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I struggle not to roll my eyes and Trista actually giggles. Oh, for the love of God. Is there a woman alive who can’t be manipulated by this man’s charm? Other than me?
“She has things to do over at Gabana,” I say. Of course, I do, too, and that’s why I sometimes go there before or after I spend the day here. My days are incredibly long and this past week I’ve been uncharacteristically tired. Usually I can go nonstop, but I think I’m going to need to get some extra sleep this weekend. Or, maybe I just need more caffeine to get me through the rest of this month. Once Doug makes a final decision, my load will either lighten or grow even heavier. I’m probably going to have to hire one or two more people to help Trista and I out. The last thing I want to do is run both of us ragged.
Enzo looks over at me, his dark eyes glowing with undisguised heat and it catches me off guard. All I can do is blink, unable to string a sentence together. “I need to meet with you before you leave,” he murmurs.
I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sizzling attraction. Forcing it down, I tear my eyes from his and glance down at my slim watch. “I have some things to do and will be busy right up until six.”
“That’s fine. Let’s plan for 6:15.”
I love how he puts on such an easygoing show in front of Trista. Usually, he likes to bicker back and forth over every single detail.
“Fine.” I didn’t want to be here until eight o’clock tonight, so I hope whatever it is won’t take too long.
Trista is looking back and forth between us and I clear my throat.
“Well, thanks for stopping by,” I say. “Like I said, don’t worry about that stuff until Monday.”
“Okay. Well, have a nice weekend,” she says, slowly backing out, eyeing both of us still.
I shift, uncomfortable. “You, too,” I say overly cheery.
“Don’t let her work you too hard,” Enzo adds and I frown, praying for strength.
Four more weeks. You’re halfway through this nightmare, so just hang in there. Keep it together.
I can do it. I know I can.
“Is there anything else, Mr. Rossi?” I ask coolly. “Because I have quite a few things to finish here.”
His mouth edges up in the sexiest smirk I’ve ever seen. “You work too hard, Ms. Bianche.”
“I don’t really have a choice. Not if I want to be successful and edge your ass out of here.”
“Ouch. So ruthless.”
His voice drops to a husky whisper and I think my panties flood. Damn him. Spinning around, I march over to my desk and sit down. “I don’t have time to play games, so please see yourself out.”
Ignoring him, I start typing on my laptop. But, I honestly don’t even know what I’m typing and, secretly, I’m watching him from the corner of my eye.
“See you at 6:15, Ms. Bianche,” he drawls in that raspy voice.
“Mm-hmm,” I murmur without looking up, dismissing him completely.
Once he leaves, I slump back in my seat and let out a weary sigh. Enzo Rossi is going to be the death of me. No doubt about it.
I finish up my work a little before six and take a quick bathroom break. One look in the mirror tells me I look exactly how I feel—tired. I’m also starving and barely had anything to eat all day today. Just some coffee and a blueberry muffin hours ago. I’d love nothing more than to just go home, drop down on the couch and indulge in a big cheese pizza smothered in olives.
But, no. I have to go deal with Enzo and whatever it is he wants, for God knows how long, effectively ruining my Friday night. Yawning, I open my purse, grab my compact and some lip gloss, and I quickly touch up my makeup. Nothing wrong with wanting to freshen up, I think.
At exactly 6:15, I stride into Enzo’s office and he isn’t even in there. Seriously? Where is he? There’s nothing that aggravates me more than people who mess around with my time. It’s a very precious commodity and something I don’t have a lot of so I value it deeply.
Just as I’m deciding whether or not I should walk out and say screw it, the man himself walks in and, to my complete and utter delight, he’s carrying a large pizza and the smell hits my nose causing my stomach to growl and my mouth to water.
“How did you know I would kill for an ooey-gooey slice of pizza at this very moment?” I ask, following him over to a side table where he sets the box down, my nose up, sniffing the air like a dog ready to devour its dinner. With a smirk, he lifts the lid and I moan as the tantalizing smell hits my nose.
“Guess I’m psychic,” he answers. “Or, maybe we’re just vibing on the same wavelength.”
I’m not sure about that, but, oh wow. The entire thing is loaded with black and green olives. “Olives?” Maybe we are vibing.
