by Ashlee Price
A CUT ABOVE
By: Ashlee Price
Description
Grazia Fabiola’s affair with Marshall Levitt was always going to be an unusual one, but their clashes over everyday life are nothing in comparison to their clashes in the bedroom.
Fire meets fire when the two come together, but it’s nothing to the inferno that overtakes Grazia’s life and destroys her world. When Marshall steps up to the plate, it’s up to Grazia to decide if she can let him help her.
Such a concession is hard for a woman as independent as Grazia, but trust is another matter entirely.
Does she trust Marshall enough to let him help?
And if she can’t, is that the end of yet another chapter in her life?
Chapter One – Marshall
“Not hungry?”
The question prods me from my thoughts, and as I stare down at the large plate of gnocchi alla sorrentina—my most favorite dish at Mama Leone’s in Brighton Beach—I have to grimace. “Not really,” I reply, looking up at my PA, Miranda.
“Any reason?” she asks, cocking an eyebrow at the full dish in front of me. “It’s very unusual for you to leave your food when you come to this…” she sought the appropriate word, “…place.”
It might sound difficult to construe that as a criticism, but it was.
Brighton Beach was where I’d been born and raised. In project housing, amid tens of dozens of poverty-stricken families, I’d come to realize I wanted more than my parents had.
I was one of the ‘lucky’ ones. Both of my parents were together, which made my family a rarity. I, however, would have loved it if they’d split up. Dad had spent half his nights getting drunk and beating on Mom whenever the mood struck, and Mom hadn’t been much better with booze.
Most nights had been spent with my head under the pillow, trying to drown out the yells. Escape had come in the form of my grandmother buying me a laptop with some money she’d won in the lottery, of all things.
“Boys Marshall’s age need a computer,” she’d told my father, who’d bitched at the ‘waste’ of money.
The bitching had grown rather vitriolic when Gran had subsequently refused to pay the rent for us that month.
I’d lived in fear of my father taking the laptop from me one day, pawning it to pay for one of his many vices. He might even have done that once, because all of a sudden, I’d had to go to Gran’s to use it, and Gran had told me never to take it home.
By that point, I was hooked, and so I spent nearly all my free time there. By the time I was fourteen, I could hack with the best of them and I was practically living with her.
College had come a-calling at a younger than average age for me. At sixteen, I’d been on my way to NYIT with a scholarship funding my degree—all thanks to that one investment on my grandmother’s part. Without her, without that laptop, I wouldn’t be where I am today: choosing to return to Brighton Beach out of nostalgia, rather than having to live here out of necessity.
The thought makes me shudder. There are good people here, as there always are among the bad, but still, this is no longer my world.
Miranda reaches over and taps my hand. “Marshall? Why do you keep wandering off?”
I blink at her. “Do I?”
“That’s the third time I’ve asked you a question, you’ve started to reply, and then you’ve faded into silence.” She spears a piece of ravioli with her fork, and I get the feeling she wishes she could do the same to me. “What’s going on? You only go this quiet when there’s trouble.”
My lips twitch because, ordinarily, she’d be right. But things have been complicated since Grazia Fabiola signed the ‘mistress agreement’ I put before her a week ago. Ever since, life has been a little odder than usual.
“There’s no trouble.” When she cocks an eyebrow at me again, I shake my head. “For once.”
“Then what’s going on?”
I shrug. “Nothing. I’m just thinking. No harm in that, is there?”
“Why invite me for lunch if you were just going to stare off into the distance?”
It’s my turn to be surprised. “We always eat together.”
“Maybe I had other plans.”
“Seriously?”
She purses her lips. “No, but I might have.”
There’s a strange cast to her irritation with me. It’s almost like she’s… But no, she couldn't be. Miranda is like an ice queen. She’s so cold, I practically get chilblains being near her, and she’s never made me feel like she is attracted to me.
