Chapter Twenty-Two
On the train to work the next morning, my head—and, to be honest, my heart—remained back in Brooklyn. Frisco and I had spent the night wrapped around each other, but we didn’t have sex. At first I was unsure, but he seemed content to hold me and let me hold him too. A connection like that, for a man like him, meant more than any physical act between us.
I’d left him sleeping in the bed with a note on my pillow that said:Stay as long as you want. See you tonight? LMK.
So when I walked into my office atUltimate, coffee in hand, it was with a smile on my face.
“Morning, Salvatore,” Steph said.
“Morning. You can call me Torre if you want. Salvatore is a mouthful.”
“Not Sal? Torre is unusual.”
“My father was always Sal, and I didn’t want to be called junior, so I thought Torre was a better alternative.”
“I like it.”
“Me too,” a voice said from behind me.
I spun around to see Matt waiting, a nervous smile appearing and disappearing on his face. My anger at his behavior the other day had waned a bit. I couldn’t blame him for wanting to be with Frisco.
“Morning. I’m going into my office. I need to write that article on food-truck cuisine. Edward is expecting it this afternoon.” I tilted my head in Matt’s direction and walked away.
But Matt, as I should’ve remembered from our first meeting, was nothing if not persistent and followed me, coming inside my office without asking and closing the door behind us.
“Look, I wanted to clear the air.”
“I didn’t think there was a problem.”
He settled himself against my desk. “Not a problem exactly, but I think you misunderstood what I was trying to say about Francisco the other day.”
“Oh?” I set my coffee cup on the desk. “I thought it was pretty clear. I think you said he fucks anything that walks and is only interested in sticking his dick in people.”
Matt had the grace to look guilty. “That was wrong of me. Are you two really together? Like dating?” His sandy brows pulled together.
“I’m not discussing my personal life with you, sorry.”
“So you are. How’d you do it? He ignored me after our night together. What did you have to do to get him?” His eyes narrowed, and I grew uncomfortable under his intense scrutiny. He lifted off the edge of the desk and took two steps toward me. “You into something kinky?” His eyes glittered, and I stepped away from him, but he grabbed my arm. “I offered to let him tie me up. Even spank me. I thought he’d like that. Does he do that to you?”
“Get the fuck off me and get out.” I pushed him, and he stumbled away. “I’m going to tell Edward about this. You’re fucking crazy.”
A tapping sounded at my door, and I glared at Matt. “Come in,” I called out, and a guy in his late twenties stuck his head into my office.
“Salvatore Grant?”
I’d never seen this man before. He had black curly hair, light-gray eyes, and a glowing, bronzed complexion that spoke of facials and a careful skin-care routine. His designer suit fit him to perfection, and I felt a little shabby in my buy-one-get-one-half-off Macy’s special.
“Yes, that’s me.”
“Hi, I’m Armi Dumont.” When I showed no recognition, he explained further. “I was Francisco Martinelli’s assistant.”
My eyes widened. “Oh.”
“Yes, I was on vacation for the past two weeks.” His gaze found Matt, who’d retreated to the corner, and the barely veiled contempt in Armi’s pale eyes told me everything I needed to know. “I’d love to chat if you have a moment.”
“That would be great.” I tipped my head to Matt. “We’re done here.”
Glowering at both of us, Matt stalked out, muttering to himself. Armi held the door open and wrinkled his elegant nose when Matt passed by. He shut the door firmly after Matt.
