Page 12 of Dirty Intentions

CHAPTER SEVEN

Shane

I wasn’t a man who enjoyed waiting. So I’d had a conversation with Daniella’s boss in the morning and expected her any minute.

“You look smug. You finally give the numbers a rest and get laid?” Perched on the side of my desk, Max thumbed through the mail.

I glanced up from my computer. “I’m not smug. Just waiting.”

He cocked a brow. “For what?”

My gaze traveled towards the elevator doors where Chad appeared with my guest. She didn’t look too happy to see me.

“What in the hell are you doing calling my firm and requesting me?” Daniella’s eyes were fiery while her tone was frosty.

I lifted a brow, allowing myself the pleasure of eye-fucking her from head to toe and enjoying the hell out of the way she was blushing at the scrutiny. She was dressed like an office fantasy. Her petite figure was encased in a long black pencil skirt that accented her hips. A dark blue, collared shirt showed off a tease of skin at the column of her throat. Pearls in both her ears and around her neck set off the professional image. But it was the black stilettos which gave me pause. Made me fantasize about them digging into my back as I pounded into her on my desk.

“I need a tax attorney.” It was a shit answer to rile her up even further. I wasn’t disappointed.

She huffed. “Then you could’ve discussed it with me rather than call my boss and demand I be on site this morning.”

“You mean last night when you told me that you were a tax attorney?” It still annoyed me she hadn’t revealed this.

“Sir, do you need me for anything else?” Chad looked awkward about witnessing our exchange.

“No, thank you. Max, you can go, too.”

I couldn’t explain it, but I didn’t like the way he was looking at her. Suddenly, I wanted us to be alone.

“Are you kidding me? I’m enjoying the hell out of this. And I’m Max, by the way, the more charming of the owners.”

Much to my amusement, Daniella didn’t so much as give him a glance. “We met last night.”

“Holy shit. Daniella from the stairs?”

What the hell? When had he met her, and how did he know her name?

“I must say the dress last night was fantastic, but you look more beautiful now.” Max stepped in front of her, extending his hand. Doing what he did best, he kissed it.

But instead of smiling shyly or giggling like most women did when Max was romantic, she merely lifted a brow and retracted her hand.

Max glanced over at me and spoke in perfect Italian. “Wow, she really has eyes only for you, my friend. Although whether they are the kind that want you to fuck her or the kind that want you dead, I’m not sure.”

My gaze didn’t waver from Daniella’s.

She didn’t miss a beat, replying in equally perfect Italian. “The latter one definitely. And don’t you know it’s rude to switch to another language in front of someone?”

Turning uncharacteristically pink, he apologized in English. “I’m sorry. You’re right. It was rude. How do you know Italian?”

“My name is Daniella Maria Trivoli.” The ‘duh’ was implied by her very Italian name.

He laughed out loud. “Should’ve guessed as you’ve certainly got the temper for it. But the blue eyes and red hair don’t exactly announce the fact.”

“I was adopted by Italian parents; my DNA says I’m mostly Irish.”

“Good thing an Irish temper is only a legend,” he chuckled, causing her to smile.

The fact that she was offering up these tidbits of her life him was starting to grind on me. “Max, if there isn’t anything else, Ms. Trivoli and I have business.”

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