Page 51 of Giovanni the Savage

I was shocked when I got his text asking me to bring the files to his house. Interwoven with the shock was excitement.

“Who’s there?” I jerk when a voice sounds from the speaker on his fence after ringing the bell.

His voice sounds groggy but has the same effect as his commanding tone.

“It’s Luna.” I wince. “I’m here to drop off the files of the meeting minutes.”

“Luna,” he breathes. “Come in.”

I hear a ping, and the automated gate clicks open. I push the gate farther ajar and step inside the compound before it clicks shut.

His house is massive. It looks like something out of a movie. The architecture is a healthy blend of modern and ancient, with a fountain in the center and a neat garden at the side. It’s the biggest house I’ve ever been in.

I put aside my admiration for the house and walk to the tall front door.

Just as I curl my fist to knock, the door swings open, and standing in the doorway is Giovanni in all his glory.

For a second, I’m unable to formulate words, I’m just lost staring at him.

He’s wearing a thin shirt that hugs his torso with a pair of joggers. I’ve never seen him dressed down before, but dare I say that this beats the suits he always wears. His damp hair is tousled, and his arm muscles are bulging.

Also, it's my first time seeing them bare, and I’m mesmerized.

How does one person have it all?

“You can tell me when you’re done gawking,” he teases.

I blink and feel my cheeks heat with embarrassment before looking at his face. His eyes are dancing playfully, and there’s a smug smirk on his face.

“I wasn’t …” I clear my throat. “I wasn’t gawking, sir.”

My denial makes a smile stretch on his face and warms my heart.

“Giovanni,” he corrects.

A blush creeps up my neck, and I bite my bottom lip.

“Giovanni,” I reply.

“Come in, Luna.”He widens the door and gestures for me to walk in.

I’m shocked at the invitation because I thought he would get the files at the door and send me on my way.

We walk through his magnificent foyer with a long stairway at the right of it. Then, we walk past a nicely furnished living area and through a hallway before stopping in front of another door.

He inserts a code and walks in while I follow behind him.

“I’m sorry for the mess,” he apologizes.

I furrow my brows. “Mess?”

His office is well-furnished and extremely neat, and the only mess I see is a pile of folders arranged on his desk, which is hardly a mess.

“Yeah.” He nods and turns to face me. “I’ve been in a funk since yesterday.”

“If this is what you call a mess, then you’re one hell of a perfectionist.”

“Proudly.” He chuckles.

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