Page 27 of The Prices We Pay
The Office. As if she couldn’t get more perfect.
Okay, so Kings is out, but what about… “Would you like to grab coffee with me on Sunday morning? I know you don’t live far from here; we could meet at the Jean & Joan’s that is down the block.”
“I’m assuming Sebastian told you where I lived.” I shrug innocently because she’s right, and she huffs out a laugh. “I should be mildly concerned about the invasion of privacy, but I’m not, so we’re just going to move past it. Yes, I would love to get coffee with you.” She must see the absolute mischievous glint that I’m sure I have in my eye because she points her finger at me. Much like Luca does on a regular basis. Shit, she’s probably seen him do it a half-dozen times by now. “But just coffee, Lorenzo.”
I point my finger back at her, giving her the sternest look I can manage, which isn’t saying much because I’m still wearing a shit-eating grin. “Just coffee, Josephine.”
Rolling her eyes, she saunters out of my office without another word, her jet-black hair swaying along with her hips, and I can’t help but feel like I’ve suddenly won a gold medal.
11
Josephine
This date has blown so much ass it’s not even funny.
I downloaded an old dating app the other night on a whim, probably something to do with the fact that I’ve been obsessively gawking at the four completely undatable men that I work with, and it took all of thirty minutes for me to match with Kassidy here. She’s a stunning, leggy blonde. Bright green eyes and full lips that accentuate her sculpted cheekbones. She has a deliciously toned body with curves I could sink my teeth into.
Objectively… she’s fucking stunning.
Kassidy’s profile stated that she was a business owner who had started her own interior design firm. Regardless of our careers being wildly different, I figured her having her own business would give us some common ground.
I couldn’t have been more wrong.
Don’t get me wrong, I wasn’t looking for some crazy love connection. I really just wanted to get laid and scratch the metaphorical itch, if you will.
But Jesus fucking Christ. If she mentions her “Daddy’s” beach house one more time, I’m going to barf all over my brand-new dress. It’s simple—black satin with thin spaghetti straps that stop just below my ass. Nothing special, really. But it hugs my curves in all the right places, and I feel like an absolute fucking smoke show.
Not to mention, it’s the perfect dress for a club.
That’s the other thing; I should have used my brain and recognized that her wanting to meet me for the first time at one of the city’s busiest nightclubs on a Saturday night was a red flag.
I mean, who does that? You can’t even hear the other person talk.
Actually, that’s currently working in my favor, so I might have to take that one back because now she’s rambling about the trip she took to the Maldives with a bunch of her friends, and they all got into a fight while they were there because one of the girls posted a picture that the other one wanted to post. Because god fucking forbid, we all post the same picture.
This is why I haven’t dated in years.
One would think that liking both men and women means that I have double the dating pool and there would be some decent people to choose from.
No.
Nope.
Wrong.
An orgasm isn’t worth this. I’d rather just give myself one.
Just as I’m about to pull my phone from my clutch and sneakily order myself an Uber, Kassidy asks, “Hey, do you know those guys? They’ve been staring at you for a few minutes now, and it’s starting to get kind of creepy.”
I steel my spine, preparing for the worst when she gasps, squeals, and claps—in that order. “Oh, my god. Is that Luca Vittori?” A sigh of relief leaves me in a rush. “He’s like a gazillionaire. Do you know him? Please tell me you know him!”
Wait. Why is Luca here?
Shit. She saidguys.
Slowly turning from my spot at the high-top table, I find Luca, Enzo, Dante, and Sebastian all glaring daggers at me from across the club.
They’re sitting in a roped-off VIP section with a man who rivals Sebastian in the walking, talking Ken doll department. His honey-blonde hair looks like he spent hours on it, and yet, no time at all. He’s wearing a navy blue suit with a white shirt sans the tie, and the top two buttons are undone. His muscular arm is protectively draped around the woman sitting next to him. She has a head of curly brown hair and pale skin, and her full figure fills out the gold dress she has on to perfection. Next to her are two more men. Both of them have jet-black hair, but while one’s is perfectly kempt, the other’s lies wild and unruly. One of them isdressed to the nines in a three-piece suit. He has rings adorning several of his fingers and tattoos covering the backs of his hands that likely go all the way up his arm and lead to the ones poking out of the collar of his dress shirt. The other is wearing black ripped denim jeans, a dark gray Henley, and biker boots. The lights from the club reflect off the silver hoop he has in his nose.
