“Is there anything else you wanted, Mr. Ferrara?” Nate said in the same neutral, nauseatingly detached tone of voice.
Raffaele clenched his jaw. Had he really gotten over him so fast? What happened to “the world feels dull without you”?
“Nothing,” he bit out, closing the video, and hung up.
He was in an utterly foul mood for the rest of the day.
Chapter 27
Nate loved his new job. It was challenging and new and definitely not easy, but he was finally working on something he was passionate about. His co-workers were nice, and his boss was… well, maybe not “nice,” but nice enough compared to—
Anyway. He was doing well. He loved his job. Life was good.
Of course it had taken only one call to ruin everything.
Nate pursed his lips, thinking once again about Raffaele’s call last week. Hearing his voice again had felt like a punch to the gut: it had left him breathless and his body hot and full of adrenaline. He had felt so damn alive. Not that he had felt dead in the past few months, but the world was suddenly so much brighter and more vibrant, and hearing Raffaele’s voice was just… Nate talked to him mechanically, hardly knowing what he said, hearing his own voice as though it were someone else’s. It’d taken all his willpower to refuse when Raffaele ordered him to come up to him. But god, he had wanted to go, so badly. Just to see him. Take that excuse to see him and be around him, and—
Fucking pathetic. He was so pathetic. The asshole had basically discarded him like used goods, and yet here he was, still pining for crumbs of his attention. He was better than that, dammit.
A wave of whispers rolled through the large room, snapping him out of his thoughts.
Nate looked up. He couldn’t see much from his cubicle, but he could see that his co-workers were suddenly sitting very straight, giving off the I’m-working-so-hard vibe.
That kind of reaction was… familiar. Only one man usually caused it.
Nate shivered, his heart jumping into his throat. His stomach clenched when he heard murmurs of “Mr. Ferrara” and “Sir.”
Nate fixed his gaze on his computer, putting on a busy appearance and trying to ignore the way his stomach was full of butterflies. Horrible, flesh-eating butterflies.
He was being stupid. There was no damn way Raffaele was here to see him. He probably had a meeting with Nate’s boss, though that would be pretty strange, too. Usually department heads went up to the executive floor, not vice versa. Raffaele Ferrara usually didn’t deign to grace the mere mortals with his presence unless there was an emergency. In fact, Nate could count on his fingers the number of times it had happened since he’d started working for the Caldwell Group almost a year ago.
Footsteps stopped right next to his cubicle.
Fuck, Nate couldn’t fight it anymore.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
He was glad that he was sitting, because his knees were suddenly weak when his eyes locked with Raffaele’s. He couldn’t fucking breathe.
He was wearing a blue tie today. It looked ridiculously good against Raffaele’s smooth, gorgeous olive skin, drawing one’s gaze to the cleft on his chin and his firm, sensual lips.
Nate licked his own. He’d always rolled his eyes when people described want and desire in terms of “hunger,” but he felt hungry now. Starved. His mouth was tingling, watering. He wanted to launch himself at Raffaele and eat him. It was a visceral feeling, raw and powerful. It left Nate dizzy. Famished.
“Sir,” he heard himself say. He sounded surprisingly normal and not at all like he was gripping his chair hard in order to stop himself from jumping his boss in front of everyone and climbing him like a tree.
Raffaele didn’t say anything for a moment, just looking at him with that hard, intense look of his that was achingly familiar. Nate had almost forgotten how warm and hyperaware of himself that look made him feel, as if he were the only thing in the world.
“How are you doing?” Raffaele said.
Nate blinked, still gripping the chair as if his life depended on it. “I’m—I’m good. The job is great! I like it a lot.” Fuck, could he sound more awkward? In his defense, he wasn’t used to making small talk with his boss—the boss he used to fuck—while his co-workers pretended not to be listening to every word.
“I’m glad,” Raffaele said stiffly. “Is Jordan in his office?”
“I think so,” Nate said, his stomach sinking. Of course Raffaele hadn’t come to see him. Of course he was here on business.
Giving a clipped nod, Raffaele strode away and disappeared into Nate’s boss’s office.
Nate sagged, feeling like all the tension bled out of his body. He’d never felt so elated and disappointed at the same time—elated that he’d seen him and disappointed that Raffaele hadn’t come here for him. He was an idiot, yes.