Page 10 of Ruined By the Enemy
Fine.I roll my eyes—still closed.He’s handsome. And so what? It’s not a trait that earns him a pass. If anything, it’s unfair.
A man like him should look like the physical embodiment of his family’s history. Something more horrifying than an accurate representation of the Grinch.
“Miss? Miss?”
A softer voice slips into my mind, and my eyes fly open to see a hostess standing in front of me with a cart by her side. She gives me a look somewhere between confused and curious, like she’s trying to figure me out.
“Would you like a cup of hot chocolate?” she asks, gesturing to the mug.
“‘Hot chocolate’?” I echo.
She nods. “Yes. It’s dark chocolate, but I could add some milk if you want.”
Dark chocolate?
My brows draw together in confusion—just for a second—before the realization hits me like a slap. Him. I thought it wasDom’s cologne I’d caught a whiff of earlier. That warm, smoky scent that always lingers a little too long.
But it wasn’t him. It was the damn hot chocolate.
That’s why she gave me that look when I opened my eyes—half-expecting him, half-lost in the scent.
Heat rushes up my neck, burning its way into my cheeks as embarrassment settles heavy in my chest.
I clear my throat, trying to swallow it down. “No, thank you.”
“Water?” she offers gently.
I’d rather drown in it than sit here wallowing in my own mortification. But before I can answer, something shifts.
As if summoned by my shame, Dom glances over his shoulder. His eyes catch mine, steady and unreadable, but something flickers there. Almost as if he can tell that I was… thinking about him.
When his gaze drifts lower, lingering on my mouth, I tuck my bottom lip between my teeth to ground myself. It only drops even lower, grazing the inches between my collarbone and the round neck of my peplum blouse.
There’s nothing to see, but it feels like he canseethrough me.
The heat around my neck intensifies. However, it has nothing to do with embarrassment and everything to do with the way his gaze pins and digs into me simultaneously.
I swallow thickly, ignoring the light flutter in my stomach.
It has to be a stomach bug, nothing more.
“Will you have water, ma’am?”
I turn to the stewardess, nodding sharply. “Yes, please. Or…” I add before she can push the cart away, “You could leave the hot chocolate too.” I collect it from her, wrap my fingers around it, and bring the mug to my lips.
From the safety of the rim, I watch as she stops when she gets to Dom, with bits of their conversation floating to me.
It’s my fault. I didn’t do enough research on Domenico Moretti. I thought I had everything I needed, but I’d only observed him from afar, hanging at the corner of parties and events, careful not to be spotted by anyone who’d recognize me.
I hadn’t met him in person until the morning I walked into his office. Until yesterday.
That’s why I’m flustered. “It’s a slight mishap, nothing more,” I mutter under my breath as I take a sip of the hot chocolate.
Next time, I’ll be ready.
Hours later, I accept a firm handshake from the Director of Rideover Construction after a round of drinks at a private, exclusive bar.
“You know, Miss Greco,” he says, flashing a satisfied smile, “I didn’t think it was possible to sell the company that started it all without at least some bad blood. You’ve truly outdone yourself.”
