by S. J. Tilly
My fork is inches from my face when my phone starts to ring. I shove the noodles into my mouth as I hesitate in answering. I ignored his call last night, not wanting to talk to him after the whole office sex incident. But if I ignore his call a second night in a row, he’ll go all stalker mode on me.
I hit answer and put it on speaker so I can keep eating.
“Hey, John.”
“Sister. You home?”
“Yep, just walked in a few minutes ago.”
John hums. “How’s the Cap?”
I glance down at Captain and smile. “Well, he’s currently sitting on my coffee table devouring a chunk of peanut crusted chicken, so I’d say he’s doing fine.”
“Sounds about right. Give his fat ass a scratch for me.”
My brother acts all tough, but he loves my cat almost as much as I do. “I’ll do that. How about you? You still at work?”
“Yeah. Just taking a food break. But don’t worry, my current project isn’t exciting.” Exciting is John’s code for dangerous. “How’d your meeting go today? This was your big intro thing for your new client, right?”
“It was okay.” I’m talking with my mouthful, but it doesn’t do much to cover my lack of enthusiasm.
Of course, John takes notice. “You don’t sound all that happy about it. Usually, you’re frothing at the mouth to give me details. Too many details.” I can picture him rolling his eyes.
“Yeah, well, this one is different.” I sigh and set down my fork.
“Different how?”
I don’t really want to tell him about this, but I want to talk to someone. I’ve become so much of a workaholic that almost all my friends are colleagues, and I can’t tell any of them about Vincent. I’m sure Jessica would just about die to hear my gossip, but then I’d be asking her to keep secrets from our boss and that’s not fair.
“Different how, Sasha?” John’s tone has turned concerned.
“It’s just that…” I huff out a breath. “You don’t want to hear about this.”
“Sasha.” He’s using his dad voice now.
“Fine. If you must know, I slept with the guy. But I didn’t know he was the guy at the time. I didn’t even know he was with the company! I mean I figured that out yesterday, but it’s not like I could have guessed who he really was! And now I have to work with him. And I can’t tell Cheryl. Or Jessica. And it’s a mess.” My voice loses its steam. “It’s a mess.”
John’s silent for a moment. “Uh, back up. What guy?”
I don’t really want to go there with John, but I don’t see another option since I already started. “He’s a guy at the company I’m consulting for.”
“No shit. I got that part. But can you avoid interacting with him?”
I scoff. “Not a chance.”
“And you didn’t think about that before you…” My 38-year-old brother has trouble referencing sex when he’s talking to me.
“It doesn’t matter.” I save him for saying the words. “You don’t want to talk about this. Let’s change the topic. Like I said, I didn’t know who he was at the time.” I realize my mistake as soon as I say it.
“You slept with someone you didn’t know! Don’t you know how dangerous that is? Did he give you a fake name?”
I groan and drop my head against the back of the couch. “Oh my god, you are so dramatic. He didn’t give me a fake name. I just didn’t…” Crap. No good way to say this. “I didn’t get his last name.”
“Jesus, Sasha. Where’d you meet this guy, at a fucking bar?”
He’s being sarcastic. I know he is since I never go out. But he’s not wrong.
He reads my silence correctly. “Seriously? Since when did you start trolling bars for tail?”
“Tail?” I scoff. “Really, John? And I wasn’t trolling for anything. We happened to meet on my one night of vacation.”
“Vegas! You hooked up with a complete stranger in Vegas? Goddamnit, that was after I talked to you, wasn’t it? You were all alone! Anything could have happened to you!” John nearly shouts. Shit, I really should’ve just ignored his call.
“I know. Okay, I know. But it was fine. I was fine. Clearly, I made it out alive and unharmed. Vincent isn’t a bad guy. We had a good time.” I cringe as I say good time, it sounds so sleazy.
“Vincent what?”
“Huh?”
“I’m assuming you’ve since found out his last name. What is it?”
“John, I know what you’re thinking, but I don’t need you to run a background check on him. I know everything there is to know.”
