Page 7 of Big Bad Wolf

They’ve seen me cut a heart out of a man’s chest. How does this tiny little redhead bring me to my knees?

I wish I knew. No one, not even my father, has ever wielded so much power over me. I'll admit she has a temporary advantage. But I’m confident I’ll make Scarlett Rossi fall in love with me. Something big enough to knock me on my ass and turn my world around has to be inevitable.

For the sake of my crumbling sanity, it better be.

Eager to see her face, I thread a hand through my tousled hair and sprint through the double doors. It’s lunchtime, and my girl is a creature of habit. On Thursdays, she eats alone at the Hungarian bistro named Szabo’s, a block from here. She eats the same thing—a plate of chicken paprika with a seltzer water. Sometimes, she works, and other times, she spends the hour talking to her maternal grandmother, a woman she visits on the first of every month. She’s going there next week.

I wait until she’s a few feet away and exit the bar, acting surprised when we’re inches from crashing into one another. The look on her face is priceless. This is the third time we’veaccidentallyrun into each other in public since last Friday's sneak attack at Gennaro’s, and by now, she must realize it’s deliberate.

Scarlett stumbles backward and clutches her purse to her chest, guarding it fiercely, like she thinks I’m here to mug her.

Money is the last thing I want from her.

When she’s satisfied I’m not here to rob her, she lifts her head, looking disoriented. “You again? Why does this keep happening? What are you doing here?”

The last two times I staged one of our run-ins, she was near her apartment, fetching groceries or grabbing dinner at the neighborhood pizza place. Today’s location is a bit more remarkable and much more challenging to ignore.

“I guess the city isn't so big after all.” I stifle a grin and try to act surprised.

Scarlett furrows her brow with confusion. “We live in a city with a population of 9 million, and 1.7 million live in Manhattan alone. That's over 72,000 people per square mile, and yet I keep running into the same person day after day. What's your angle? You have more money than me, and there's no way I'm your type of woman. Russian women are glamorous. I'm not." She bows her head and points to her sensible black Mary Jane flats. She has the most peculiar style for a woman her age, but it suits her.

“If you want me to pass a message to someone, you’d be better off dealing with Bruno.” Anger twists her features, and her puffy pink lips form a noticeable pout.

Between that and her impressive ability to toss out random facts and numbers, my impossibly stiff cock manages to grow harder.

Her reply momentarily stuns me. Is she naïve or humble? She must realize why I'm following her. “Fuck, Bruno. He can’t give me what I want.” I groan, losing patience with my inability to tell her how I feel.

"So, what do you want?" Scarlett straightens her posture and gifts me with her dreamy blue gaze.

“I have no interest in spending time with Bruno. I want to spend time with you.” I run my finger along the length of her jaw and lift her chin. She doesn’t flinch or show an ounce of fear.

"Me?" Her eyes widen as she pulls away and continues toward Szabo's.

I've embarrassed her, but I've piqued her curiosity.

“Do you work for your father?” I ask, already knowing the answer. Casual conversation and small talk have never come easy for me. I get what I want with brute force, not sweet nothings. I'm not smooth or debonair. I'm a wolf with a particular craving for myLittle Red.Things have changed. My doll needs a much more delicate touch, and I'm ready to give it to her.

Scarlett fidgets as she walks, wringing her hands and adjusting her purse strap while avoiding eye contact. “Yes, I do. But not for long. Why do you ask? Do you know my father?”

I swallow hard and try to form words that don’t come off cocky. It's much simpler to impress a woman when I don’t have to worry about the morning after or a second date. I don’t lie, but I don’t share anything about myself. There’s no need when I know I’ll never see them again.

This is different. Scarlett Rossi is more than a conquest.

“I’ve never met your father, but I know who you are." Scarlett stops in front of Szabo’s and turns to say goodbye. I’m not ready to part ways just yet. I place my hand on her elbow and nudge her under the bistro’s red and green awning. "We should get to know one another better."

“No, thank you. That’s not a good idea,” Scarlett stammers, then jerks her body away from mine, ducking beneath my elbow before heading into Szabo’s. Her reply feels like a punch in the gut.

I’m unsure what I expected, but I’m unaccustomed to rejection and don’t know how to react.

I glare at the back of her head and the auburn waves cascading off her shoulders. I want to bury my face in them and see them strewn across my pillow after I’ve spent hours fucking her into the mattress. I can't let a bump in the road discourage me. My flustered brain wants an explanation. My pride demands it.

My persistence feels desperate, but I won’t be discarded so easily.

I follow Scarlett into the bistro, marching behind the hostess until we reach her table. I don’t wait for her to speak or wait around for her answer. “I’ll see you Saturday night, Scarlett Rossi. No need to tell me where you live. I’ll find you.”

ChapterSix

It’s never a good idea to work for your father. The good does not outweigh the bad. The perks don’t make up for the animosity others feel toward you because they’re here on the merit of their accomplishments, not their DNA. No matter how much you go out of your way to prove yourself, sacrificing precious leisure time and putting in 110%, no one takes you seriously.

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