Page 14 of Reckless Deal

My efforts to avoid Gio Cassinetti lasted for two whole days. The car his company—or my client/employer—sent pulls to a stop in front of a house the size of which I didn’t even know existed in Manhattan.

I take a fortifying breath, in the hope that I can survive this meeting without the lingering feelings of frustration and humiliation crawling up my spine every time I interact with my new boss. Or the boss of my boss.

Just my luck that a last-minute health concern would put Gio in charge of the project I’ve been assigned to work on. I can be professional. I am a professional. I can put my unreasonable attraction to the side easily, because the man is as warm as an igloo.

I just need to wrap my head—or rather my attitude—around the fact he’s no longer an arrogant brother of Gina’s husband, but my boss. I can do that.

Jesus, this house is a mansion. My heels sound obnoxious on the stone pavement leading to the main entrance. Flanked by two white pillars, the door is adorned by a wreath.

It seems so domestic, I wonder for a second if I’m at the right house. And why is he working from home, and taking in-person meetings here?

I’m tired and cranky. I don’t like being cranky. That’s not who I am. I put on a smile and take three more breaths, but as I raise my hand to ring the bell, I can’t do it.

Yes, you can.

Can I? I’ve felt and acted like an idiot around the man since our encounter at the gala. Stupid protein bar. Gio is insufferable and rude, and yet he noticed I was lightheaded and dizzy. He sought me out to help me. In his very weird, obnoxious way, but he did. And then he gave me this gig.

I wish I could ask Gina about it, but I’m avoiding her because I’ve been unreasonably upset about her meddling and getting me this job. I’m a horrible person. Her family has been so good to me, but my pride is suffering. While well-intentioned, this kind of help is only a bitter reminder of the failure I am. Perfect. I’m also ungrateful now.

Mila Jessica Ward, snap out of this. Be yourself.I close my eyes for a moment.

The thing is, I don’t know how to reconcile the man I thought he was with the man who did those small deeds of kindness. Well, kindness wrapped in an insult, but still.

Let’s start with a clean slate.

“Or let’s start with why are you standing here, wasting time?”

I snap my eyes open and meet Gio’s glare. Dark brown, bottomless pools. My heart jumpstarts.

Apparently I speak to myself out loud. And, of course, he has cameras, or heard the car. How long have I been standing here?

I give him a million-watt smile. “Sorry, my sister called.”

His gaze drops to my hand where I hold my phone, and back to my eyes. He licks his lips. It’s all happening in slow motion, while in my mind I’m watching the freight train hurtling forward to kill me. For lying. Or just out of mortification.

He shakes his head slightly like he’s annoyed, disappointed and done with me. Then he lifts his own phone, starts typing and turns. “You’re late.”

I watch his back receding into the long hallway and the door closes slowly. I put my foot in to prevent it from slamming in my face, but then I freeze. Is he expecting me to follow?

“Are you coming or what?” he growls, without turning or stopping. Heisexpecting me to follow.

I don’t make it too far, because as I unfasten the sash of my coat, I don’t quite know what to do next. There is no coat rack. Should I take my shoes off? Are there guest slippers?

“The door to your left.” Gio’s voice carries down the long hallway as I glimpse him turning into a room.

I stare at the wooden paneling to my left. Door? I groan and start patting the wall, and jump back when a click sound reveals there is a door after all. I shed my coat and hang it in the disguised closet, and not wanting to waste more time, I take off my boots quickly and pad my way to where I think Gio disappeared.

Leaning against a large table in the middle of what seems like a dining room, Gio types on his phone, a deep crease splitting his forehead.

He lifts his gaze. With narrowed eyes, he takes in my bare feet and shakes his head. “I shouldn’t have worked from home today.”

I chuckle. Why, I don’t know. “Why did you?”

“Friday to Sunday I always do. I rarely do internal meetings on those days, but this is important.” He walks round the table and sits. “This project has been the bane of my existence.”

“Why did you even acquire a retail chain? It doesn’t seem your typical portfolio?”

He snaps his eyes to me, and I flinch. “What do you know about mytypicalportfolio?”

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