Page 5 of Dirty Little Sins

My manager had no reason to believe anything had changed. But it had. And all because of some five foot nothing hot tempered chef who I'd made the mistake of my life with.

A mistake I planned to rectify as soon as possible. Under my terms.

"The party is happening. And I want that hot new chef everyone is talking about to cater it. That is non-negotiable and has to be part of the contract with The Sinclair. Either she cooks for me or this fight will move down the strip to the MGM where my requests are never questioned. Is that understood?"

Brian sighed long and loud. "I can see this latest vacation of yours did nothing to improve your mood. But yeah, I got it. I'll make sure it happens. Just don't forget that interview you have tonight. The press is up my ass over this fight and you've got to get out there and do the circuit as soon as you get here. Deal?"

"Sure." Not that I liked it. It seemed that what I used to consider half the fun had lost some interest for me. The blustering dog and pony show before a fight was a great way to drum up interest from the fans, but it also got things even more heated with your opponent. Something I didn't need to amp up. I'd been listening to that punk ass threaten me for months now and I'd had enough. I was more than ready to hand him his ass—again.

"We've also got some new interest from Hollywood I need to run by you. A script they want you to read. I read the cliff notes version and it sounds like a good opportunity. I mean if you don't fuck up this fight."

My teeth ground together again. At this rate I'd need dental work by the end of the week. I wasn't fucking up anything. I was still at my prime and in better shape than ever. In fact, I'd worked out more in the last few months than in the entire year before. I'd had to blow off steam and since I couldn't fuck it out of my system, I'd attempted, without a lot of success, other ways.

As for the Hollywood thing. That did sound promising. I'd been waiting for the right offer to come along to start taking my celebrity career in a more diversified direction and I hoped to God this was finally it. I wanted more options than the offer I'd received while in Italy.

"Email me the script and I'll take a look at it tonight after the interviews. Anything else?"

"Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow. I'll meet you at the gym around eight."

That worked. Especially since I planned to be there by five. The pent up frustration and the knowledge that I would soon see Zia again had me on edge. It had been too long since I'd seen her face and internet pictures weren't cutting it. Although I did enjoy stalking her on social media. While the majority of her posts centered around food, I'd gotten a decent bead on her life in New York City. She spent the majority of her free time with her best friend Harper and her wild looking Bengal cat named Claudio. The rest of the time it was work related or work related travel. It all looked glamorous, but I was anxious to dig deeper into what made this woman tick. I was going to have to work extra hard to deal with that so I didn't do something stupid.

Like kidnap her.

My dick perked up at the thought. I couldn't wait to be alone with her again. I had every confidence that once we talked through this mistake, we could move past it and strike some sort of deal. One where I fucked her whenever and however I wanted and she got all the orgasms she could handle.

I had a lot of kinks, but orgasm withdrawal wasn't one of them.

Much the opposite exactly. I'd make her come for me so many times she'd either beg me to stop or pass out. That thought made me chuckle.

These last months of abstinence were not going to end well for my pretty little chef. If she was going to ruin me for other women, then I'd be damned sure she paid for it—with her body.

"I am pretty sure I don't want to know what crazy ass shit has you looking like you are right now. In fact, on that note I'm hanging up. I'll see you in the morning."

I nodded as I too hit the button to disconnect the call. When the screen went dark, I pulled up the file I'd been compiling since I'd started putting my plan into action.

It had all started when The Sinclair announced they were opening a new restaurant in conjunction with the hottest new celebrity chef to hit network television in a decade.

The picture that accompanied the article made it plain what made her so appealing. Her dark beauty pulled you in, but it was the smile and sweetness underneath it that entranced you.

Of course she could cook. That seemed like a given. According to interviews I'd combed through I'd learned that her skills came directly from her maternal grandmother. I'd even found pictures of her on the internet as a young girl standing on a stool in her nana's kitchen stirring giant pots of food with a look of pure joy on her face. That image was as burned into my brain as the curve of her bare heart-shaped ass tilted up in front of me as I slid into her.

Fuck. I was ruined and she didn't even know it. I only hoped that she could see past our differences.

Our childhoods couldn't have been more different. We were from two different extremes and I found it hard not to compare them. Her well known family with a slightly murky past, that I knew from experience probably had some distant mafia connections, had managed to keep Zia sweet, innocent and happy throughout her childhood.

Although she'd lost her father some years back and when her mother remarried less than a year later it changed the makeup of her family to such an extreme, it seemed she'd fallen out of touch with them.

That was a far cry from my upbringing. If I could call raising myself that.

My mother had disappeared from my life at the tender age of nine, leaving me with a brand new stepfather from hell as my only guardian. My biological father was a mystery that my mother had refused to discuss. And now I knew why.

On the outside my life with my stepfather had appeared average. We lived in the lower class suburbs of Las Vegas in a rundown, but functional rental house. The same house we'd landed in after leaving Italy for the United States.

My stepfather, a genius with computers, had been offered a job and a work visa he couldn't refuse.

But underneath the simple and ordinary appearance lurked a monster. A man who spent all his money on alcohol in order to drink to the edge of death every single night, only to somehow pull himself back together again each morning.

For years, I'd tried to hide during what I referred to as the witching hours. The time between when my stepfather started drinking and the moment he finally passed out for the night. Sometimes that went fast and he went straight to bed after dinner, and then others it took hours.

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