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Either him.

Or me.

Or us.

CHAPTER 10

SABRINA

My arm shot out, finger jabbing toward the closed door as I paced the length of my sleek glass-and-chrome desk two days later. “He wants too much fucking control.”

The plush Venetian rug beneath my Louboutins absorbed the impact of each furious step, robbing me of the satisfying staccato click that might have matched the thundering of my pulse. It was only Monday, I was crampy, and I was craving a chocolate croissant. I was in no fucking mood.

Florian, Creative Director for the House of Diamanti and my direct supervisor, leaned against the edge of my desk, adjusting the silk Dolce & Gabbana cravat at his neck.

He stopped fussing with his clothing and began to toy with the platinum letter opener I’d been gripping moments earlier. “I heard you the first three times, cara.”

I snatched a mockup from my style board, the glossy paper crinkling under my tightening grip. “He’s treating me like a goddamn child. ‘Overly ambitious for someone like you.’ Right in front of the entire creative team.”

That subtle curl of his lips as his eyes drifted deliberately down my body before dismissing my concept.

The whispers that followed.

Florian adjusted his signature ring, a large rectangle made of carnelian and silver, which he always wore on his left ring finger.

“Completamente d’accordo,” he murmured, his Italian smooth as silk.

I slammed the mockup back onto my desk, sending a cascade of sketches fluttering to the floor.

“I’ve bitten my tongue for weeks,” I said, dropping to my knees to gather the fallen papers. “Never taking the bait because I knew he was more powerful than me.” I rose, smoothing my pencil skirt. “But today? Today he crossed a line.”

Florian’s eyes widened for a moment. He cleared his throat, his gaze darting nervously toward the door. “Absolutely. You’ve been a veritable saint. I’ve already submitted your paperwork to the pope.”

The corner of my mouth twitched despite myself. “I’m serious, Florian.” I moved to the window and pressed my palm against the cool glass. “Who the hell does Adrian think he is?”

I’d deliberately avoided saying his name until now. As if speaking it would give him more power over my mood than he already had.

“The fucking nerve! That look, like he was undressing me with his eyes. Right there in front of everyone.”

Florian rose and stepped toward me, stopping my resumed pacing.

He placed his hands on my shoulders, giving them a gentle squeeze and turning me around. “Darling, what else did you expect? Adrian is an asshole. They are all selfish, self-serving assholes. Narcissistic, temperamental assholes who think the sun rises and sets on their portfolios. Never trust one of them to have your back in a meeting.”

His thumbs pressed into the knots that had formed at the base of my neck, and I let my head fall forward slightly.

In that moment, the door to my office crashed open.

The solid oak slammed against the wall.

“What the hell⁠—”

My head whipped around. Sebastian Diamanti stood in the doorway, his imposing frame filling the space completely.

His midnight eyes swept the room, landing on Florian’s hands on my shoulders.

His jaw tightened, the muscle there jumping beneath olive skin as he curled his hands into fists. Three long strides and he was across the room, moving with lethal grace.

I shifted to place my body in front of Florian’s and held up my hands. “Wait! Before you get any ideas⁠—”