Page 11 of A Good Girl's Guide to Dominance
Seven
“This looks great, Jeremiah. Let’s make the image on the right a little smaller, though. It’s taking focus away from the product to its left.”
I stand behind my chair and desk as Jeremiah sits in my spot with an ad he designed on my computer. The image is almost complete and ready to move up to Sierra for final approval, but we just need to tweak it a bit before submitting.
With Mr. Thomas gone and the new boss, Rome Giovanni, taking a guided tour to every single department, there isn’t anything to do but continue working on the projects we had going before the change happened. We’ve already lost six clients since news of Mr. Thomas’s indictment spread like wildfire, and we can’t lose any more. As distracting as it was to watch Mr. Giovanni enter the building looking like a fashion model worthy of a seven-figure contract, Sandcastle still has work to do and commitments to honor if we want to keep the company standing. That won't change, no matter who is seated at the top of the pyramid. But just because I'm trying to continue getting work done doesn't mean I’m not still mesmerized by what I saw.
The image of him stepping through the door still weighs on me, repeating in my mind on a sexy little loop between my instructions to Jeremiah. With all of the expectations I had in my head before he walked in, I never thought he would lookthatway. Mr. Thomas was fifty-two years old and looked every bit of it and then some. He certainly didn’t age well, but Mr. Giovanni is either aging like a demigod or he’s only in his thirties. Even with his tailored suit covering his physique, it was clear that he is in great shape and takes care of himself. I would bet that he doesn't miss anything—his finger and toe nails clipped at all times, his hair always kept in perfect shape at his scheduled barber appointments, and his apartment spotless every single day. If he pays that much attention to detail, what will it mean for Sandcastle? What will it mean for me?
“How’s that?” Jeremiah asks, leaning back in the seat so I can see the entire screen.
I scan the image, nodding my approval. “Perfect. Save it, and then send it to Sierra from my email—not that she is going to see it any time soon.”
Jeremiah chuckles as he saves the image. “Yeah, she’s too busy escorting the new king around. I don't blame her, though. I want to be close to him for as long as possible, too.”
Once the email is sent, Jeremiah spins around and looks me directly in the eyes.
“I’ve been trying not to say anything,” I tell him, “but my professionalism is hanging by a very thin thread.”
He scoffs. “Fuck that thread. I can't believe he had the audacity to come up in here looking like the world’s most flavorful snack. I was awestruck, taken aback, and flabbergasted.”
“Well, that makes two of us then, because I wasbefuddledmyself.”
“Downrightbewilderedby that man’s beauty.” Both of us fall into laughter like highschool kids at a pep rally before Jeremiahadds, “I didn't see a ring on his finger either. Maybe you should make a move, becausegirl.”
“With the boss? I don't think so. Maybeyoushould,” I reply.
“No way. I’m not about to have these bitches in here whispering about me behind my back,” he responds. “Plus, that man isnotgay. He’s very well-dressed, but you know I can tell. The only one of us that has a chance is you. So, go out there and make us proud. Unless, of course, you're already committed to Mr. Tinder.”
“Ugh, he hasn’t even messaged me yet. I’m telling you, I’m cursed to be single for life. Tinder isn’t popping, FET is a wasteland, and you know I can’t sleep with our boss—not that he’d be interested in a kinky girl like me anyway.”
“Oh, you’ve got a point there,” Jeremiah says with a wince followed by a laugh. “Your freaky ass might scare the man away as soon as you ask him to engage in breath play.”
I frown and let out a fake wail. “The thought of that man with his hands around my throat could literally make me cry. What I wouldn't give.”
Jeremiah laughs. “Girl, you are a mess. So much for professionalism, huh?”
“The thread has snapped.”
My friend and I laugh together, but the moment is cut short when Sierra Martinez steps into the bullpen and addresses the group. Her voice booms through the open area and slithers into each office, her accent on full display.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” she shouts. “If everyone could get to a good stopping point in your work and gather in conference room A, I’d appreciate it. Mr. Giovanni would like to address us all.”
Jeremiah’s eyes widen as my heart begins to speed up. I don't know why I would be nervous to have a meeting with the new boss. Is it because of how he looks, or because I’m still worried that he might be an asshole? It’s usually the pretty ones thatare assholes anyway … although Mr. Giovanni isn’t reallypretty. He's more ruggedly handsome, with a stern demeanor and intense glare that would bring any woman to her knees, and I am any woman.
Everyone slowly makes their way into the large conference room. The department heads take seats at the front of the table while the less seasoned employees fill up the back end and the chairs lined up along the wall. Once everyone is settled, Sierra enters the room first, walking up the aisle and sitting in her usual spot to the right of the head of the table, followed by Mr. Giovanni.
All elegance mixed with hardness, he struts in, his face devoid of anything that would give away his thoughts. He is emotionless yet carefree as he walks to the front of the room and comes to a stop behind the seat at the head of the table. Everyone watches intently, no words spoken as his presence turns up the dial of intensity in the room. My nerves come roaring back because I'm so close to him that I can smell his cologne every time he moves, the masculine fragrance hypnotizing me from two chairs away. I gawk at him just like everyone else as he comes to a stop, unfastens the buttons on his jacket and removes it. I swallow back a gasp as he neatly places the jacket on the back of the chair, his toned muscles making their presence known beneath his white undershirt and black tie. Then he sits, interlocks his fingers on the table, and lets his eyes slowly connect with everyone around him. He starts on the opposite side of the table, intentionally making eye contact with everyone before finally reaching my side. Our eyes meet, he pauses briefly, I freeze and swallow hard, then he moves to Sierra next to me—and I’ve never seen a man command a room the way he has this one.
“Buongiorno,” he finally says.
I pinch my lips together so hard I expect to draw blood. His fucking voice … and he just spoke Italian. Is this a cruelpunishment from God? Am I being tested? Why on Earth would he look that way, sound that way, and speak Italian? How am I—how isanyone—supposed to not look at him sexually when this is how he presents himself?
“As you all are well aware by now,” he goes on in English while losing no sexiness whatsoever, “I am now the owner of Sandcastle. I’m sure this change has seemed very sudden to you all, and I just wanted to take this opportunity to come and introduce myself as the new Chief Marketing Officer. My name is Rome Giovanni, clearly I’m Italian, and I was born and raised right here in Philadelphia.
“It may not seem like it from the way I came in this morning, but I’m one of you. I’ve been in marketing and advertising since I graduated college at the age of twenty-one. I’m thirty-five now, and I’ve enjoyed all fourteen years of my career. Up until about six months ago, I was a Director of Marketing at Bell Liberty Marketing. Some …changesoccurred in my life that put me in a position to be able to leave BLM, take a break from work, and then move into business for myself. I’ll spare you the details of how it all played out, but I’m very happy to own my first business and looking forward to working with all of you.”
He pauses to clear his throat, and the entire room waits on pins and needles for him to begin again, his tone and confidence mesmerizing us all.