Miranda’s a beautiful woman. I’d be a blind fool if I thought anything else, but her icy blonde beauty does nothing for me. In the four years she’s worked for me, it never has, and I doubt it ever will.
I shake off the strange supposition, because I’d prefer to think it’s an impossibility rather than deal with it.
Miranda has been with me since I floated the company. She knows her job inside and out, and the last thing I want to do is have to replace her.
My gnocchi seems less and less appetizing, so I catch the waiter’s eye and say, “Can you pack this up for me, please?”
“Is everything all right, sir?” He eyes the untouched plate.
“I just lost my appetite, that’s all.” The waiter makes to answer but my phone buzzes, saving me from having to explain why I haven’t touched a bite of my usually delicious meal. When I look at the caller ID and see Grazia’s name, everything in me tightens with anticipation. “Excuse me a moment,” I tell Miranda, and seeing her lips tighten, I know she’s aware of who the caller is.
Let’s face it, she wouldn’t have to be a mind reader to figure it out.
Stepping out from behind the red-gingham-tablecloth-covered table, I wend my way between the narrow lanes separating the rest, and head to the entrance, where there’s a small reception area. By the time I reach it, the phone has stopped ringing, but I immediately call her back.
“You rang?”
There’s a small pause, then a snicker. “Since when did Lurch have a cell phone?”
I grin, inordinately satisfied that she recognized my impression. I was addicted to the Addams Family as a kid; hell, what brat my age wasn’t?
“Since… I don’t know when,” I tell her, chuckling. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. It is.” She huffs out a breath. “I called with the intention of raking you over the coals, and now you made me laugh. Damn your hide.”
My eyebrows rise at that admission, and I make a mental note to remember that in the future. Make the woman laugh and she forgives you your sins… interesting.
“Well, I’m relieved you liked my impression so much.”
She snorts. “You know why I’m calling, right?”
I do. How could I not? It doesn’t do much for my macho image to admit that I’ve been waiting for this call ever since the insurance company called me this morning to say they’d delivered the package at Grazia’s apartment.
“I can guess,” I hedge. “But you are a rather touchy female, Grazia. There are numerous things I could have done to piss you off.”
“You mean like calling me a rather touchy female?”
“Yeah, like that.” My lips twitch again.
A sigh gusts down the line. “What have you sent this to me for?”
“It’s a party I need you to attend with me.”
“I’d gathered as much. ‘Glitter & Gowns’,” she reads, undoubtedly from the invitation I had delivered with the necklace. “What’s it all about?”
“A charity, of course.”
She grunts. “There’s no ‘of course’ about it. One thing you learn when you’re in event management: it doesn’t take much for something to call itself a charity.”
Amused by her cynicism, I chide, “How uncharitable of you.”
“Like you don’t know exactly what I’m talking about. Laptops for kids in countries that don’t even have reliable electricity… that kind of thing, when really what they need is food and medical care... Doesn�
�t make much sense, does it?”
Considering I was visited by a New York operator from that particular charity just this month, I have to laugh. “Okay, I know exactly what you’re talking about.”
Satisfaction riddles her words. “I’m glad to know you’re not completely crazy.”
“I don’t think I’d be where I am today if that were the case.”
“I guess not. And anyway, don’t think I’ve forgotten that you just sent me a necklace that has to be worth a million dollars.”
“Yeah, it’s on loan. Fear not. I’m not trying to buy you.”
Silence fills the line. “Oh, well, that’s okay then.”
“I have better ways to buy a woman like you, Grazia,” I tell her, my tone as silky as can be.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“You think I don’t know you’re not interested in diamonds and rubies? There’s a reason I’m a rich man, Grazia. I know how to read a person, and you are not someone who could be bought with jewelry.”
“I guess I should be grateful you know that. But I can’t be bought. Period.”
“Everyone has a price.”
“Yes, and you’re not trying to find mine, are you? That’s why we’re dating and I’m not your mistress.”
