Page 51 of Beautiful Desire

Elle walks into the office with the files I left on her desk. “I just wanted to check if there were any other files you needed while I’m putting these away?”

Today she’s wearing a light pink pencil skirt that hugs her hips, a white shirt, and a pair of silver sparkly heels that seems to be a favorite of hers. They make her legs go on for eternity. My dick strains against my zipper as I take her in, her floral scent only adding to the pressure.

An image of Elle on her back with her legs over my shoulders, still wearing those fucking heels, flashes in my mind, and my dick gets painfully harder at the thought.

“Mr. Lombardi?” Elle says again, pulling me out of my daydream.

Clearing my throat, I answer, “No. Close the door behind you.”

Taken back by the clipped tone of my voice, she quickly turns, walking out and closing the door firmly behind her without saying another word.

Once she’s gone, I let out a frustrated breath. I didn’t mean to snap at her, but I needed her to leave. Either that, or I was going to have to bend her over my desk and fuck her out of my system, something I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t be too happy about.

My stomach lets out a rumble, and I realize I haven’t eaten since first thing this morning. Checking the time on my watch, I see it’s 3:20 p.m. Shit, no wonder I’m hungry. I take a look at my workspace and know it’s going to be a late night. Pushing my chair away from my desk, I decide to go out and grab some lunch. I’ll work better once I’ve had some distance from Elle and gotten some food in me.

Pulling out my phone, I text Bill, asking him to bring the car around. Elle’s eyes don’t move from her computer screen as I exit my office and head toward her.

“I’m headed out for a late lunch, Miss Parker. If anyone calls, take a message and I’ll get back to them later.”

She responds without even looking at me. “Of course, Mr. Lombardi.”

I hover a little too long, and eventually, she looks up at me.

“Was there anything else, sir?” she asks with annoyance on her face and in her voice.

I think about asking her if the baby in the photo belongs to her and if she is seeing someone. But what would it matter? She isn’t mine. In fact, she never was.

That harsh truth sends a pang to my chest.

“Not a thing, Miss Parker. Not a thing.” I make my way to the elevator and down to the front lobby, deciding a scotch is much needed with lunch today.

* * *

As I walk into Lombardi’s,Alex hurriedly makes his way over to me.

“Mr. Lombardi, sir, it’s so good to see you’re back,” he says, picking up a menu and holding out his arm, gesturing for me to go first.

I begin walking in the direction ofmy seat, the small two-seater table in the back corner of the restaurant where I used to sit. This would allow me the perfect vantage point to watch customers as well as the passersby. I take a seat as Alex places the menu on the table in front of me.

“We’ve still got some old faithfuls on the menu, sir, but we’ve added a few new dishes I think you’d like. Can I get you a drink first?”

“I’ll have a scotch. Neat, please, and make it a double.”

“Coming right up,” he says before quickly turning on his heel.

I lift the menu and begin to scan it, although I’m pretty certain I already know what I want. Thanks to Enrico, I had plans in place for Fabi to look after Lombardi’s if anything were to happen. I’m glad I listened to him, because I would hate for my employees to lose their jobs over my absence.

Alex returns with my drink, setting it down on the table in front of me. I give him my order of lasagna a la Bolognese. After this lunch, I’ll work much better into the night. Lifting my glass of scotch, I take a drink and feel my body instantly relax a little.

Turning my attention out the window, I watch people on the crowded sidewalks go about their day. A young blonde woman pushing a stroller catches my attention. She stops to pick up the child’s pacifier and the bag on her shoulder falls off, spilling some of the contents onto the street. The sound of the crying toddler carries through the window of the restaurant a little.

The picture on Elle’s desk comes back to my mind. Taking another sip of my scotch, I try to wash away the thought, but it doesn’t work. I sit and continue to watch the woman as she tries to soothe her son while picking up everything that fell out of her bag.

People on the street continue on their way without casting her a second glance, until a man around a similar age dressed in a business suit stops to help her pick up some of the items on the sidewalk.

It makes me wonder if that was Elle, would anyone stop to help?

A look of relief washes over the woman’s face as she takes her belongings from the man. Once they have everything gathered up, the woman grabs a wipe and cleans off the pacifier that fell on the dirty concrete. She places it in the child’s mouth and, as if by magic, he stops crying. Images of Elle calming and soothing a baby fill my mind.

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