Page 150 of Sinful Lies

My chest tightened every time his eyes darkened or his hands twitched.

There was something in the air, something off-kilter, and I didn’t like it.

I was determined to figure it out.

Ignoring Grace’s ice-cold glare, I pushed open the door to his office and made sure to lock it behind me.

Angelo was hunched over his desk, papers scattered like a hurricane had torn through. His jacket was abandoned on the chair, leaving him in just a white shirt—three buttons undone, no tie. His hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction, like he’d been dragging his hands through it for hours.

And somehow, he’d never looked better.

The way that dress shirt clung to his chest, his sleeves pushed up just far enough to tease at the strength beneath, and that chaotic hair? It was the kind of wreck you wanted to dive headfirst into and make even worse.

If I wasn’t about to demand answers from him, I might’ve let myself stare just a little longer.

But not today.

I’d known the man for six years, and I’d never seen him this tense. Ever.

I walked over to his desk and perched on the edge, crossing my leg.

He didn’t even glance up, just kept flipping through paperwork like I didn’t exist.

God, Ihatedbeing ignored.

I cleared my throat, louder than necessary. “I never thought you’d be the type to screw me and then act like I’m invisible, Lazzio.”

“Never thought you’d be the type to whine after a good fuck, Miss Whitenhouse. But I guess there’s a first for everything. Now get out. I’ve got a Zoom call to Paris in five minutes.”

Ouch.

“Rude,” I muttered, snatching a random piece of paper off his desk and pretending to study it like it held the secrets of the universe.

Two seconds later, I tossed it back down, bored out of my mind.

“Seriously, what’s wrong with you today?” I asked, narrowing my eyes. “Did someone steal your parking spot, or—God forbid—did the cleaning lady forget to empty your trash?”

He stayed silent.

I sighed. “You look like someone slapped your coffee out of your hand and then set your dog on fire, Lazzio.”

“Leave Georgino out of this.”

Him and that dog—an inseparable duo.

His future wife was gonna to have to accept being second place to a slobbering, tail-wagging soulmate.

I hummed softly, a smile tugging at my lips as I fiddled with the edge of my dress.

“Thanks for the flowers and the dress. It’ll be perfect for the masquerade ball tomorrow night.”

He nodded absently, his eyes glued to the computer screen.

Frustration simmered in my chest.

“How can I thank you, Angelo? I’m not one to let someone spoil me without giving something in return.”

His eyes flicked toward me, barely. “It’s a Christmas gift, Miss Whitenhouse. No need to thank me. Now get out. I’ve got work to do.”

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