Alex
The door to DeLuca’s office is closed. He’s inside with Rita, of all people. The first time they’ve had a one-to-one in… ever.
I wait in a chair outside, idly flicking through a copy of Forbes. He wants to see me, and it rankles that I’m being kept waiting by my own Chief of Staff.
The door opens at last, but it’s not Rita that steps out, but DeLuca. Rita follows him, looking a lot paler than when she went in.
“Ah, Alexander.” DeLuca walks over to shake my hand as I get up to greet him. “Vincent and Antonio were impressed by you yesterday.”
“Thanks. Good to hear.”
“You can have your Chief of Staff back. You’ll need her for Greenstone.” He givesRita the barest glance, ignoring the deliberate display of her blouse’s top two undone buttons. “There’s a meeting I’d like you to attend on Monday night, and a social event in two weeks. You’ll be bringing Victoria, of course.” It’s not a question.
“Sounds great.” And that’s not a confirmation.
He nods deliberately, like he caught my evasion, briefly grips my shoulder, then walks off down the hallway.
I let out a subtle breath.
That was all he wanted to see me for?
Rita arches a precisely groomed eyebrow in inquiry, but says nothing. Most of her color has returned.
I lead her back to my office, sit down behind my desk, and eye the drinks cabinet in the corner despite it being early afternoon. It’s rare I even drink, but I feel a hankering for a whisky. Is the pressure getting to me? That’s inexcusable. I settle my gaze on Rita instead.
“What did DeLuca want?”
“To remind me who I work for.”
“You work for me,” I say, like there’s any doubt. “Not the company, not DeLuca. Me.”
“That’s what I told him.”
I watch her for a moment, wondering what DeLuca said to her, and whether she was ballsy enough to give him the reply she just gave me. “What progress has been made on Greenstone?”
She begins to fill me in, but I’m only half listening. It’s been two days since Vickyleft—no, three. Two days since I went home. She’s still not answering her phone, and I’ve sent half a dozen messages. It’s making me look desperate, and that won’t do at all.
I don’t even know where she’s gone. She has no family—her parents are dead, a brother in Miami, but I can’t see her going there. She hasn’t spent money on her credit card, which means she’s living out of her own account. I know what’s in it: barely anything. She can’t be paying rent; she must be staying with a friend.
But which one?
An excellent question, especially as I can’t think of the names of any of them, let alone where they live or work. That realization comes as something of a surprise.
I’ve known Vicky nine months, and though I met some of her friends in the first few weeks, when we were courting, nothing since then. It was a whirlwind romance. Love on her side, lust on mine. She had—has—a strength to her I’ve always found alluring. Beautiful, too. Not with the voluptuous curves that Rita’s blouse can’t contain, but fine-boned and self-possessed, slim and delicate, features precise enough to look almost studied. I’ve always found that far more appealing.
Not to mention an ass you could bounce a quarter off.
The sex was disappointing, if I’m honest. A little bland, a little vanilla. My Vicky doesn’t lack for passion, except in the bedroom, which I mostly put down to a lack of experience. Two previous lovers,and I gather neither one rocked her world. I suppose I could’ve done more there, but… work.
My reflections have distracted me entirely from what Rita’s been saying, and I become conscious she’s stopped talking, watching me with her head tilted and an amused expression.
“Something on your mind?” she asks, when I make eye contact.
“Just thinking.”
“Have you heard anything I’ve said?”
That’s unusually forward from her. I let my gaze go cold, recalling the early parts of what she said, before Vicky took up too much of my thoughts.
