Chapter One – Grazia
“Well, that sounds ominous.” And doesn’t it just?
I’m standing in the office of a tech billionaire, a new mogul on Wall Street, and he, Marshall Levitt, has a proposition for little old me.
Considering I figured I was here to organize some kind of event for him, because duh, that’s what I do, I hadn’t really expected him to come to me with a proposition. Especially not in that low tone of voice that makes molasses look runny and golden. Instead, he’d rumbled the words at me, with a dark and sinful undertone that turned my knees to jelly.
I’m a grown woman. I live in one of the biggest cities in the world and have since I was a child—you can’t not be street smart in New York City. However, this man has me flustered, and to be honest, I don’t like it. I don’t like it one bit.
That’s the problem with rich people. They all think they can do whatever the hell they want, and we plebs have no choice but to concur with their wishes. The bitch of it is, they’re not exactly wrong. Who in their right mind could turn their back on a billionaire’s offer of business?
No damn one, that’s who.
And yet, though his voice sounds like sex, though I find him utterly attractive, and though I have no idea what he’s about to suggest, I’m naturally predisposed to tell him to stick his proposition where the sun doesn’t shine.
But that wouldn’t be politic, would it? He’s one of the city’s newest scions, and I haven’t made this business what it is today by insulting potential clients.
So I bite back my irritation and plaster an ingratiating smile on my chops. It’s either that or ask him what the hell he’s deliberating over. It’s been at least a minute since I spoke, and all he’s doing is staring at me like a cat that has just caught sight of a canary. Either that or a toddler with a plate of cookies close to hand.
I can feel his eyes tracing over every part of me, and I won’t lie… parts of me are tingling. Parts that I’d prefer to stay tingle-free. Rather than let him look me over again like a choice piece of meat, I take a seat without waiting for his invitation and cross my legs. I can’t deny his arrogant assertion has irritated me, but as I look back at him, it doesn’t take away from the fact he’s a glorious specimen of manhood.
“Hardly ominous,” he tells me, pursing his lips as he crosses his arms over his chest, then his feet at the ankle. It’s a pose straight from Gordon Gekko, but still hot as hell. The bulge in his pants is more prominent than ever when he’s standing in that position, as is the fact he’s as lean as they come.
Considering he’s a desk jockey, that does come as a surprise.
“No? Well, what is it then?” I ask him, taking the bait.
When our eyes meet, I’m hard pressed to contain a little shiver of excitement. It’s been a long time since I’ve reacted to the animal magnetism of any man, and I have to wonder why it had to be this one who did the reawakening.
It couldn’t be the nice guy from the deli with the cute dreads, or the man who designed my website for me last month who had looked delicious when he rolled his shirtsleeves high up on his forearms… oh no, those two hotties did nothing to entice me, but this one, this power hungry shark, apparently knows how to get my juices flowing.
Damn my body to hell.
Rather than answer me, he reaches back and picks up a folder. “Two years ago, you requested planning permission to divert some pipes in a part of your apartment so you could open up the space.”
Blinking, because whatever I’d expected him to say, it hadn’t been that, I shake my head. “Huh?” Hardly poetic, but I’m confused.
How the hell does he know that? And why would he seek that kind of information about me?
Narrowing my eyes in suspicion, I find my voice when it looks like he’s waiting for a reply more detailed than ‘huh’ and say, “Why do you know that?”
“You’d be surprised what I know about you, Grazia. I’ve made it my business to know who you are.”
That has me gulping. “What do you mean?” Again with the ominous statements.
Goddammit, the man is making me very nervous.
“I mean, I know you’re an events organizer with a very interesting and very well-to-do client list. But I also know that your organizational skills are what pays the bills… what nourishes your heart and soul is your fashion design business.”
I stare at him, wondering where the hell he’s coming from. How does he know? Why would he even be interested in what ‘nourishes my heart and soul’ as he so poetically phrased it?
This is starting to feel like some bizarre kind of ambush, and ambushes do nothing more than piss me off.
“Why have you gone to all this effort of trying to discern my tastes, Mr. Levitt?” I demand, my voice like cut glass.
