The slight hint of vanilla and spice is the only warning I get as his hand latches onto my bicep, his chest flush against my back as his lips graze my outer ear. “You have twenty-four hours to pack your bags, River Fox. I will send my car and the driver will let you know when he’s arrived. You will get into the car with one suitcase for whatever is absolutely necessary. The rest I will provide for you.”
My heart is beating in my throat, my anger so present inside me it’s like a living, breathing thing. He fucking knows my real name. Right now, I want to beat the crap out of “his guy.”
But I am in control of my emotions and refuse to lose my shit. Taking in a deep, and much needed breath, I slowly turn so I’m face to face with this dark, fucking gorgeous specimen of a man and smile.
We only met all of thirty minutes ago, but at the sight of the robotic upturn of my lips, his brows pinch, his delicious looking mouth turning upside down. We don’t know each other but he’s not an idiot. He fucking knows I’m about to go off on him.
“Twenty-four hours?” Cocking my head to the side, I ask for confirmation.
It takes him a few seconds to answer, not expecting me to be so docile. I’m sure he can tell something just isn’t right.
“Yes.” Wary, he inspects every inch of my face with his laser-sharp eyes. “This time tomorrow, I want you ready.”
I nod, as though in agreement, and take a step forward. This time, I’m the one invading his space, my lips almost grazing his inviting mouth.
“In twenty-four hours, you come to my residence and you will find that I will absolutely not be there. Do you know why? Because you, sir, can go fuck yourself. Repeatedly.” This time, I turn and walk right out the coffee shop door.
Fucking hell, that felt incredible. I’m not twenty feet away when my phone buzzes in my hand. With a victorious grin on my face, I look down and see an unknown number.
Fuck, not again. These calls need to stop. But then, maybe it’s one of my clients saying he’s changed his mind and would like to meet me.
“Hello?”
“I’ll be there at three-thirty-three, River Fox. And when I pull up, you’ll wish you’d followed my instructions. See you tomorrow, Dolcezza.”
My steps falter, my entire body buzzing with something I can’t quite understand. Excitement? Fear? Anger. I settle on anger because out of every emotion swirling inside, it is the dominant one.
A quick search for the word he used at the end tells me it’s a term of endearment, like sweet.
Sweet?
Ugh, I hate this asshole.
Then, I think about the five million dollars and wonder if turning it down is the height of stupidity.
I call him back. This time, steel in my voice.
“Yes, Dolcezza?”
“Fine. Dinner. I haven’t agreed to the contract but I will listen to your terms, then I’ll give you mine.”
“Hmmm, I accept your invitation. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He hangs up and I try not to wonder how in the fuck he knows where I live.
CHAPTER THREE
RIVER
The pure and utter audacity of this man. One of those clients his so-called guy canceled for me this afternoon was a politician, and they always pay really well for little work. They think paying more ensures their secrecy. Not that I would ever break a contract like that with a client, but fuck me, it would’ve made up for losing Tyler and Elijah.
Still, there’s no way in hell I’ll be taking the job with Marco Mancini. What kind of macho bullshit name is that anyway? He’s an overbearing, controlling, egotistical jerk-off. A jerk-off who’s found a way to crawl under my skin and irritate me like no other.
Marriage just isn’t something I can do, it’d take a hell of a lot more explaining to my family, for starters. After everything that went down with Nathaniel and Kai at Ev’s, they’d probably see a sudden out-of-the-blue marriage as a cry for help.
Curiosity is the only reason I’ve agreed to dinner, mostly. I feel like I need to know why a man that looks as good as he does needs to pay for a wife. There’s no doubt in my mind that he has the hottest women falling at his feet. But then again, maybe they all ran off the moment he opened that goddamn mouth of his.
A car horn coming from outside pulls me from my thoughts, making me jump a little, before I walk over to the window to see what’s going on.
Of fucking course his car isn’t discreet. I may be pretty dumb when it comes to vehicles, but even I can see the sleek, deep-red sports car parked outside my apartment is an Aston Martin. My phone pings, and I pick it up to see a message from the man himself.