John sounds incredulous. “Oh, really. How do you figure that?”
I take a breath. “Because Vincent is my client. Vincent Mazzanti.”
John lets out a string of curses, but they’re muffled, like he pulled the phone away from his face. Then his voice comes back full force. “Fucking hell, Sasha. You basically live the life of a fucking nun, then you go out and bag yourself the patriarch of a goddamn crime syndicate. Without even realizing it!”
I can’t help it. I burst out laughing. I’m laughing so hard I have to move my takeout, so it doesn’t shake off my lap and onto the floor.
A solid minute later I’m catching my breath when John ends his silence.
“You done?” He does not sound amused.
“Thank you. I needed that.” I chuckle. “Patriarch of a goddamn crime syndicate.” I mimic John’s voice. “You’re so dramatic. Go ahead and run your background check. The whole point of my current project is to introduce Vincent to the world. Show that he’s a good guy. That the company is clean. I mean yes, clearly the mobster background is there, but we already knew that most of the organized crime stuff ended when Vincent’s dad was still in charge. He started turning the businesses legit even back then. Rumor is that’s why he was murdered.” My mood sobers at the reminder of that event. “Vincent was there. He witnessed his father’s murder when he was just a kid.”
“I remember reading about that.”
I shake off the dark cloud trying to settle on my shoulders. “Yeah, well they might be on the up-and-up now, but you may want to be careful about running a check on him. I’m not sure how all that stuff works but I imagine there’s a flag somewhere. They’ll probably know you’re looking.”
John grunts. “I’m not worried about that. But if I find so much as a toe out of line, I’ll come up there and arrest him myself.”
I smile. “I’m no expert, but I don’t think that’s how your jurisdiction works.”
“I’m not worried about it.” He repeats.
These damn alpha cavemen idiots.
“Alright, I gotta go.” John says, ending the conversation. “Take care of yourself.”
“Same to you.”
“Try to not sleep with any more mob bosses.”
I hang up on him.
Just when I think things couldn’t get more messed up. My special agent brother just found out that I’m sleeping with the newest head of the Mazzanti family.
Correction, I slept with. Past tense. Because that’s not happening ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SASHA
W atching the clock on the wall tick around to 1:55 I have to stop myself from puking into my garbage can. With five minutes until my meeting with Vincent I need to get my shit together. There is no way out of this meeting that doesn’t end in my resigning or getting fired. I’ve dealt with intimidating clients in the past so it’s not like I can tell my boss I’m too scared to meet with him. That I am terrified at the idea of being alone in an office with Vincent. With the man who kept his identity a secret even after he obviously knew about our connection.
My phone beeps with a text.
Cheryl: Good luck in your meeting with Mr. Sin ;) Let me know if you need help with any of the follow up.
Cheryl has not been able to shut up about how attractive Mr. Sin is. Just thinking about that stupid nickname has my anger swelling. Mr. Sin indeed. If Cheryl had any idea just
how sinful he is, I bet she wouldn’t find this all so amusing.
With a dramatic sigh, I push out of my seat and head for the elevators. I may not want to do this, but I need to pull up my big girl undies and get it over with. Showing up late would just give Vincent more ammunition against me. Not only will I not give him anything to criticize me for, but I’m also going to blow him away with my creativity and dedication. I’m good at my job, damnit, and he’s going to see that.
With my renewed sense of purpose, I let determination steel my spine and I practice a few breathing exercises during the elevator ride up to the top floor. When I start to feel slightly lightheaded, I promise myself that I’ll start doing some of my old workout videos again.
The doors slide open on the executive floor, and I straighten my suit jacket.
Knowing I’d be facing Vincent today, I dressed in my best power suit. Charcoal grey tailored pants and a matching, fitted, one-button jacket over a blood red satin scoop neck top. My hair is pulled back into a low bun and I’m wearing my no-nonsense pointed-toe black heels. There is nothing soft or girlie about my outfit. My makeup is simple but deliberate, making my hazel eyes stand out. The only touch of femininity are my pearl stud earrings. They were my mother’s and have always given me strength.
