Total pages in book: 73
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65987 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 330(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Marcus fell into step beside me as we approached the elevator that would take us back to the main floor. "You know," he said conversationally, "in the eight years I've known you, I've never seen you personally bandage anyone's wounds before."
"There's a first time for everything," I replied tersely, jabbing the elevator button with more force than necessary.
"Indeed there is," Marcus agreed, a hint of amusement in his voice. "Indeed there is."
The elevator doors opened, and I stepped inside, my reflection in the polished brass wall showing a man in perfect control. But beneath the expensive suit, beneath the cold expression and rigid posture, something had shifted. Something fundamental had changed in the space of a single evening, and I wasn't entirely sure I could — or wanted — to go back.
As the elevator doors closed, I knew with absolute certainty this wasn't the end. Whatever had begun tonight would continue, whether I willed it or not. The question was no longer if our paths would cross again, but when. And what would happen when they did.
Chapter Five
Belle
I carried a big plastic container of cookies as I approached The Gray. The cuts on my palm were nothing more than stinging irritations, but I thought they might be less irritating if I kept them bandaged. The cookies weren't much, just simple chocolate chip, but they were the only peace offering I could think of after last night's disaster. Every time I closed my eyes, I still saw those thousands of dollars worth of scotch crashing to the floor, still felt the burning shame of kneeling in the puddle while everyone watched. And that was on top of leaving my coworkers in the middle of a shift.
Then there was Dario Luca himself, his blue eyes intense as he'd bandaged my cut hand, his touch sending electricity through my body in a way I wasn't prepared to examine too closely and wasn’t sure I welcomed. There was no scenario where going down that road led to my happiness.
I'd spent half the night baking which probably compounded the whole leaving early because of an injury thing only to spend the night baking. I’d over-thought trying to bake something as a peace offering, too. I was still shocked I hadn't been fired on the spot.
The employee entrance loomed before me, tucked discreetly at the basement level of the grand building. I shifted the container to my uninjured hand and punched in my code, slipping inside an hour before my shift started.
I made my way toward the break room, my pulse quickening with each step. What if everyone was talking about me? What if they resented me for getting special treatment? The bandage on my palm felt like a spotlight, announcing my mistake and the unprecedented attention it had earned me from the boss.
"What's that?" asked one of the barbacks, Ricky, as I pushed through the break room door, nodding at my tray. I knew the guy and had brought him and his work husband, Ray, gingerbread cookie bars once. Ever since, the pair looked out for me. They said I could pay them in cookies.
"I just... I wanted to apologize for last night," I said, holding out the container. "I made cookies."
"Oh, my God. Gingerbread?” Ray’s gaze zeroed in on the box in my hands.
“No. Chocolate chip.” Now I really wished I’d made the gingerbread bars.
“Even better.” Sophia, a woman who’d taken me under her wing when I’d started a few weeks ago, gave me a bright smile. “Let me taste.” She sounded so demanding but she really was the nicest person.
I opened the lid and set the container on the counter. Sophia took one as everyone else descended on the sweet treat.
She took one, bit into it, and her eyes widened. "Oh my god, these are incredibly good."
"Really?" I laughed nervously, the tension in my shoulders easing slightly.
"Didn't know we had a baker among us," said one of the security guys, his imposing frame somehow less intimidating as he delicately selected the smallest cookie on the tray.
I stood there, slightly overwhelmed by the warmth of their reception. No one mentioned last night's incident directly, but I caught a few curious glances at my bandaged hand, a few whispered comments I couldn't quite catch.
"Save some for the kitchen staff," I said as the tray lightened rapidly. "I made extra for them."
"Smart move." The security guy wiped crumbs from his mouth with a napkin. "Best way to their hearts."
As I headed toward the lockers to stash my things before my shift, I caught fragments of low conversation behind me.
"...never seen Mr. Luca do that before..."
"...on his knees in that whiskey..."
"...touched her like..."
I pretended not to hear, my cheeks burning as I fumbled with my locker combination. The memory of Dario's fingers against mine, the intensity of his gaze as he'd cleaned my wound, it felt both too intimate to share and too significant to keep to myself. I still didn't understand why he'd done it, why the notoriously cold owner had knelt beside me in spilled whiskey worth more than my monthly rent.