The rain outside reminded me of a gray morning years ago when I woke up not wanting to go to school. I sniffled and coughed my way through an Oscar-worthy performance of a girl with a cold before my mom told me that she knew it was all an act.
I thought she’d send me off to school, but she didn’t.
She called my teacher and explained that I was staying home. She didn’t make up an elaborate excuse as to why that was. She simply stated that I would be with her, at home, instead of sitting at my desk in the third row learning about fractions and percentages.
We spent that day looking at photo albums, reading poetry, and drinking tea.
Mine was made with more milk than tea and one too many sugar cubes.
It was one of the best days of my life.
I snap the photo album closed and trek my way across the hardwood floors toward my bedroom.
As soon as I’m there, I dump the entire contents of the box on the bed. I rifle through a scrapbook I made in middle school, a drawing that I worked on one summer when I was a kid, and the first pair of eyeglasses I ever got. I was in the third grade and hated wearing them.
I push aside a few framed photographs until my gaze lands on the poetry book I’ve been looking for.
I sprint back to the living room to hunker down under the warm blanket that’s always there regardless of the season.
Just as I drop the poetry book next to the photo album, there’s a knock at the door.
It’s Sinclair.
She wasn’t gone five minutes before I spotted her keys on the foyer table. Since she left almost two hours ago, I don’t hesitate at all as I unlock the deadbolt, swing open the door, and outstretch my arms. “I’ve been waiting forever for you.”
Reality hits me like a punch in the face when I realize that I’m not looking at my roommate.
The man in the tailored navy blue suit with the umbrella handle draped over his forearm and what looks like a take-out bag in his hand looks down at me. “Forever is a very long time, Miss Voss.”
I watch his gaze wander over my face and my tousled hair until it lands on the front of my shirt. I glance down.
No bra. Dammit. I’m not wearing a bra.
I gather my cardigan around me, trying to shield the outline of my now erect nipples from his view.
“Mr. Calvetti,” I whisper. “I wasn’t expecting you.”
“Clearly,” he says in a low tone. “Are you going to invite me in?”
I step aside, and with a shaky hand, I gesture toward the living room. “Please, sir. Come in.”
Chapter 18
Dominick
I haven’t had this many erections in the presence of a woman in...never.
It wasn’t just the sight of Miss Voss with her blonde hair in a messy tangle around her face. Her hardened nipples under her tank top got my attention, but what drove me over the edge, and caused my cock to harden to the point of pain, was her ass.
Tight black yoga pants are the only thing covering my assistant’s ass, and what an ass it is.
I drop my gaze from her body because I’m inching toward saying something I’ll regret or doing something I’ll savor and then regret.
Glancing over her shoulder at me, Arietta motions toward a spot next to a dog shooting me an evil eye. “You can sit there if you like.”
I hang my umbrella over the doorknob before I take a seat on a white couch across from the canine.
Arietta lets out a light laugh. “That’s Dudley. He won’t bite.”
Famous last words.
A girl who lived in the same building as my family when I was a kid offered up the chance to pet her dog when we were at the park one Saturday morning. I ended up in the ER with six stitches in my forearm.
Arietta’s gaze drops to the bag still in my hand.
I made the unwise choice of stopping by Calvetti’s on my way here. I was looking for something to offer Arietta to help chase her cold away so she can get back to work ASAP. My grandmother packed an entire meal as she questioned me about what’s wrong with my assistant.
The kicker was when she wanted to know how Arietta’s relationship with her Clark Kent lookalike boyfriend is going.
I can only assume that’s Lowell and my double assumption is that it hasn’t launched yet since I kept her buried in work all weekend, and she’s now sick.
I don’t need my grandmother to get invested in my assistant’s love life.
“I brought soup.” I offer the bag to her. “And a few other things.”
Seven other things, if I’m going to be precise, which I won’t be.
Arietta takes the bag while still holding tightly to the cardigan that she’s using to hide her body from me.