as I get home. This week has been—” I stop myself. No way I’m going to admit that I’m exhausted.
The glint in his eyes tells me he’s onto me. “Better get started on the floor soon. You need to rub it with a special wood cleaner after you mop,” he advises.
“Of course, your highness. I’ll be sure to rub your wood just the way you like it.” I realize how that sounded the moment the words leave my mouth. My eyes meet De Rossi’s.
He tips his chin up and gives me a very male smirk. “You really want to ace your trial week.”
“You know what I meant,” I grumble as I reach for the vacuum.
“Sounded like you were propositioning me.”
“I’d rather proposition a deflated balloon.”
The sound of his chuckle settles somewhere low inside my belly. The sensation is not completely unpleasant. “Someone ought to teach you how to talk to your superiors.”
I glance at him over my shoulder. “You’re not my boss yet.”
His eyes flare. I think he’ll hire me just to torment me some more. I get the sense that some part of him enjoys the fact that I talk back to him.
I begin to vacuum, and after a while, I no longer feel his attention on me. He works on something on his laptop and eats a green apple while I use the long attachment of the vacuum to get into every corner of the room. It’s not that dirty to begin with. I wonder if Inez was the one who put it all in order before me.
When I pass by the framed photo, my curiosity gets the best of me, and I stop to look at it. It’s a family. A man and a woman with three kids. There’s a young boy—maybe twelve or eleven—in the center of the picture, and he’s holding a small child. Beside him is an older boy, with his arm slung over the shoulders of the smaller one. It’s a weird family picture. No one is smiling.
I squint at the boy in the middle. “Is this your family, De Rossi?”
A pen clicks. “Yes.”
“You have siblings.”
“I do.”
“Your mom is very beautiful.”
“She’s my aunt.”
My brows furrow together as I turn to him. “You said this was your family. I assumed they were your parents.”
“My parents died when I was young,” he says evenly. “My mother’s sister and her husband took me and my sister in.”
I face the photo once again. “So who’s the other…” Wait, he looks a little familiar. “Is that Ras? You two are related?”
“He’s my cousin.”
Ah. So De Rossi’s most trusted employee is related to him. Maybe besides all the violence and murder, being a businessman is not so different from being a mafioso after all.
The image of little De Rossi holding his sister tugs at my heart. “That must have been hard. Losing them at that age.”
“Romero, I’m not looking for a therapist. Drop the audition.”
Who would have thought that sweet little boy in the picture would grow into this six-foot something menace? I glare at him and turn the vacuum back on.
When I’m done with the rest of the room, I approach his desk. “I need to get behind your chair. Ras said there’s a cobweb.”
De Rossi scoots over just enough for me to squeeze by.
As I move past him, I inhale a lungful of his scent. As much as I hate to admit it, he smells incredible. Salt and sea and something smokey, as if he’d smoked a cigar earlier today.
I push that dangerous line of thinking away and get down on my knees. The cobweb is not nearly as bad as Ras had made it seem. I crawl forward to get a better look. There are two dead flies caught inside of it.
De Rossi clears his throat. I ignore him. Maybe he’s prepping his next biting remark. Wouldn’t want to interrupt his creative process.
I take down the web with a wet cloth. De Rossi’s polished leather shoe is in my line of sight, and he’s tapping it on his precious wood floor, probably spreading dirt he brought in from outside everywhere.
“Worried about something?” I ask him.
His foot stops. “Just considering how strange it is that you keep ending up on your knees around me.”
I resist the urge to slap his ankle with the cloth. “That’s what happens when my job is literally to be on the floor. Get your mind out of the gutter.”
Is he looking at my ass? The thought that he might be makes me lick my lips. And arch my back.
De Rossi clears his throat and takes a loud bite of his stupid apple. I smile.
My little victory is cut short when I move to get up and instead end up falling back down on my butt.
“Ouch!” I wrap my palms around my calf. Goddamn charley horse. It must be all the physical labor this week.
“What happened?” De Rossi gets out of his seat and kneels beside me. “Are you hurt?”
“Spasm,” I grit out as I rub my tense muscles. Tears spring to my eyes.
“Let me see,” he demands.
“There’s nothing to see, I just need to work it out.”
“Stop being stubborn.”
The protest dies on my tongue when he wraps his big hands around my calf and smooths both of his thumbs down the back. He’s stronger than me, applies more pressure, and it feels so much better than whatever I was doing to myself. The sensation is enough to work a small moan out of me.
“How’s that?” he asks in a low tone.
“Better.”
“Hmm.”
I drop my head to rest against the edge of his desk while he keeps going. My lids lower. It’s hot today, and now that I’m not in motion, the tiredness sets in. De Rossi hadn’t been totally wrong about me when he deduced I hadn’t had to work a day in my life. Food, shelter, and money had always been a given. Not anymore. I’ve worked hard this week, harder than I’ve ever had to, and my body hasn’t had time to adjust to it yet.
He digs his fingers into just the right spot, and I bite my bottom lip to hold back another moan. A completely unwanted tendril of heat swirls in my core. I was attracted to him before he opened that cruel mouth—a fact I’d love to forget. This is De Rossi, for God’s sake. He saw someone in pain and decided to help out. It doesn’t change anything.
But when I crack open my lids, the look on his face makes sparks crackle across my skin. It’s downright wolfish. He meets my gaze and holds it. I suck in a breath.
“It doesn’t hurt anymore,” I whisper.
His fingers slow, his touch turns gentler. “You’re probably dehydrated.”
“A businessman and a doctor. How do you find the time?”
He drops his hands away from me and rises. A second later, I’m handed a bottle of water from his desk. “Drink this.”
I do because… Well, he’s probably right. I haven’t had anything to drink since this morning. I’ve forgotten how to take care of myself, and I’m still trying to remember.
“Thanks,” I say after I finish the water. “Take a look around. Let me know if I missed anything.”
He passes a cursory glance around the room. “It looks fine.”
“Fine’s not good enough for you, De Rossi. It needs to be excellent.”
I think I see a flicker of respect in his eyes. I give him a tired smile. “I’m a quick learner. And as I tried to tell you, I work hard.”
He tilts his head slightly to the side, and after a moment, he extends his hand. “Let me help you up.”
His hand is warm and steady. I rise to my full height, putting my eyes on the same level as his collarbones. When he appears in no rush to let me go, I tip my head back and meet his gaze.
He’s wearing a thoughtful expression. “I talked to Inez. She told me you’re one of the best employees she’s ever trained.”
My body feels light with relief. Inez put in a good word for me? I’m going to give her a long hug next time I see her. “She’s good at directions.”
He inhales and then lets out a resigned breath. I can tell he’s not thrilled with having to utter his next sentence. “I’ll admit, I may have been wrong about you.”
I swallow, trying to tempter my premature excitement. “Does that mean…”
His smile is a mere flicker. He drops my hand, walks behind his desk, and closes his laptop. “It means this won’t be the last time you clean this office.”
A grin overtakes my face. “Yes, boss.”
“On Monday, bring your documents. Ras will arrange your contract.”
Documents?
Crap.