“Marshall, please.”
Staring at him, I merely state, “Mr. Levitt.” Then I pause a second to let him process the fact I’m refusing to call him by his first name. “Please explain what’s going on here. In fact, I demand to know what right you think you have to investigate me or my past.”
He shakes his head at me, slowly, and somehow manages to imbue it with a reprimand. “Why have I been digging around in your past? Looking for ins and outs to your life, of course.”
“Now you’re digging your own grave, because you have no right to investigate me.”
“I have every right. If I’m to be your employer, I need to know what makes you tick.”
“I’d be organizing your events, not privy to personal or private details.”
“That’s where you’re wrong.” He steps forward and takes the seat next to mine. “What if I told you that you could dedicate all your working hours to your craft?”
I frown at him. “Then I’d know you were trying to bullshit me, because unfortunately, that’s not possible.”
“It would be if you came and worked for me.”
“As what? Even if I came onto your staff in events, I’d hardly have the time to work on my designs.”
“I wouldn’t want you on my corporate team.”
The way he’s looking at me has me clenching my jaw. There’s a banked heat at the back of his eyes, and when he lets his glance trace my shape, I’d have to be stupid to fail to recognize his attraction to me. “Look, if this is going where I think it’s going, then you’re out of order, Marshall.” I use his name this time because I twist the two syllables with a sneer. “I’m only interested in affairs of a corporate nature.”
He purses his lips. “Then you’re a fool. You could have everything you want, all at your fingertips.”
Shaking my head, I tell him, “No. You’re the fool, because if you’d have behaved like a normal man and just asked me out on a fucking date, I’d have said yes. No salary-for-sex required.”
“You’ve a sharp tongue.” And damned if there wasn’t admiration in his voice.
I get to my feet. “I think I should leave.”
When he reaches over to grab my hand, I don’t pull away; I simply stare at him like he’s grown two heads. “There’s no need to leave. I meant no offense.”
“Well, I certainly took offense. Who the hell do you think you are? I mean, for God’s sake, is this what you do? Proposition innocent women from your lofty ivory skyscraper? This isn’t the Dark Ages. This is very much the twenty-first century. You can’t go around making these kinds of…” I clench my teeth. “Deals.”
“It’s a far safer way of working, actually.” He eyes me. “When women see me in my ‘lofty ivory skyscraper’, what do you think their initial reaction is?”
I frown at him. “What do you mean?”
“What do they see? The man? A guy who loves Chopin and the New England Patriots? Or do you think they see the bank balance? The car and the suit?”
“Like you didn’t size me up the same way. Don’t try to twist this. I looked at you and saw an attractive man. I don’t care about the bank balance, and the suit is a nice finishing touch, but I don’t care if it’s Kohl’s or Savile Row.”
“Then you’re far more idealistic than I realized.” He squeezes my fingers, then tries to pull my arm, tugging me back down to the seat I just vacated. “Come to dinner with me.”
“Now who’s being idealistic? You’re obviously incapable of a normal relationship, Mr. Levitt, if you think the ideal way to begin any kind of…” I sputter, searching for the right word and failing, “…anything is by asking someone if they’ll work for you on their back!”
“Technically I never made such an offer.” His voice was cool, calm. I could tell he was analyzing the situation, trying to figure out a way to get this conversation back on track. A track where he was in control again, not me.
Somehow, the fact I knew that, that I was aware of what he was up to, sent shivers down my spine.
“But we both know it was going to go down that route.” I narrow my eyes at him. “If you do this frequently, it’s a wonder you don’t have sexual harassment suits thrown at you every day.”
He jerks a shoulder, looking supremely confident and supremely self-assured. His arrogance makes me want to hit him. I’m not unaccustomed to dealing with men like Levitt; I don’t know why I figured he’d be different. Stupid, stupid me.
More than anything, that’s what gets on my nerves. The fact that I was such an idiot. It doesn’t happen often, to be fair, but when it does, it’s a doozy.
“I feel like I’m being hanged here with very little justification.”
