Page 15 of Of Desire And Deception

“Think of it as an early morning wake-up call so you can make Mia breakfast in bed.” I could imagine my sister-in-law’s face lighting up at whatever her husband would make. The woman thought Niccolò hung the moon. “You can thank me after she shows you her gratitude.”

“Fuck off,” he snapped back playfully. “I don’t need to make her food to see that side of her.”

“But you’ll do it, anyway.”

“Yeah,” he replied with a laugh. “I will.”

Silence stretched down the line as I listened to my music, and my brother started making his wife breakfast. It was comfortable. Familiar. Even when we were half a world apart, our connection was there.

“You doing better?” Niccolò finally asked.

“I think so.” The clawing under my skin had subsided, and my breathing and heart rate were steady. “I’ll probably wait a couple hours and see what I can find on the streets. I’ll let you get back to Mia.”

“Call me back if you need to.”

I wouldn’t, but I could appreciate his willingness. “Yeah, thanks.”

I tapped my phone screen to end the call and sighed, leaning back in my chair and closing my eyes. I wasn’t tired, but sometimes my body felt weary from the constant conflict in my head. When I finally opened my eyes, an hour had passed, and I knew I couldn’t sit at my desk all night.

For a few minutes, I arranged everything in and on top of my desk, making sure it felt right. The organization helped calm me, helped remind me I was in control. It was a coping mechanism I’d looked up on the internet. Only, I hadn’t stopped there. Like everything else, I tended to work in extremes. Now, I needed order whenever possible. Change and disorder pissed me off.

Satisfied with my office, I rose from my chair, thirsty. It was a test of sorts to show myself that I could be around my new bartender without her completely derailing my life. She was a woman, for fuck’s sake. I’d never struggled to keep my composure around a member of the opposite sex.

In fact, I had the utmost respect for women, driven into my very psyche by my mother. Those who knew me were aware that insulting a woman in front of me—especially making them cry—was tantamount to sealing your own death warrant. I couldn’t save my mother from my father, but I’d damn well keep others safe when they had nobody else to stand up for them.

The club music grew louder as I paced through the hall, blasting me in the face when I shoved through the door and found a seat at the end of the bar. Wynn was at the other end, leaning her elbows on the bar as she tipped her ear toward a customer, trying to hear him over the noise. Her light blonde locks were pulled back into a high ponytail that was made to be wrapped around a fist.

My fist.

Fuck. No.

Take her to your office. Shove her to her knees.

I resisted the urge filtering through my head and focused on the patrons lining the bar. They were much more interested in Wynn than Zach, the male bartender. After a few minutes, I began to wonder whether my employees were purposely avoiding me. Zach was bearing the brunt of the work, making drinks, but Wynn…

She glanced over her shoulder, and those darkened blue eyes nervously met mine. Yes, she was avoiding me. I lifted a brow in a challenge and tapped two fingers on the bar top. Her back straightened, and I caught a flicker of a glare before she turned back to her customer.

I was two seconds from pulling all the bar patrons from their seats when she flounced down to where I sat.

“Hey, boss,” she greeted flippantly. “Paying customers have to come first.”

“I pay your checks,” I replied flatly.

Wynn planted her hands on her hips and nodded. “Touché.”

“What the fuck are you wearing?” I asked as I took in her skin-tight black jeans and a club vest that looked painted onto her body. No fucking wonder the balding, middle-aged men were practically drooling down her cleavage.

Her brows furrowed as she looked down at her outfit. “Uh, my uniform? Why? What’s wrong with it?”

Was it sexual harassment if I said her tits were about to fall all over my bar?

I settled on a practical answer. “I think Franco misjudged your size.”

“I picked it,” she said defensively. “Are you insulting my body?”

“Fuck no,” I rushed. That was a bear trap I wasn’t walking into. One look at her livid face told me I’d leave a torn, bloodied mess. Fuck if I wouldn’t mind her drawing my blood under other circumstances.

“Then what’s the problem?”

---