Page 18 of Her Dark Salvation

Anna Barone appeared in my mind’s eye, writhing in ecstasy, my teeth buried in her neck, my cock plunging into her wet cunt.

What the fuck?

My mood darkened with each step toward the kitchen. My European office was hemorrhaging money, and the Irish were sticking their noses where they didn’t belong. The last thing I needed was a distraction, someone upending my routine.

I paid for blood, and I paid for sex. Never at the same time and never with the same woman. No matter how enticing the temptation.

ChapterFive

Anna

Morning peeked over the downtown skyline and shined bright through the glass wall of the penthouse floor. The sunlight matched my outlook—eager and optimistic—and I fired up the computer to start my first Monday in the world of corporate finance.

The computer booted with a low whine, and I reached into my new Louis Vuitton tote to retrieve my water bottle and the external hard drive I needed to make this ruse work.

What a gorgeous bag, I thought for the millionth time since I’d bought it. I’d never purchased anything so indulgent. Frankly, I really couldn’t afford it, especially given I was making only a fraction of my salary while on sabbatical. But if I was going to do this whole midlife awakening thing, I was going to do it right, and that bag was a hell of a lot cheaper than Michael’s Porsche.

First thing first—how bad was the computer situation? I navigated to the system settings, relieved the desktop wasn’t a cluttered mess. The window opened and so did the office door behind me, giving me a start. I swiveled my chair.

Mr. DeVita leaned against the door jamb, one ankle crossed over the other, dominating the space between us with easy authority and smoldering good looks. He folded his thick arms across his black waistcoat, and his biceps strained against his white dress shirt.

He tilted his head and examined me from my hair, carefully arranged in a bun at the nape of my neck, to the Band-Aids covering the blisters on the backs of my heels.

I shifted, nervous under his scrutiny.Is he judging my clothes? Did I get “executive admin” right?My palms started to sweat.

“I like your hair better down.”

The fresh curveball silenced my racing thoughts. Heat moved like a tidal wave up my chest, the telltale sign my cheeks were about to turn an obnoxious shade of tomato. I touched the neat bun I’d painstakingly pinned at the nape of my neck and tried to make sense of a statement that sounded more like a command than an observation.

Should I be offended or flattered he’d noticed my hair enough to have a preference? We were at work. He was my boss. My hairstyle was immaterial to my performance, and he shouldn’t be commenting on my appearance anyway. Wasn’t that in some HR manual somewhere?

“What do you need to get started?” he asked.

My brain short-circuited with Marco DeVita induced whiplash. I gaped at him, unable to form coherent thoughts, much less words. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d clammed up so badly.

I swiveled my chair to face the computer, desperate for a reprieve from the severity of those dark eyes. My hand shook as I reached for my water bottle. At least the long, soothing drink bought me time to gather my thoughts.

“I—I’m not sure,” I said, finally, my eyes safely fixed on the screen. “I brought an external hard drive with my software, tools, and notes, but I need to understand this computer’s performance capabilities first. If it’s powerful enough, I won’t need additional equipment, just information to construct the model.” I clicked through menus until the processor speed and memory appeared.

“And what goes into building the model?”

Surprised by the nearness of his voice, I glanced over my shoulder. His big body towered above me, right behind my chair, close enough to feel his body heat and smell a hint of cigar smoke and leather.

I shifted my focus back to the monitor and pretended to study the numbers. Instead, I closed my eyes and regulated my breathing.

Just answer his question, Anna. Talk about your work. You can do that in your sleep.

“The business strategies used by your European office as well as EU sector performance,” I said. Robotic, but true.

His eyes never left me. They bored into the back of my head.

“I’ll use that information to construct parameterized model elements. I’ll piece those together to represent the entire financial system.” My shoulders started to relax. “Then, I’ll run the model through scenarios to determine if the expected behavior deviates from the actual, observed performance.”

Recentered, I opened my eyes and glanced back over my shoulder.

He gave me a terse nod. “Let me know when you need something specific.”

“Will do.”

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