“Sasha, perfect timing.”
Hearing my name, I turn to see Vincent’s assistant walking my way with a cup of coffee in hand.
I recognize him from the meeting last week. I’d guess he’s in his late 20’s. He’s tall, slender, blonde, and boy-next-door good looking.
“Hi, Brent. Nice to see you again.” I tell him genuinely.
I’m glad that I ran into him. I didn’t want to aimlessly wander the floor searching for Vincent’s office.
“Same to you. You look lovely today.” Brent says with a smile.
I fight the scowl that wants to take over my face. Lovely? I’m trying to look like a hardass. “Thanks.”
Brent tosses his head back and laughs. “You must be one of those people who are uncomfortable with compliments. Consider it noted.” He grins. “Though it won’t stop me from doling them out.”
I grin back. I like this guy more with each passing moment.
“Follow me. I believe Vincent should be off his call by now and ready for you.” I step up next to Brent as I let him lead the way. “Would you care for anything to drink? This coffee is for boss man, but I can grab another for you.”
“Oh, no thank you. I’ve probably over-caffeinated already.”
Brent chuckles. “I think I do that every day, and I still never learn.”
I finally look around and nearly trip over my own feet when I see what office he’s leading me to.
Of fucking course. Why didn’t I think about this sooner?
Brent must notice my hesitation, thinking it has to do with whom I’m meeting and not where, because he nudges my arm. “Don’t worry, he won’t bite.”
I try to laugh but it comes out as more of a choke. Apparently, Brent has never slept with Vincent, otherwise he’d know that the Devil does indeed bite.
Brent knocks against the door frame before stepping into the office. “Vincent, Sasha is here for your 2 o’clock.”
“Thanks, Brent. Send her in.”
I shove my swirling emotions down into a steel box, locking them away, as I step into the office where Vincent fucked me on what is apparently his own desk. Asshole.
Giving myself a moment, I take in the large office now that everything is moved in. The outer wall is made entirely of floor to ceiling windows, with a great view of downtown Minneapolis. Vincent’s desk is in the same place as it was before, at the front of the room, allowing Vincent a position of power. From experience I can say that the dark wood construction is well built. Facing his desk is a pair of upholstered visitor chairs. There’s also a couch and a coffee table at the back of the room.
I allow myself a brief moment to wonder why we had sex on the desk and not the couch before I guide myself towards one of the visitor chairs facing Vincent.
“Hold my calls, Brent. And close the door behind you.”
Vincent’s command is punctuated by the sound of his office door clicking shut.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
VINCENT
M y eyes haven’t left her since she walked through my door, but she hasn’t looked at me. I deserve this treatment. I was an asshole to her last time she was in here. And though it should make me feel like an even bigger ass, I don’t stop myself from watching the sway of her hips as she approaches. I’m sure she meant to look professional, maybe even stern, dressed the way she is, but it’s not working. The jacket accentuates her delicious hour-glass figure. The pulled back hair exposes her pale neck, making me want to sink my teeth into her soft flesh. Seeing Sasha all polished and proper only tempts me to tear at her clothing and smudge her makeup.
When Sasha bends to sit in my visitor’s chair the movement exposes just a touch of cleavage.
The sound of the door shutting sends blood surging straight to my dick. I told myself I’d stay professional with Sasha from here on out, but being alone again, in this office again, has my body thinking differently.
I swallow down my lust. “Hello, Sasha.”
My voice sounds too gruff, too loud.
Her eyes finally snap up to meet mine. “Vincent.”
Her tone is clipped. Meant to be harsh. But I sense a slight tremble. She’s just as affected by our chemistry as I am. Or maybe that’s anger that I’m reading off her.
I push the feelings away and school my features. “Thank you for coming. I’m sure you have a list of questions for me, so why don’t we just get into it.”
