Page 4 of Ruthless Boss

“Yes.”

“Tell me about you. Are you Italian?” She looks of the same descent as me, but her last name is English.

“From my mother’s side, yes. Dad wasn’t. He’s not in my life,” she says, and I notice she’s careful with her words, not giving me much personal information freely. Is she hiding something or just shy?

I drum my fingers on my leg. “Are you aware that if I hire you, you won’t have your own life until I find someone else? I don’t have a wife or a partner. You’ll be it, which means… no coming and going. This is a different job. I don’t want you to tell your friends or post on social media. My daughter is my main concern.”

She crosses and uncrosses her legs. “I don’t have any friends in town, and I hate social media.”

“You’d mostly be with my daughter, and if you ever leave for a doctor’s appointment, you’ll always have two bodyguards.”

She claps her hands together, unfazed. “That sounds good to me.”

I frown. I can recognize bullshitters when I see one, and this woman could be a used car salesperson. She’s giving me all the correct answers. “Does it? You’re young. Don’t you want to go hiking on weekends?”Or whatever it is that you do?

She shrugs. “I’m not one for outdoor activities.”

“How about a boyfriend? Do I have to worry about someone complaining about your hectic schedule?” I ask. Her position isn’t conducive to a loving relationship. I don’t need a stranger distracting her from her job or wanting to visit. No need for random people anywhere close to my home, particularly until Santini is caught and killed.

“Not at all. I’m single as a pringle and kind of hate men right now.”

Ah. So, she’s probably moving from New York because of a former relationship. Figures. “Why are you giving me all the answers I want?”

“Am I?” She tilts her head, feigning innocence.

I surge to my feet. She’s a smartass, which I usually appreciate, but she has a quality about her I can’t pinpoint. Her answers are rehearsed, and she may want to come across as confident in her abilities. I have a gut feeling that she’s in trouble. She’s not telling me the whole story, and I don’t have the time or energy to yank it out of her. “You can leave.”

She stands up, and a flicker of anxiety crosses her eyes. “Mr. Gallo?—”

I lift my hands in denial, warning her to stay away. “I can’t trust you. Go.”

I gesture for her to leave, to move, and she takes a couple of steps, then turns around and looks at me. “I want to work for you because I didn’t do a good job planning my move… which I totally should have, at twenty-two.” She threads her fingers together, fidgeting, then takes a deep breath. “But here I am, desperate. I’ve been working as a bottle service at a strip club, and I hate every moment of it. Guys think they can grab my ass because they have money, and I wish my manager gave a shit, but he doesn’t because he does the same thing. I’ve been staying in a gross motel—the kind you see in horror movies. So yes, living in this kickass mansion and dealing with a cute baby instead of drunk grown-up men is the best opportunity I’ve had in forever,” she says, a current of contempt to her voice like she’s managing to sound calm, but rage burns underneath. “I really, really would love that opportunity and promise you to do my best.”

I take a good look at her. Finally, some authenticity. “Lucia… what’s your last name again?”

“Whitlock.”

I exhale. I wanted her to be truthful. Well, there she is. She needs this job—and I need that kind of employee. “Lucia Whitlock, you’re hired. Don’t make me regret it.”

3

Gia

A wailing startles me from my slumber.

I sit up in bed, yawning, and grab my phone—2 a.m.

Shit.

It’s the middle of the night and my second as a nanny. I follow the protocol from my first night: descend the stairs to the kitchen, make AJ’s formula, pour it into the bottle, and rush back upstairs.

To my boss’s room.

The cute baby still sleeps in her dad’s room at night—he told me he’s having difficulty transitioning her to her nursery, located between my bedroom and his. I get it. If I had a hot-ass daddy like that, I’d want to be in his room too. A current of desire crosses my body.

I mentally slap myself and leash my hormones.

Not the right time, Gia. And not the right man.

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