Matteo (10 page)

An eternity later, I swing my legs over the side of the bed and amble into the bathroom. I turn on the tap and splash cold water on my face.

This woman and her insatiable pussy are conspiring to destroy me.

I distantly register the chime of my phone in the bedroom but I still need a few moments to gather myself.

By the time I stumble out of the bathroom, Ellie is fully dressed. She tosses my phone to me and I catch it in midair. “I’m gonna go up to my room,” she says. “I need to shower.”

I nod at her as she walks out of the room. Something changed in her disposition while I was in the bathroom.

My phone dings again, pulling me back to the present. It’s another text message from Catalina.

Call when u have a minute. Ur daughter misses u.

Chapter 17

An authoritative knock draws my attention towards the entrance to my office.

“Yes?” I grumble. I’m not in the mood for interruptions. I’ve been distracted lately and my work has seriously begun to pile up.

My interest in Ellie Parker is clearly bad for business.

Her sweet moans echo in my head every time I try to clear my mind and focus on my ever-growing to-do list. I’ve only
just
been able to rein in my thoughts and start getting a bit of work done this morning.

My father pushes the door open and ambles his way in, his gait still noticeably marked by the stroke he suffered last year.

“Dad,” I say surprised to see him. I quickly rise to my feet.

He waves me away, motioning for me to sit. “Hello, son.”

“What are you doing here?” That’s a question I never thought I’d ask my father. For over 30 years, he practically lived at this law firm. It was his everything. He and his partners Wallace Cartwright and James Stevenson built this firm on nothing but vision and stubborn determination. They turned it into a force within New York City’s legal services industry. Now, we have offices in six different cities and a total of over 400 attorneys on staff.

I’m thoroughly impressed by what my father, a second-generation American and the first person in his family to attend college, has been able to accomplish. I only hope that I can one day look back on my life’s work and be satisfied that I achieved half of what my father has.

Dad lowers himself into a chair opposite my desk. “Michael has informed you of his intention to enter the race for state senate?”

“Yes, he mentioned it.”

My father nods solemnly, his expression grave. “He wants you to assume his position as managing partner of the firm.”

“I know,” I say cautiously. I don’t want to appear overly eager. Although it’s a position that comes with lots of responsibility, I don’t mind taking it on. It would be an honor to sit at the helm of the business that my father spent his life building, but I hadn’t expected it all to happen so soon or so easily, for that matter. Michael only assumed the role of managing partner last year. So far, he’s done an excellent job shepherding the firm, I’ve got to admit.

My father lowers his tone and leans in close to my desk, almost like he feels someone might be listening. “Matteo – it’s important that you’re up for the task. This firm has always been managed by a Moretti, and I’d like to keep it that way. But this is no longer a family business. We’ve grown tremendously over the years and if you want to be managing partner, you have to prove that you’re the man for the job. I’ve heard rumblings that Cartwright is considering nominating his son, Liam, for the position –”

I burst out laughing. “As if the other partners would vote in Liam.” I respect Liam considerably; he’s a war veteran and an excellent attorney but he isn’t exactly a ‘people person’. He suffers from serious PTSD and on his brief visit here from our Texas office, he spent his time cooped up in a secluded office on the firm’s abandoned 11
th
floor. He doesn’t have what it takes to lead this firm.

“Don’t be smug, Matteo,” my father warns. “The partners aren’t exactly convinced that you’re a responsible person. You have to prove to them that you’ve grown, that you’re no longer the kid who screwed up so badly in California all those years ago.”

My jaw tightens. I hate it when my family holds that situation over my head. They all seem to forget that something beautiful came out of that whole debacle – Tilly.

“Don’t worry about it,” I say stiffly. “I’ve got it. I’ll prove to them that I’m the right person for the job. I promise.”

He eyes me sternly. “Don’t fuck this up, son.” Hearing my father swear only emphasizes the gravity of the situation. He
never
swears.

I expel a frustrated breath. “I won’t
fuck this up
, dad. I promise.”

He still looks skeptical. “What is this I hear about you getting into a bar fight with some executive from Hampton Fresh Juices?”

“Lester Buntlake?” I can’t help but roll my eyes at the mention of that loser. “We paid his medical bills and settled the matter. He won’t be pressing charges or filing a civil suit.”

My father looks like he’s about to press for further details, but just then, my office door swings open and my mother steps dramatically over the threshold. “Oh, there you are, Michaelo. You almost gave me a heart attack. I’ve been all over this place looking for you.”

“Mother.” I stand as she approaches the chair next to my father’s. I intercept her and give her a small kiss on the cheek. “You look lovely.” As usual, her dark hair is pulled into an impeccable bun. Her makeup is flawless. She wears an ivory-colored pantsuit, not a single wrinkle in the silken fabric. She exudes grace and class.

She smooths her hand over the silk of my tie. “Matteo, if you’re going to inherit the role of managing partner of this law firm, you need to carry yourself in a more…leader-like…manner.” She sinks elegantly into the empty seat next to my father.

“Whatever might you mean, mother?” I ask in a sugary, insincere voice that does nothing to hide my annoyance.

She looks at me with that judgmental glare that she’s all but perfected over the years. “That tie is just appalling,” she states dryly.

