Page 87 of Brutal Heir

He tilted his head, a hint of a smirk playing at his mouth. “Don’t you Italian Americans love that movie?”

“Yes, but I don’t.”

“And you call yourself an Italian American?”

The question hit harder than he'd likely intended. My laughter died, replaced by a familiar ache in my chest. I pressed my lips into a thin line as the memories crept in; my mother’s pain, the fractured pieces of a heritage I wasn’t sure I wanted.

“No. As a matter of fact, I don’t,” I said, each word deliberate. “I’m just an American.”

His gaze flicked to my mouth, tracing the tight line of my lips before returning to my eyes. “Fair enough. You’re American. So, tell me, how do Americans negotiate?”

I leaned forward, letting a small, defiant smile curve my lips. “They talk salary first.”

He answered without hesitation. “Fifty thousand euros.”

I crossed my arms as I narrowed my eyes. “Fashion stylists at haute couture ateliers are usually paid seventy-five to a hundred thousand euros.”

“That is true. But they are not babies fresh out of school.”

He was also overbearing, impossibly arrogant, domineering, pushy, and manipulative.

Never stand in the way of something a Diamanti wants.

That was a threat.

He sipped his wine and then gestured with his glass. “You were the one who said you wanted to be judged solely on your skills as a stylist and not your skills in sucking my⁠—”

“Enough!” I waved my hands.

He ruthlessly continued. “If we are negotiating a salary for your other…unique…skills, then I could be convinced to offer⁠—”

“Not another word!” I placed my hands over my ears.

He winked in response.

Dammit. Why did he have to be so handsome and charming even while he was being obnoxious?

This would never work. No matter how tempting a job at the House of Diamanti might be, I could never work for the enigmatic Sebastian Diamanti. The man was just…too much.

I pushed away from the table and returned to the lounge in search of my purse. “I can’t. I’m sorry, but my answer is still no.”

Whether it was the super scary, domineering version of Sebastian Diamanti or the charming and seductive one, the result was still the same.

Danger.

My fingers barely brushed the strap of my purse before it was snatched from my grasp.

I turned sharply, only to find Sebastian standing impossibly close.

With an effortless flick, he tossed the purse out of reach, his other arm wrapping firmly around my waist. “Leaving so soon—without hearing my counteroffer?”

I stared at his mouth as my heart raced. “I’m not interested in the job, so there is nothing to hear.”

His full lips lifted into a smile, showing off his perfect white teeth with his slightly long canines.

Run.

A panicked screech rang in my head.