Page 28

Over the top of my Wall Street Journal, I watched the girl making her way down the aisle toward me.

Ruby Caldwell.

Tonight she'd ditched those boring black work suits for a deep wine-red vintage wrap dress. The soft fabric hugged her lush hourglass curves flawlessly, the V-neck offering glimpses that made me think of that private photo album currently locked in my penthouse safe.

She radiated a breathtaking sensuality, but her body was rigid as ice about to shatter. Those beautiful amber eyes flooded with shock, discomfort, and obvious, hair-trigger defensiveness.

I lowered my lids slightly, taking a measured sip of champagne to hide the heat threatening to spill from my gaze.

Did she really think that two weeks ago in the lobby elevator, trembling behind those two tall male employees, she could escape my notice?

Truth was, the moment I caught her reflection in the polished metal doors that morning, my foul mood—courtesy of those goddamn DeLuca family complications—vanished like smoke.

Ten minutes later, her HR file from the second-tier brand division sat quietly on my top-floor office desk.

I learned she'd graduated FIT with impeccable marks. Saw how she'd shown stunning instinct with vintage fabrics during her interview.

I'd deliberately left her alone this past week. That night required time to process. I didn't want to come at her like some impatient kid and spook an already wounded, deeply insecure deer. I gave her seven days to settle into Moretti Group's rhythm, to feel the security work could bring.

But my patience had limits. When I heard about the Paris fabric preview, I knew it was time to bring her back into my orbit.

That assistant's appendicitis was convenient cover, nothing more. Pulling a fresh intern straight into my private schedule, bypassing every bureaucratic layer—yeah, I'd flexed some CEO privilege. But I wasn't sorry. She belonged on a bigger stage, not buried under sample piles.

"Excuse me, ma'am." A suited executive with a briefcase pressed from behind.

Ruby jolted like she'd been shocked awake. She pulled in a sharp breath and walked toward seat 2B beside me with something close to martyrdom in her stride.

"Good... good evening, Mr. Moretti." She stopped, her voice carrying a tremor she couldn't quite hide, but she straightened her spine anyway, clinging to composure.

I folded my paper slowly, set it aside, and looked up with a smile—warm, even soothing.

"Good evening, Ms. Caldwell. Welcome to my Paris team." My tone stayed measured, low, perfectly professional—boss to employee.

"Thank you for... the arrangement." She sat stiffly, hands locked together on her knees, wound so tight she might snap.

I didn't push conversation. Instead, I signaled the flight attendant for water. She needed a minute to slow her pulse.

The plane taxied, then lifted with smooth acceleration.

Once the seatbelt sign blinked off, the girl beside me finally moved. She turned, those clear eyes meeting mine. Still nervous underneath, but mostly—brave. Admirably brave.

"Mr. Moretti, may I ask you something?" Her voice was careful, her chin lifted just slightly.

"Of course. We've got a long flight to Paris. Plenty of time to talk." I angled toward her, keeping my posture open, unintimidating—pure listening mode.

"Why me?" She held my gaze, fingers twisting her hem tighter. "I mean, the company has so many experienced fabric buyers. I'm just a new intern. You pulled me past everyone else to be at your side... It terrifies me."

She paused, her chest rising and falling. The wine-red wrap dress shifted with her breathing, tracing a dangerously tempting curve.

"Mr. Moretti, I treasure this opportunity to intern here. I earned it myself." She inhaled deeply and locked eyes with me. "So I genuinely hope that during this Paris trip, we can have a pleasant business trip together. I'll handle assistant duties. You... understand what I mean?"

I studied her.

She hadn't screamed or demanded special treatment because of that night. She wasn't acting beneath him. In front of someone who controlled her career, she'd just drawn a line—smart, subtle, but absolutely firm—defending her dignity as an independent woman.

Honestly, I wasn't offended. I was impressed. And more attracted than ever.

She really was a diamond covered in dust.