“Ah, yes, I’d forgotten about that. I’m out of the habit of dating. But anyway, you’d hardly be prepared for a ‘Glitter & Gowns’ evening with no glitter, would you? I figured you could handle the gown part yourself.”
“You figured right.” I can sense her stewing about something, but rather than draw her out, I let her percolate. Eventually, she grumbles, “This event… it’s next week. Is that the next time I’m going to see you?”
“I was planning to visit you tonight.”
“Visit?” She makes a groaning sound. “We’re dating, Marshall. I wonder if there’s a dictionary I could buy you… The Rich Man’s Guide To Not Treating All People With Ovaries Like Well-Heeled Prostitutes.”
I can’t help but chuckle at her caustic retort. “Don’t worry. I’m rusty, not completely covered in spider webs. I’ll figure it out.”
“You’d better. I’m not your mistress, Marshall. Remember that.”
Despite myself, I like the fire in her voice. Truth is, the women I’ve chosen as mistresses have been, essentially, employees. Grazia is the first one I’ve ever had to treat as an individual. That makes me sound like such a bastard, and maybe I am, but I wasn’t born that way. The coldness in my nature that stems from a desire to protect myself, my past, and my future, didn’t pop up out of nowhere. Things happened, women happened, and they changed me.
I’m a product of my environment.
Grazia might want to change that, and to a certain extent I’ll allow her some leeway, but I’ll only let her go so far…
Chapter Two – Grazia
“I can’t believe the size of that diamond.”
Jessie’s awe adds to my nerves. Sighing, I tell my assistant, “No, I can’t either.” It’s huge. In fact, scrap that. It’s fucking huge. It’s the size of a duck egg and Marshall expects me to wear it like I go around wearing jewels this size all the time. “What’s the event for?”
At my question, she peers down at the invitation that came with the jewelry box and three security guards who made the Rock look underweight. Christ, two of them are still outside waiting to take it back to whatever vault it came from.
The letter alongside the invitation told me that Marshall sent the necklace and earring set along so I could judge which outfit would match it appropriately.
The fact he had it sent along, with all the pomp of security, tells me he’s trying to impress me.
Damn him, he has.
Sort of.
It also reminds me of the time my father, a mob boss, sent my mother, his mistress, a rather expensive brooch. She oohed and aahed over it for so long that even my four-year-old self felt nauseated over her reaction.
A part of me is stopping myself from acting like a loon over a bit of pressurized ancient carbon, mostly because I refuse to be like her. But the woman in me has no choice but to appreciate the beauty of the stone, the clarity, and the sheer gorgeousness of the necklace.
It’s gaudy, sure. It can’t not be, as large as it is, but it’s still a stunning piece regardless. The large duck egg diamond is bracketed by two emerald cut sapphires, and a train of smaller emerald cut diamonds makes up the rest of the piece.
I know exactly what I’ll wear with it, too; a gown I’ve been intending to take down to one of the boutiques I design dresses for in my spare time. It will be perfect. The sweetheart neckline combined with the high empire waist that will gather the silk at my breast before spreading out into a skirt that drapes over my hips and curls about my legs. Fortuitously, it’s a dark navy blue that will match the sapphires to perfection.
Jessie makes an ‘A-ha!’ sound and says, “It’s a fundraiser.”
“I gathered as much, Jessie,” I chide, clucking my tongue at her obvious reply.
She glowers up at me. “Give me a chance.”
“Sorry.” I pat her shoulder. “I’m on edge.”
“Well, it’s not every day you sign a non-disclosure agreement to start dating someone, is it?”
Her practical response has me tensing. “Shh,” I hiss, clapping a hand to her mouth. “You’re not supposed to know that, are you, dammit?”
She pulls a face. “Oops.”
“Yes! Oops. You can’t tell anyone, Jessie, not unless you want to get me into trouble.”
“I won’t tell anyone. I promised, didn’t I?”
“You did, but you just mentioned it.”
