Chapter 23
Barrett
I walk back into the main living area after sliding on a black T-shirt. Isabella’s face lit up when she saw me shirtless. I gave her the time she needed to take it all in. I work out. I’m in great shape. Appreciative looks like the one Isabella shot my way are all the motivation I need to hit the gym three times a week.
“Can I get you anything?” I offer because she looks like she could use a drink. “I have some red wine, a beer, whiskey if you’re up for it. I don’t have the makings of a cosmopolitan, but this is New York so I’m sure I can order one up from the restaurant across the street.”
Her gaze bolts to the wall of windows that border the main living area. “Water. I’ll take water.”
Smart choice. I’m not as grounded, so I grab a beer from the fridge and pop it open before I take a swallow. I empty a small bottle of sparkling water into a glass, dropping two ice cubes in it.
When I hand it to her, the tremor in her fingers is noticeable.
My assistant is a bundle of nerves.
The expression on her face was a clear indicator that she didn’t expect an invite into my apartment, but I wasn’t about to turn her away after she took the brazen step of using my keycard to gain access to this floor.
“I thought you might need that tonight.” She points to where she dropped the keycard on a table in the foyer next to a tall vase holding some type of fake flowers. “I was worried that if you had plans, you wouldn’t be able to get back up to this floor.”
“The doorman knows me. He would have let me take the ride up here. Besides, I have an extra keycard.”
“Of course,” she says, shaking her head. “I should have thought of that.”
I’m glad she didn’t. I was facing a night alone going over a few of the acquisitions that Duke has made in the past
five years. He created one hell of a mess when he was in charge. Spending time with my assistant is a welcome buffer between the call I was on earlier and dealing with Duke’s fuck-ups.
“Do you have plans tonight?”
My question lures her brows up. “I’m cooking dinner for my sister.”
I know about the sister. Gina Calvetti is a rising social media star. She’s three years older than Isabella and a recognizable face in the Instagram ready world.
“What are you cooking?” I draw this out because I’m enjoying watching her squirm. Her hand hasn’t stopped shaking. All the deep breaths she’s been taking aren’t helping.
“A tofu stir fry thing.” She scrunches her nose.
I point the bottle in my hand at her. “I’ve learned that if the chef makes that face when they’re talking about their food, you need to find a new place to eat.”
Eat. Jesus. Why the fuck did I have a flash of my head between Isabella’s thighs?
“It’s not my first choice,” she acquiesces with a shrug of her shoulder.
I step right through that open door. “What would be your first choice?”
Her blue eyes meet mine, and I feel the spark of something between us. I don’t know what the fuck it is, but it’s undeniable. It’s dangerous, but it feels so damn good.
She’s my assistant. She’s my much younger assistant.
I drill that into my brain as her lips tug up into a smile. “My first choice?”
I give her a nod. “If you could eat anything for dinner tonight, what would it be?”
A bite to the corner of her bottom lip sets my dick over the edge. I harden inside my sweatpants. Another drink from the beer does nothing to quell the growing need I feel inside me.
“Greek food,” she announces with a sigh. “I should say Italian because I’m a Calvetti, but sometimes I crave Greek food.”
Guilt lures her gaze to the floor. I should punish her.