His smile turns more genuine.
“It’s generous,” I say. “Thank you. But I don’t require this much space.”
“Mario disagreed.”
My stomach gives one small, deeply inconvenient twist at his name.
I hate that.
I hate my body.
I hate that I know exactly what Mario’s voice sounded like saying my name, and I hate that my mind immediately decides to replay some very inappropriate dreams just because Lorenzo mentioned him.
I set my briefcase down on the desk with care.
“That was thoughtful of him,” I say, because I am an adult woman and a practicing attorney and not a Victorian widow overcome by the mention of a man.
“Mario is many things,” Lorenzo says. “Thoughtful is one of them when he chooses to be.”
There is something in the phrasing that makes me look at him.
He is watching me, but not in an intrusive way. More like he is gathering information and politely pretending not to.
It must run in the family.
“I’ll make good use of it,” I say.
“I’m sure you will.”
He steps farther into the room and points toward the desk. “Your access credentials are in the sealed envelope there. IT will come by within the hour to help with system access. The internal directory has been limited to the divisions relevant to your initial review. If you need anything expanded, tell me.”
“I will.”
“Coffee and water are stocked. If you prefer anything specific, let my assistant know.”
“This is more than enough.”
“That is rarely true.”
I almost smile. “I’m beginning to see that about this family.”
Lorenzo’s expression shifts with amusement, but there is caution beneath it. “We prefer to be prepared.”
“So I’ve noticed.”
There is a brief silence.
I glance toward the windows again, because looking at the city is easier than wondering whether Mario chose this office himself. Whether he stood here. Whether he looked at the view and decided this was where I should work.
No.
Absolutely not.
We are not doing this.
“Will Mr. Conti be in today?” I ask.
The question leaves my mouth in my most professional voice.
