Page 42 of Ruthless Boss

Dante

I turn off the water and leave the shower box, grabbing a towel from the rack. I hoped a cold shower would help me sober up, even though I didn’t have an ounce of alcohol today. My expectations may be a little high.

No showering can remove the strange sensations gripping me.

Gia will leave. Tomorrow, she’ll be gone.

It’s the best for her. It’s the best for AJ.

For me? Not so much. Being selfish now isn’t an option. Even with Andie, I was selfish. I simply decided I didn’t want a romantic relationship with her without considering her feelings. I’ve experienced guilt after her death, but would I feel guilty if she were alive? Probably not. I’d still be the same selfish bastard.

I slip on a pair of sweatpants.

A knock on my door gets my attention, and I cross the bedroom to open it.

Andrei greets me with a nod, an apologetic expression filtering across his chiseled face.

“What’s up?”

“I wanted to let you know Gia is in the living room, boss.”

I made my team aware of the plan. If Gia tries to leave on her own, it’ll be impossible. That’s why I gave her the freedom to walk around the house tonight—because we have enough security, and there’s no way out.

“Did she try to leave the house?”

“No.”

I loosen my shoulders. “Then what is it?”

He coughs. “She’s, hmmm, drinking, boss, and I wasn’t sure if we should let her.”

Drinking? For them to tell me that, she must be drinking beyond what’s advisable at this point. I need to check on her. “Okay. I’m coming.”

I close my bedroom door behind me and stride down the stairs to the living room. I hear music playing softly. Gia is lying on the couch with a glass of red wine in her hand, looking at the ceiling.

I scan the room, seeing a nearly empty bottle on the coffee table next to a full one without the cork.

“Gia.”

She continues to stare at the ceiling.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m celebrating my freedom and my last night in Chicago,” she says. “Or mourning. I don’t know which. Ask me again in a few months.”

I sigh. We both know talking in a few months isn’t an option. I’m not into long-distance relationships. And I can’t keep her here. “Can you celebrate or mourn in your bedroom? I can’t have you in the middle of my living room, drunk and alone.” My gaze skates down her body. The hem of the shirt has lifted, showing her underboob. And her pants hang below her waist, her belly button peeking out.

A rush of lust surges through me. I stretch my hand out to her. “C’mon.” My desire is to sling her over my shoulder and carry her caveman style, but that would only enhance my already increasingly annoying desire to fuck her one last time.

She glances at my hand, ponders, then puts her glass on the coffee table and takes my offer. I help her stand, and she wobbles a bit, her body pressing against mine for a moment. A moment that lasts much longer than it should.

She intertwines her arms in mine like we’re an old couple, and I figure this is still safer than carrying her in my arms.

I see a security guard, who nods at me as I climb up the stairs with her next to me.

I usually have security in the perimeters and only have them inside the house for emergencies or high-stakes situations.

I take her to her room and close the door behind us. A simple move to help her with privacy, I remind myself. Nothing more.

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