My eyes widen at that, agitation spinning through me—as well as the unusual desire to laugh! His audacity makes me gawk at him, speechless for countless seconds until I come to my senses and finally tug at his hold on my wrist. He lets me go, but I’d expected more of a fight so I barely brace myself as he releases his clasp on me. The motion has me wobbling on my too-high high heels, heels I’d worn out of a stupid need to pretty myself up for this asshat. Momentum has me falling backward, but he reaches up a split second later and changes my course. Instead of falling over, I tumble into his lap.
Stunned, because I sure as hell hadn’t expected to end up on his knee with his erection bumping my hip, it takes me a second to figure out what the heck happened. Once that’s processed, I try to scamper off his lap, but when I put my hand down, unfortunately for the king of propositions, it settles somewhere hard and solid but infinitely sensitive.
As I lever myself up, he lets out a loud and startled yell. The noise, so close to my ear, as well his own surprise, has me rocking back deeper into him. Despite my discomfort at my precarious position, I’m embarrassed as hell that my attempt to escape involved an unintentional effort to emasculate the man.
“I’m so sorry,” I whisper, my cheeks burning. In the cold office, with its white walls, steel furnishings, and dark gray rugs, my face is undoubtedly the sole splash of color.
I look up, see his stony expression and wince. Beneath his anger, I can see I really hurt him.
He doesn’t reply to my apology, just lets out a long, slow breath. It brushes my mouth with the scent of mint and evergreen fir. I look down at his lips, see the white skin around them that comes from his firming them, but slowly, as I watch, that color fluctuates back to normal.
“It’s okay,” he tells me, his voice a little hoarse.
Despite myself, and as inappropriate as it is, I laugh. Then immediately clap a hand to my lips to withhold the rest of the giggles that long to tumble out of me.
Expecting to be railed by his anger, I’m surprised as hell when a chuckle escapes him too. My gaze flashes up to his, and in the depths of his eyes, I can see genuine humor. In fact, it lights up his whole face. Making the stony jaw, the strong Roman nose with its kink from an earlier break, and the broad, scowling brow relax, enough to let me see what he must have been like before he was the formidable man who has the world’s business markets quaking at their knees.
“Why couldn’t you just have asked me out on a date?” I ask, my voice utterly wistful. I can’t help but lift my hand and trace it along the hard line of his jaw. My thumb sweeps across his smooth cheek, where not even the rasp of a five o’clock shadow blocks my path.
“Men like me don’t date, Miss Fabiola.”
I blink at him, then whisper, “Grazia.”
I’ve surprised him, I can tell. But then, I’ve surprised myself. When he murmurs my name, his mouth somehow caressing the Italian sounds, I gulp. His eyes flicker down the length of my face, from my own gaze that is captured by his, to my lips which I can feel tremble.
I’m not the sort of woman who trembles in the face of a strong man. Usually, arrogance pisses me off and has me flouncing away, unable to tolerate such an annoying and useless character trait. But Marshall is an anomaly.
And I don’t know why, but then, isn’t that what makes him unusual?
Of all the men who’ve watched me over the years, who’ve come on to me, who’ve made me aware of their positions of power… I can’t imagine accidentally falling onto their laps, nearly castrating them with a hand, and then sharing a laugh together at the absurdity of it all.
None of that takes away the farcical proposition he handed me earlier, but somehow, it fades to dust, enabled by his whisper of ‘men like me don’t date.’
There’s no self pity there, only a varnished truth that gleams under the spotlight.
Men like him really don’t have a choice. Not that I pity him, or the rest of the world’s male elite who have to suffer the vagaries of gold diggers and the like, but still, I have to wonder what kind of universe puts me and him on the same sphere.
It’s a funny old world.
“What are you thinking?” he asks me in a low voice, one that I can tell is hesitant; he doesn’t want to spoil the odd mood that has settled between us. Mostly because I’ve stopped trying to run off and he has me exactly where he wants me.
I could lie. I could tell him I’m thinking of a way to get off his knee without hurting him, but instead, I tell the truth. “I’m thinking… I wish you’d kiss me.”