No Strings Attached

Chapter Four

"Why don't we just have some dinner? You can decide what you'd like to do later."

What I'd like? He makes it seem as if I were choosing between Chinese take-out or pizza— not whether or not I want to begin an affair with my company's largest client.

I nod, knowing it's the surest way that we'll take a breather. It doesn't take me long to make it to the cart, immediately reaching for the crystal decanter. I need a drink.

"Whiskey?" I ask, noticing how airy my voice is coming out. I hear him come up beside me, so in tune with his movements. Thankfully, he doesn't reach out to grab me but pulls out my chair before sitting down himself.

"Please."

I hand him a glass of dark liquid, forcing myself to exhale.

I hate that he has this power over me. I wonder whether it's just me or all of the other conquests of his that have to deal with this insane need for him. It's an electric pull, gravity, inevitability that practically ensures my signature is sprawled against the slim line at the bottom of a contract.

I sit down, facing him, watching as he serves us, removing the silver covers over the aromatic meals. My stomach turns as he places my plate before me, too worked up to eat something as hearty as steak. However, I don't want him to know he's affected me this much, so stubbornly, I grab onto the fork and knife, silently cutting my steak.

"Why is whiskey the only drink you can stand?" he suddenly asks. My eyes flicker to his. He's staring at me intently as if he knows I'm about to lie again. So I don't.

"My father was an alcoholic."

He nods, twirling his tender pasta with a fork and spoon. "I'm sorry to hear that."

I don't answer, finding it hard to remain on such a sore subject.

"Did he get help? I only ask because you mentioned him in past tense."

"He did not get help."

"I'm sorry."

"He's not dead... in a literal sense."

Giovanni's eyes don't widen at my bitterness. They remain calculatingly on my own in study.

"And your mother? Do you have family?"

I exhale, lifting the steak to my mouth, pulling in the forkful. "I'm on my own now."

"You seem to like that fact, don't you?"

Fuck, I don't like this. "I didn't always but now, it's what I know. It's what I'm comfortable with. I like being able to rely on no one but myself."

"I get that."

I nod, knowing he probably does.

"I lost my father a few years ago, as you know."

"You were close?" I ask reluctantly, knowing I'd have no problem delving into his private life if he were just my client. But he's not just my client anymore, and somehow, I feel as if we're sitting here on a date, figuring out our compatibility.

"Yes. Very."

"Did you always know you wanted to be in the fashion industry?" I blurt out ridiculously in hopes of a subject change. Miraculously, he gives it to me.

"No," he chuckles, graceful in every movement, whether he's reaching for the pepper or pulling on the dip in his sweater as if it's suffocating him. "I wanted to be a musician."

I perk up at that, surprised. "Musician?"

He smirks. "Don't look so surprised."

"You mean a singer?"