ARIA
Thank God it's Friday.
The past few weeks at Jackson & James have flown by in a blur of emails, financial reports, spreadsheets, and meetings. I've been working my ass off trying to balance my boss' demands with the company's demands. Their demands, of course, are at odds with one another. I'm surprised that I haven't sprouted a gray hair or two from the stress of it all. At this point, I've become nothing more than a tightly wound-up ball of efficiency.
Anxiously, I check the time.
4 pm.
Happy hour with Ted Manning starts in exactly one hour.
I clean up my workstation and duck into the restroom to touch up my makeup and remove my blazer for tonight's event. The black cocktail dress I'm wearing underneath is basically a knock-off of the Givenchy dress that Audrey Hepburn wore in Breakfast At Tiffany's. Except this one is knee-length. I got it on sale last summer. It's sophisticated and sexy but not too sophisticated and sexy. It makes me look older. More womanly, less girlish. Perfect for an after-hours corporate gathering.
Once I'm satisfied with my reflection, I head toward Nicco's office to remind him to get ready. Just in case he "forgets" about our engagement and sneaks away to start his weekend early.
My boss glances up from his laptop when I enter his office, looking gorgeous without even trying. It's annoying. His dark hair is perfectly disheveled, there's a light stubble on his jaw, and his green, green eyes, as always, are in a mesmerizing league of their own.
I wonder how it might feel to run my fingers through his thick hair, to grip his scalp, tightly, while he kisses me between my—
No, bitch.
Stop.
I catch myself and ignore the flush that warms my skin.
Completely oblivious about the filth on my mind, Nicco grins when he sees me, and I die a little more inside. "Were you afraid that I would try to ditch happy hour?"
"Maybe," I admit with a sheepish murmur.
His gaze locks onto me even more intently, drifting up and down my body. "Your dress is..."
Under Nicco's scrutiny, my stupid pulse skips a beat. "What about it?"
Green eyes darken. "Understated. Yet powerful. It is perfection."
I exhale slowly, not realizing that I've been holding my breath.
"I will not be able to look away from you tonight. I cannot wait to watch you bring everyone to their knees."
His compliment is so over-the-top, but I eat it up, anyway. I smile a pleased smile. "Thank you."
"Prego."
Our gazes linger for a second too long. Something in the air feels different, thicker, more magnetic, I don't know what to make of it, but it feels unprofessional as hell.
The way my boss is looking at me, all riveted and intense, feels as though he might be having some naughty thoughts of his own as well?
Immediately, I wipe this possibility from my brain. Nothing good will come from this line of thinking. Better get back to business.
I cough. "Ready to go?"
He nods, once, and the spell is broken. "Let me call my driver."
"I'll take the Tube and meet you there."
He shoots me a puzzled look. "Why would you take public transportation when I have Bentley? Just ride with me."
Oh, shit!
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.
My gaze seeks her out again.
We are on our way to happy hour, and she is sitting beside me in my Bentley, answering emails on her phone. The grind never stops with this one. Her black hair is pulled back in a loose bun. Long lashes sweep down toward her cheekbones as she gazes down at her screen.
Bellissima.
I do not know if I will ever get tired of looking at her.
But then I notice there is a stiffness in her shoulders. A quickness to her breaths.
She seems... anxious?
Why?
This troubles me.
After clearing my throat, I murmur, "Aria?"
She looks my way. "Yes?"
I try to draw a smile from her with a compliment, "I have not failed to notice your efforts this week. Thank you for your hard work."
I would like her to feel at ease in my company. For some reason, this has become important to me.
Her gray eyes widen. She looks a bit flustered. Like she's not used to being recognized for her excellence. "Thanks. I-I noticed that you've picked up some of your slack as well."
My eyebrows lift in surprise. Aria's remark feels slightly backhanded, but it intrigues me, nonetheless.
I ask, "What else have you noticed about me?"
My assistant hesitates even though her gaze never wavers from mine. "I've noticed that..."
I find myself leaning toward her, prompting, "Yes?"
