Page 51 of The Rebel Billionaire

I glance up at the clock. It’s already gone five-thirty. Another late one is on the cards. If this is usual, no wonder David wants Callie to finish.

He nods before disappearing back into his room and shutting the door.

I turn back to the delivery guy.

“Can you pop them over there?” I say, pointing to the sofa.

“Of course,” he says with a smile. “Where in the UK are you from?”

“The south,” I say, trying to be as vague as possible.

“Oh, whereabouts? I know Southampton and Bournemouth,” he says, surprising me, before grinning. “My aunt and uncle moved there a few years ago.”

“I live in a village called Brockenhurst,” I say. “It’s in the New Forest.”

I do live in Hampshire, and Brockenhurst is one place I know, and where I apparently grew up, according to The Seamstress. I’m not sure whether they chose it because familiar is safer.

“That’s so cool.”

It’s then that I realise the delivery guy is flirting with me. He’s stopped moving the items I ordered and is standing, his pose designed to show off his muscles while he chats me up.

“It is, but now I’m here,” I say, holding out my hand for the invoice.

“Would you go out for a drink with me?” he blurts out.

Oh hell.

“I’m in a relationship,” I say quickly, thinking of the first thing that comes to mind.

“Shame, I could have shown you the sights of the city.”

“That’s very kind, but I’m dating a New Yorker, so I’m getting plenty of insight,” I say, wanting this conversation to end.

“Brooke.” The sharp rebuke comes from behind me, making me spin on my heels. “I need those documents… tonight.”

I bite the inside of my mouth, not wanting to tell him I’m officially off the clock. I’m only still here to make sure Callie’s party goes without a hitch.

“Of course,” I say, turning back to Mr Delivery, who is staring at Alessandro over my shoulder.

“I’d better get going. My packages aren’t going to deliver themselves.”

“No, they won’t,” Alessandro says sharply from his door.

I take the invoice and quickly sign to confirm I’ve received the listed goods, before he hands me my copy.

“Nice meeting you, Brooke,” he says with a wink before wheeling his trolley back to the elevator.

I turn back to my desk, but I can still feel Alessandro’s eyes burning into my back.

“I’ll get these done now,” I say, picking up the papers he left on my desk.

When he doesn’t move, I turn to face him.

“Is there anything else I can help you with?” I ask, finding my body heating up under his scrutiny. It’s always the same whenever he’s nearby.

“No, that’s all. I wanted to say thanks for lunch.”

His words are gruff, yet the sincerity surprises me.