Sasha stares at me. I’m being a prick and I know it. Pretending there’s no history here. But there’s no other way for us to get work done. The longer she stares at me, I start to figure that she probably thinks I’m some sort of sociopath.
I’m about to explain myself when she nods. “Understood.” She says with a flat voice.
I see something that looks like acceptance pass through her eyes, and I’m not prepared for the sting I feel in my chest. I’m the one that pushed her away. I’m the one that shut us down. I shouldn’t be mad that she’s accepting it.
After Vegas, I couldn’t stop thinking about her. Sure, I’ve been with women before. Had one night stands before. But no one has affected me like Sasha. I craved her. I thought about her long after our single night together. She consumed my thoughts more than I’m even willing to admit to myself. Then when I finally got my hands on her again, on this very desk, I couldn’t control myself. I demanded that she admit to thinking of me too. I forced her to tell me that she missed me. I withheld her pleasure until she told me what I needed to hear. And it was that moment when I realized I’d shown my hand. I’d made it all too obvious that I was attached to her. That I was obsessed with a woman I couldn’t have. A woman I couldn’t keep. And I got pissed. Pissed at myself for feeling so much for her. Pissed at her for making me feel that way.
So, I pulled away. I withdrew from her, even as I slid my cock inside of her. I regretted my mental barriers even as I was putting them up, but I knew there was no turning back. I can’t afford emotional connections.
I had fucked up by chasing her down when I saw her in the hallway. I couldn’t blame anyone but myself for that. My own lack of control disgusted me so much that I couldn’t even bring myself to look her in the eyes after we were done. I told myself it was because I didn’t want to see the hurt look on her face. But I’m starting to think that was a lie. The look she’s giving me now is worse. The look that says we’re done. That she’s done with me.
Sasha opens the portfolio in her lap and pulls out a pen. “Where have you been?”
Sasha’s words pull me back to our meeting. “Excuse me?”
She narrows her eyes, like I’m an idiot. “I’m going to go through the list of questions that you’re most likely to get from reporters the first time you go public.” S
he pauses, I assume to give my dumb monkey brain time to catch up. “So, where have you been? I know you’ve been running Mazzanti Enterprises, but people will want to know where you were living. And of course, why you stayed so private.”
“Right.” Business. I can do business. “I’ve been living in Minnesota.”
Sasha can’t hide the shock on her face. “Really?”
I nod. “As I’m sure you know, my family has lived in and around Minneapolis for generations. When my father was killed here, my mother wanted us to move. We went to Colorado first. Every few years we’d move again. I went to a variety of private schools. For privacy I was registered under my mother’s maiden name, though I never legally changed my name away from Mazzanti. We all knew that one day I would step into this role. I went to Harvard and focused my studies on business law and economics. When I graduated, I moved to Nevada and worked out of our Vegas offices. Vegas became the sight of the new headquarters after the death of my father, which made it a logical place for me to start. Throughout the years, I’ve moved to live near several of our office locations. Chicago, Miami, New York. When I was 31, I decided to move back to Minnesota.”
“Why?” The way Sasha’s head tilts as she asks the question makes me wonder if she wants to know professionally or personally.
“For my own reasons.”
She shakes her head. “No. Not good enough.”
“Excuse me?” My eyes narrow, unaccustomed to being challenged.
“When a reporter asks you why you moved back to Minnesota, a decade before the Mazzanti office was rebuilt, you’re going to need a better response than for my own reasons. That will only cause speculation. And the last thing you want right now is speculation.”
I want to argue, but she’s right. “I decided I was tired of moving. I’d been doing it since my dad died and I didn’t want to do it anymore. We didn’t have any official offices here at the time, but I was able to conduct a large amount of business out of my home. My mother moved back as well. This is where I grew up. Where she met my dad. It was time to come back.” I pause and see that Sasha is still questioning my sincerity. “It wasn’t a secret to my inner circle that there were plans to move the headquarters back to Minnesota. I may have been early to the game but making my permanent home here was the smart long play.”