She mutters, "You're more capable than I thought, and you care about others more than you let on."
Is that how she views me?
I frown. "You make me sound like a saint."
How boring.
How disappointing.
Aria smirks. "Well, I wouldn't go that far. Let's just say that you're no longer the boss from hell. The bar was never very high."
I scowl. "Has no one ever taught you how to give a proper compliment?"
She shoots me a pointed look. "Pretty sure I was the one who helped you meet Wednesday's deadline for the reports you owed the marketing department. And prepped and researched your slides for Thursday's presentation. I'll give you all the credit when you actually earn it."
"Fair enough," I grumble.
Her expression grows softer. "You know what, though? I feel like you could kick ass at your job if you put your mind to it."
"True," I hum, "except I have very little interest in my job. I would much rather be doing something else."
Aria's gray eyes flicker with interest. "Like what?"
Her show of curiosity catches me off guard. It is pleasing, though. This is the first time she has shown interest in me outside of work matters. I decide to address her question in all seriousness. I want her to know more about me. I want to learn more about her, too.
"Who knows?" I reply with a shrug, "but that is the fun part, no?"
Her brow creases with confusion. "What's so fun about not knowing?"
"Because, then, I can try everything, travel the world, and simply live," I explain quietly, "until I figure out what I want in life."
Aria wrinkles her nose. "God, that's such a fuckboy thing to say."
Disgruntled, I growl, "Did you just call me a fuckboy?"
She laughs. "Yes... but I envy you. I wish I could live like a fuckboy, too."
Again, Aria manages to surprise me. "You do?"
"You are free to do whatever you want. There are no limitations. No expectations."
I stifle a grimace. If only she knew about my mother and father and their endless list of expectations for me. I sigh. "Only because I am still trying to find my way. Not all of us are like you and have our shit figured out."
Now, it is my turn to cast her a pointed look.
"You're wrong. I don't have my shit together at all," Aria counters, "but I'm trying my best to fake it until I make it. Otherwise, my parents would have a heart attack."
I consider the deeper meaning behind her words. "You... do not get along with your parents?"
She averts her gaze for a moment. "We get along. But my mum and dad expect... perfection. They only see the daughter they want to see. I guess it's easier to let them think I'm perfect—even when I'm everything but."
Her words resonate with me. I feel the same way about my parents.
Perhaps, Aria and I are more alike than I thought?
I watch her closely. "What would you be doing right now if there were no expectations holding you back?"
She tilts her head to the side. "You really want to know?"
"Tell me," I command.
A mischievous gleam enters her eyes. "I'd party all night, drink until I passed out, and fuck whomever I wanted to fuck."
My breath catches against my will.
Just like that, something shifts between us. I am no longer her boss, and she is no longer my assistant. We are simply two lost twenty-somethings chatting about... fucking. My dick gives an optimistic twitch.
Down, boy.
"Maybe I'll get lucky tonight," Aria muses in tongue-in-cheek tones, "and go home with some bastard who will actually remember my name tomorrow morning."
"Your standards are depressingly low," I chide even though it is rather hypocritical of me. I have definitely forgotten a girl's name more than once or twice after fucking her.
Smirking, she calls me out right away, "Don't tell me you actually remember the names of every single girl you've ever slept with?"
"No comment."
"See? This is why I'm a realist," drawls Aria, "not a romantic."
"Whether you are a realist or a romantic, the right man will lay the world at your feet."
"No, the right man will make me come so hard that I forget my own name."
Aria's bold statement sends a flare of heat through me. I make every effort to keep my face impassive. Unbothered. But, at this moment, the thought of letting another man touch Aria is absolutely unacceptable. It makes my chest tighten up like a goddamn vice. I no longer give a shit about making peace with Manning.
As I eye my beautiful gray-eyed assistant and her little black dress, a surge of possessiveness rams through me. Suddenly, it's painfully clear. I need to make sure that Aria doesn't go home with some other lucky bastard at happy hour.
Because I should be the only bastard she chooses to fuck tonight.