Page 82 of Ruthless Mafia Boss 3: Vino and Claire

She pushed her orange rimmed glasses up her nose. “This is what Porsha brought to me.”

“Porsha?” I called out.

A hush fell over the large room.

“Yes, boss?” she called out, jogging over, clutching her phone behind her.

I held up the bolt of fabric. “This is the wrong one. The blend’s off. The dress won’t drape properly.”

Her brows knitted. “Oh, shoot. I-I thought—”

I didn’t wait for more excuses. I beelined to the fabric room, yanked out the right rolls, and placed them beside Meela. “Use these. Porsha and I will help you get the project back on track.”

“I’ll get right on it. Don’t worry, Claire. I’ll work late if I have to,” she promised.

“Porsha and I are going to help you tackle this workload.”

“Boss?” Meela started.

I raised my hand. “Meela, you’re an outstanding employee. We’ve got your back. Just give us a minute.”

I grabbed Porsha’s arm as I shot a glance at Amadeo. “Order lunch from Mannies Eatery to arrive at noon.”

“What about your doctor’s appointment?” he asked.

I released Porsha’s arm.

“Damn, I’ll have to push it until tomorrow. I can’t afford to lose this client because of one of my employee’s mistakes.” I side eyed Porsha.

Amadeo nodded and then moved away.

“Come to my office, Porsha.”

She followed me and took the chair across from my desk and I eased into mine. I was exhausted already and the day just began.

“We’ve worked too hard to build this brand,” I said evenly. “One mistake can sabotage a major account.”

She sighed, rubbing her eyes. “I know. I’m sorry. I’ll stay late and help Meela. You don’t have to.”

I shook my head. “No, I’m staying too.”

My gaze softened. “You’re distracted. Always on your phone, grinning. Your personal life is bleeding into your work.”

She hesitated. “It’s… complicated.”

I raised an eyebrow.

“If it’s serious with this guy and he truly cares, he’ll respect your career.”

She ran a hand over her coils and muttered under her breath, “It was just a one-night stand again.”

“It’s turned into more than that. Damn, I need to stop seeing him,” she added, sounding as if she were convincing herself to move on.

I asked, “Where did you meet this guy, and what does he do?”

She looked away briefly, then met my eyes slowly. “I met him years ago. We spoke at the club. The night we went out after work.”

I raised an eyebrow. “Was he the guy you danced with?”

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