Page 42 of Beautiful Desire

“I am. I’m surprised you were able to do all of that, anticipate what I needed without me even asking you.”

“Well, thatismy job.”

“I know, but it’s our first day working together. Firsthourworking together. Most PAs would freak out in this situation, and given our history, most of them would try to sabotage me.”

Standing up, she pulls at the skirt of her dress, looking me directly in the eyes the entire time. “Luckily for you, I’m not like most PAs. I can anticipate people’s needs, and I know how to do my job and do it well. As far as ourhistorygoes, it’s just that: history. I told you earlier that I can separate the two, and I meant it. I’m a professional and will treat you as one. As far as I’m concerned, the past never happened. You’re my boss, and I’m here to do my job and make yours easier. We’re not Elle and Dom. We’re Mr. Lombardi and Miss Parker, CEO and PA. Now, if there’s nothing else you needed, sir, I have a mountain of things I need to get back to that I was working on before you called me in here.”

Before I can respond, she turns on her heel and heads for my office door, swaying her hips and giving me the perfect view of her voluptuous ass. An ass that looks even juicier than the last time I saw it.

* * *

Sitting at my desk, buried in paperwork up to my eyeballs, I look at my watch and see that it’s after five p.m. A gentle knock sounds at my office door.

“Come in,” I call.

The door opens to reveal Elle standing there. God, she’s beautiful.

“I just wanted to let you know I’m heading home for the night. Also, your twelve p.m. meeting has now been changed to ten a.m. See you tomorrow, Mr. Lombardi.”

“Okay. Thanks, El-Miss Parker.”

She gives me a small, strained smile before pulling the door closed and heading out.

I let out a defeated breath I feel I’ve been holding all day. I knew this was going to be hard, but having her just on the other side of that door all day, five days a week, is going to be impossible.

* * *

Two hours later, and I feel like I’ve managed to get a bit of a handle on my workload. Taking out my phone, I text Bill and let him know I’m ready to go home.

Home.

After being away for so long and so much having changed since the last time I was in Boston, I’m not entirely sure if my city-view penthouse even feels like home anymore.

Maybe I just need to give myself some time to adjust to being back. Or maybe I do need a clean slate. I’ll give it another week, and then I’ll consider looking into buying a new place.

Gathering my things, I head out of my office and close the door behind me. Making my way to the elevator, I step inside and press the button to take me down to the lobby. I notice a few people from other floors still milling around in the vestibule as I walk through, keen to get out of here and get a drink.

The entire drive back to my penthouse, my mind is playing back over the events of today. A morning reading through all the files from the clients I had booked in the afternoon for meetings, assuring said clients they were in good hands and trying to soften the blow at the lack of warning they had about the sale of the company.

Thankfully, with a lot of hard work and a little bit of luck, the clients all seemed happy enough to stay with the company. Another element that helped was the fact that Elle is a great PA. I even overheard her talking to my first client about how they were in good hands as she showed them into the conference room.

I must admit, hearing her say those words felt good. I was happy to hear she trusted me, or at least pretended she did. She’s been with the company for quite a long time, so for the clients to hear she feels they’re in good hands was a huge help for me.

My evening at the office was spent reading through more files on clients who are scheduled in for tomorrow’s meetings. I needed a drink after all those meetings today, but after spending the evening prepping for tomorrow, I’m in definite need of a stiff scotch.

“We’re here, sir. What time tomorrow?” Bill asks as we come to a stop in the underground garage of my apartment building.

“Six a.m. sharp, Bill,” I say, exiting the car, making my way to the private elevator and inserting the keycard.

Stepping out when I arrive at the top floor, I head to the bar in the living area of my penthouse. Pouring myself a large glass of scotch, I walk over to the large window and stare out across the city. The city that was once my sanctuary and held all my hopes and dreams.

As I take a sip of my drink, the warmth of the alcohol settles deep in my belly. It’s the first bit of warmth and comfort I’ve allowed myself to feel since I returned last night. A comfort I know I could find somewhere else, but something tells me she wouldn’t be as comforting as I would like, and honestly, I can’t say I blame her.

After all, I’m the one who walked out. I left her after I promised I wasn’t going to let her get away again. And like a coward, I couldn’t even tell her to her face that I was leaving. I most certainly couldn’t tell herwhyI was leaving.

At the memory of that night, a loud ringing fills the space. I reach into my suit jacket and pull out my cellphone. My jaw tics as rage courses through me when I see the name on the screen, but I know I have no choice but to answer it.

“Nero,” I seethe into the line.

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