Once she’s dressed, I rise as she glances up at me, those innocent, ‘fuck me’ eyes doing weird things to my insides.
I never know what to say after these encounters. With Fiona, it felt way more transactional. I would just thank her, and she would leave. With Amelia, a perfunctory dismissal doesn’t feel right.
Maybe I’m getting sentimental as I reach forty, but she comes across as more vulnerable than some. I don’t want to be the asshole who kicks her out right after sex. I haven’t checked my schedule this morning, but I’m pretty sure there’s nothing in until ten.
“I’m making a coffee,” I blurt out. “Would you like one?”
Her eyes widen in surprise as she looks at the twenty-thousand-dollar machine I had installed. It’s like having a barista on hand every day—if I could pay for a guy to stand next to me and make my coffee on a whim, I would.
“Thank you, that would be great,” she says, with a little smile. She has such a beautiful mouth. My eyes scan the room as I count the furniture. That’s the desk and the couch so far. Three chairs and a coffee table to go.
I walk over to the machine. “What would you like?”
“Does it make lattes?”
“It does.”
“I’ll have one of those, although I feel like I should be making it for you.”
“Let’s call it a thank you for an excellent wake-up call,” I say, smirking back at her, but she turns away before I can catch her expression.
The machine whirs, and Amelia stands awkwardly in the center of my office, her eyes dropping down to my feet and back up again. I await the inevitable question. Almost all the women I’ve ever been with have asked about my aversion to shoes. It seems to baffle people that I don’t like wearing tight leather and wool socks all day.
I watch the timer tick down on the machine, waiting for her to ask me about it, but she stays quiet.
As the creamy foam reaches the rim, I remove the glass cup from beneath the spout and hand it to her. It’s been a long time since I’ve drunk anything but espresso, and I realize I’ve never made a latte before. It smells damn good.
I hesitate, holding the cup between my thumb and forefinger. The latte glasses were a gift from Megan. I never got around to getting rid of them. They’re elegant, just the kind of thing Megan would think was classy. She even had our initials engraved on the metal at the base.
Why haven’t I gotten rid of them?
As I hand the cup to Amelia, I have a strange urge to snatch it back and pour the drink into something else.
“Thank you,” she says. “I’ll leave you to your morning. Is there anything you need me to do?”
“Kaitlin says you’ve settled in well,” I say, as the machine dings that my espresso is ready. “Do you have any questions for me?”
She shakes her head. “No. Thank you.”
“Then there’s nothing specific right now. Kaitlin and Beatrice will guide you through everything. You’ll mainly just need to be on top of my schedule.”
And my dick, of course.
A knock sounds at the door. “Lucas?”
“Oh shit,” I mutter as Amelia looks at me expectantly. “Sorry, I forgot I asked my friend Ambrose over to breakfast. Could you let him in?”
“Of course.”
She walks over and opens the door. I watch her as she goes. She appears professional, if not well dressed, and I’m glad it doesn’t look like I just fucked her five feet from where she’s standing.
My own suit is rumpled, and I smooth it down as Ambrose’s grinning face appears around the door. He takes Amelia in for a second before he saunters inside, his hands casually in his pockets as he looks around my office.
I rarely notice what other men wear, but with Ambrose, it’s hard to miss. He loves fashion and is wearing some kind of half-leather, half-suede jacket today with beading hanging over the front. He looks like a cowboy, and I’m dying to tell him so.
“Bongiorno Bella,” he says to me with a wink. “Did you forget?”
“Of course not,” I huff as he snorts loudly. “Let’s go.”
