Page 65 of Brutal Heir

Crap.

A man’s voice called from the suite beyond, “Signor Diamanti, ci sono alcune donne qui con i vestiti che ha richiesto.”

Then a woman’s voice interjected, “Excusez-moi. Monsieur Diamanti? Je suis ici avec les vêtements que vous avez demandés.”

While I didn’t understand the Italian, the French was simple enough even for me.

The clothes he'd ordered had arrived.

His gaze moved over me slowly. “Looks like you’re saved…for now.”

As he turned to address the woman calling out for him, I slumped against the closet wall, closing my eyes as I tried to process what had just happened.

I couldn’t decide whether I’d been offered a legitimate job or threatened.

A chance encounter less than twenty-four hours ago, and suddenly this man knew all about my career and wanted to hire me?

What was I missing?

Several women, dressed head to toe in severe black with tight hair buns, wheeled four racks of clothing into the bedroom. Unzipping the cloth covers, they revealed garments from some of the world’s best designers: Gucci, Versace, Valentino, Prada, Armani, Biagiotti.

All Italian, of course.

Sebastian stepped up to the racks and flipped through the hangers. The woman in charge pulled out outfits, showing them to him as he nodded yes or shook his head no.

After several minutes, I inched forward and gestured toward an Armani sheath dress. “I’m fine with the Armani.”

It was clear I had no choice. If I didn’t want to walk the streets of Paris in his dress shirt, I’d have to choose an outfit.

The sheath dress was simple and elegant. My gold heels wouldn’t look out of place with it, and it was from Armani’s off-the-rack workwear collection—not outrageously expensive.

“If you can just get my purse, I’ll give you a credit card.”

All the chatter stopped.

Every person turned to stare at me as if I’d suggested a dress with two collars for my second head.

To mask my embarrassment, I fluffed my hair. “I’m sorry, do you not take credit cards?”

The woman in charge turned to Sebastian, speaking rapid-fire French with animated gestures. Though too fast to catch everything, I understood the key phrases.

“Insult.”

“New wardrobe.”

“Valued client.”

“Diamonds.”

Sebastian raised a hand, silencing them all. He then spoke in clear, deliberate French.

My mouth dropped open.

I had to have heard him wrong.

There was no way he had just told her he’d take everything.

But judging by her self-satisfied smirk and the way she bowed and literally kissed his signet ring, he had.