That has her snorting. “I mentioned it to an empty room, Grazia. No one was in danger of overhearing what I said.”
I bite my lip. “I guess not. This whole situation has me on edge. I have no idea why I even signed the damned thing.”
“Because you wanted to screw his brains out?”
The twinkle in her eye has me holding back a smile. Clearing my throat, I tell her, deadpan, “That might have had something to do with it.”
She immediately snickers and returns to the laptop. Jessie is both my PA and my friend. In fact, she’s probably my best friend. She’s the only person I really talk to about anything important, anyway.
I guess that could be construed as sad, but hell, Jessie is pretty awesome. It would be hard not to like her, and even harder not to become close to her.
“It’s for a foundation started by the Levitt Corporation,” she tells me after a few minutes.
“It’s Marshall’s own gala?” I ask, surprised.
“Yeah, looks like it.”
“I wonder why he didn’t tell me.”
“I don’t know. Maybe because he has this big macho, alpha billionaire image to play up to?”
“Is that even a thing?” I ask, doubtfully.
She nods like she knows what she’s talking about, and hell, the way she devours the gossip columns, maybe Jessie is my go-to gal for information about Marshall. Because Christ, I sure as hell don’t know the man, and all of a sudden I’m dating him.
After a handful of meetings, most of them with little conversation while I was working at events I was managing, he invited me to his offices and propositioned me.
I’d gone there with the expectation of being offered more work, or at a pinch, dinner. Instead, he threw an NDA at me and told me to sign or there’d be nothing between us.
For some reason, I didn’t tell him to shove it where the sun doesn’t shine. I signed it, and then we fucked on his desk.
It was like a blot on my character.
I am not the sort of person who screws on top of a desk in a skyscraper with a billionaire tech mogul.
I’m the kind of gal who spends all day and night working, trying to make ends meet, while dreaming of the day she’ll be able to give up her day job so she can work full time at her passion—fashion design.
And yet, all of a sudden, I’
m with a man who moves and shakes the very city I live in. It’s overwhelming and—though I hate to admit it—frightening.
“I guess there’s more to him than meets the eye,” I tell her, studying the gala’s website.
“Either that or it’s a tax break.”
I grin at her. “Well, that’s just a handy bonus.”
She rolls her eyes and returns to the spreadsheet we were working on earlier. When the jewelry arrived, Jessie was here with me so we could arrange the next couple of events on our agenda. After we gawked at it for a little while, she carried on working while I was left steaming over the implication of the ‘gift’ he’d sent me. I had to call him just to make sure he remembered exactly what I was to him.
He’d wanted me to be his mistress. He’d wanted me to be his employed slut. The only way I agreed to sign the NDA was after making sure he knew that I would never be any man’s mistress, and that his only chance at getting close to me was to date me.
When he agreed, I was stunned. But mostly, relieved. Especially when he kissed me.
There’s a leashed tension about him. Something I’ve noticed from our very first meeting. He’s attractive, there’s no denying that, but in my job I meet attractive men all the time. A guy being handsome isn’t enough for me to throw all my principles away and leapfrog onto him as quickly as I can.
No, there is something about Marshall that’s different. And I’ve yet to figure out what it is, exactly.
“You’ve disappeared on me again,” Jessie grumbles. “I guess that’s what happens when you fall in love; it’s like the song, why do birds suddenly appear?”
Chuckling, I whack her on the arm. “Get on with your work.”
“Yes, ma’am.” She winks at me, with an eye roll, I get back to my own epic to-do list.
****
I hate that I’m nervous.
I really hate it.
I’ve smoothed down my dress God knows how many times, and I’ve wasted countless minutes gawking at my hair wondering if I should just wear it up to get it away from my neck. I’ve questioned the wisdom of wearing this dress, while also wondering if I should call Marshall and ask him what the hell we’re doing tonight so at least I’ll know if I’m wearing something inappropriate…