Page 92 of Darkest Deception

My heart stammers inside of me, yesterday flashing on repeat.

She’s wearing a white flowy shirt, a matching flowy skirt that reaches her knees, black tights, and heels.

“Ambrose,” I call out, holding the list of models in my hand.

She turns her head, flicking her hair off her shoulder, and in that one swift movement, the softness that wraps around her face almost has me stepping back.

“This list? I don’t like it. Research some other models and get them for me.” I throw the file on her table, then turn and stride back to my desk, feeling her eyes on me the whole way.

Two hours later, she knocks on my door and enters the office. My eyes instantly find hers once more. They are drawn to her like good is to bad.

“The new list. The marketing team approved it.”

She places a file on my desk, her eyes careful, and that’s when my eyes fall on her neck. The white silk scarf wrapped around her neck makes me smirk.

I open the file and see the models, but the thing is, I liked the first ones fine. I don’t care who they are so long as they fit within the theme of the newest volume of the magazine.

“No.”

Ambrose frowns. “Why? I think they are fine. They fit with the fitness theme of the month. They are influencers, and—”

“Didn’t I say no? Do you know better or me?”

She clamps her mouth shut, her eyes narrowing. “Well, I am here to tell you that you are being unreasonable. Those are the best choices.”

I lean back in my seat.

“Why are you looking at me like that? You know I’m right.” Her frown deepens, and she crosses her arms.

I lift a brow, amused by her offended tone.

“I didn’t say anything.” I shrug, making her scoff.

Before she can say anything, someone walks into the office. Unannounced. Without knocking.

“Helia, here you are. I went to your house, and you weren’t there. Remo said that—” Venezia stops short once she notices Ambrose standing there too.

Her long brown hair is braided, and she’s wearing brown trousers with a fitted black long-sleeved shirt. Her chocolate eyes flicker between us. From Ambrose, who is ready to fight me, to me, sitting here, nonchalant.

“I’m sorry. I should have knocked. The receptionist let me in,” Venezia says.

I frown. “I never approved you to come in whenever you like.”

She shrugs, and I know Remo did it.

“Remo insisted on giving you these files and says to be prepared. He wouldn’t email because he wanted it to be special.” She shrugs again, as if really not knowing what she is here to give me.

She hands it over to Ambrose, then turns around and leaves.

“She didn’t have an appointment, but I guess being Remo’s sister has its perks,” Ambrose mutters, looking down at the file.

She doesn’t open it as I expect her to; instead, she hands it over to me and then turns to walk away.

“I didn’t say you could leave.”

She looks at me over her shoulder. “You didn’t say I can’t either.” Then she leaves. The door shuts behind her, and I let out a small laugh.

I leave the file to one side and open the rest of the work I have piled up, looking through documents.

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