Nicco

Ch. 6: The Little Black Dress

He's offering me a ride in his Bentley?

"I wouldn't want to impose," I mumble even though I would not mind riding all over his big, thick Bentl—

I catch myself just in time. My hormones keep acting up. God, I need to get laid this weekend.

Maybe it's time to find a willing set of dick and balls that can fuck my boss out of my system?

He drawls, "Trust me, I would never offer if I did not want you with me."

"You sure?"

"Positive."

I glance up with a look of uncertainty, but I decide to give in. A Bentley is a Bentley, after all, and this may be my only opportunity to be chauffeured in one. "I admit, I'm not used to you being so nice to me."

A wicked grin stretches over his handsome face. "Would you prefer that I go back to being the boss from hell?"

I mumble inaudibly under my breath, "Only if you want me to start plotting your demise 1,835 times a day again."

"Wait... what?"

"Nothing," I say brightly. "Let's get going or else we'll be late!"

The moment we exit the lobby of the Jackson & James building, a sleek black Bentley pulls up to the curb.

I take note that it is Nicco—and not his driver—who stops to open the door for me. "After you, my lady."

"A bitch could get used to this," I murmur wryly when he offers his hand and helps me into my seat.

Chuckling, Nicco slides in after me.

Nicco and I drive through downtown London. Skyscrapers and bustling shops and throngs of pedestrians creep by our windows at turtle-like speeds. Traffic, as expected, is a nightmare.

We sit in silence for the first few minutes. I check some emails on my phone to distract myself from the tension, but I can feel the weight of Nicco's gaze resting on me this entire time.

He speaks up first, "Aria?"

I grow tense. "Yes?"

His hard, muscular body feels too close and too big next to mine in the backseat of the Bentley.

Although, I'm not nervous because I dislike my current predicament. I'm nervous because I think I like it.

Way too fucking much.

***

NICCO

Aria's little black dress is something else. The fabric hugs every curve on her body. Try as I might, I cannot take my eyes off of her. It is driving me crazy. Because I am sure that whatever is hidden underneath will be worth my while.

Yet, the dress irks me as well. Something about it makes me... uncomfortable. I feel compelled to stay close to Aria tonight. Just in case some asshole from the bar gets too drunk and handsy around her. I know I have no right to think this way, but I hate the idea of other men flirting with her. She is too good for them. Just like she is too good for me.

Dio, there must be something wrong with me. I am going mad. Lately, I have been noticing every fucking thing about Signorina Senarath. What she is wearing. How she is feeling. What she is saying. What she is doing.

And fuck me if she is not impressive when it comes to her job. Everything about Aria challenges me to question my own abilities. This entire time, I did not want my assistant to think less of me, so I have been—very reluctantly—showing up on time to work and putting more effort into my duties than necessary. The work itself is not difficult, but it is boring, and I have no idea why I keep doing it just to impress Aria.