I fight the urge to roll my eyes as I smooth my hand over the strip of pale blue silk hanging from my neck. “
I
think it’s all right,” I say in a light tone. The last thing I need right now is to battle my mother over a goddamned tie.

She gives me a cutting stare. “It doesn’t match the blue of your suit. Did I not teach you to dress better than that?”

I pull in a tight breath and give her a taut smile. “I’ll keep that in mind, mother.”

“And when will I see my granddaughter?” she asks accusatorily. “You’d think that after all the money this family paid to get her, we’d get to see her more often.”

“Gabriella!” my father scolds sternly.

“Mother, my child is not your property. No matter how much money this family has spent on her.” The tension is seeping into my tone now. I rake a hand through my hair. This woman knows all the buttons to push.

She pouts. “All I’m saying is I’d like to see my grandchild more often.”

I’m going to change the subject before things get said that can’t be taken back. “So, mother, what brings you to the office today?”

A frown settles on her forehead. “We came to speak to Michael about your sister. She’s planning a wedding and these tabloids are ruining it for her with the lies they’ve been spreading.”

I sigh. “Why does Maddie let those gossip columns get to her? Can’t she just ignore it?” The Morettis are rich, we’re good-looking and we come from an influential family; of course the gossip rags are interested in us. But that can’t stop us from living our lives.

My mother disregards my dismissive comment. “You would think that being one of the country’s best entertainment lawyers, Michael would handle the situation without being told, but no – that’s too much to ask.”

I feel the need to defend my brother. “You know that Michael has offered his help to Madison, but she’s refused. She doesn’t want to seem weak.”

“Well, I won’t let these vultures steam-roll my daughter any longer. I’ve demanded that Michael deal with the situation immediately.”

I groan. Madison isn’t going to like this but when Gabriella Moretti gets going, there’s no stopping her.

Just then, Anna-Maria taps on the door and lets herself in. “Excuse me,” she says politely, addressing my parents before shifting her focus to me. “Charles DuBois is in conference room two. He’s a bit early for your 11:00 meeting.”

Perfect. At least now, I have an excuse to get away from my over-bearing parents. “Thanks, Anna-Maria. I’ll be there in a minute.”

My mother gathers herself and helps my father to his feet. Fussing over him is one of her newest hobbies. He lets her do it just to avoid confrontation although he is perfectly capable of caring for himself.

“Please consider what we talked about, son,” my father says as his wife ushers him to the door.

“I will,” I say suppressing a frustrated sigh. I watch him step into the hallway. “It was nice seeing you, mother,” I say forcing myself to sound pleasant.

“Yes, Matteo,” she says impatiently. She pauses at the door and glances over her shoulder at me. “And get a damn haircut.”

Chapter 18

From the moment I rolled out of bed this morning I knew that coming in to work today would be a waste of time.

Matteo Moretti is all I can think about.

I can still hear him whispering in my ear. I feel his breath against the curve of my neck. I become heady as I remember the scent and taste of his skin. The harsh, deep sound of his groans.

My attention is yanked in the direction of the door when I hear an eager rapping against the metal frame. Dove stands anxiously just beyond the frame.

“What is it?” I ask in a grating tone.

She doesn’t seem to notice my pissy mood. “One of my sources just spotted Madison Moretti and Domenic Gattusso leaving her doctor’s office, pregnancy pamphlets in hand. Looks like the soon-to-be Mr. and Mrs. are expecting a baby!” Dove rushes into my office, tossing a stack of photographs printed on cheap printer paper onto my desk as she takes a seat in an empty chair opposite my desk.

I groan, rolling my eyes before picking up the photographs to study them. The last thing I need right now is to post a story about the Morettis, not when I just spent the weekend pinned down under Matteo’s wicked, heavenly body.

My conscience can only take so much.

Dove frowns at me. “What’s the matter? You don’t seem into it.”

I give a one-shouldered shrug as I shift my eyes to my computer screen to avert her baffled stare. “It’s just that – it’s
the Morettis
. Nobody cares about the Morettis.”

That’s not true.

Our analytics show that every time we post a story about that damn family, our readership engages. They read, they comment, they share. A lot. But my conscience just won’t let me do it. Not when I still have the smell of Matteo on my skin and the taste of him on my lips.

Dove laughs as her fingers pull on the ends of her thick dreadlocks. “Um, Ellie, do I have to remind you that our three most trafficked stories last year were Michael Moretti’s sex tape with Ruth Salvador, Madison Moretti’s engagement to Domenic Gattusso, and Michael senior’s stroke. In that order. The numbers don’t lie – people
care
about the Morettis.”

“Well, they shouldn’t,” I grunt under my breath.

“They shouldn’t?” Dove parrots back to me.

“What kind of vultures feed off of other people’s drama?” I ask dismissively.

“Ellie –
we
do. Other people’s drama literally puts food on the table of every single person working in this office. Have you forgotten that we run a
gossip
blog?”

I’m irritated now. Not because she’s being unreasonable. But because she’s right. My entire livelihood depends on exploiting other people’s private lives and that has never been a problem for me until I acquired some secrets of my own.

It’s unsettling, to say the least – feeling entitled to my own privacy when I make a living invading the private lives of others.

“Look, we’re not posting the story, okay?” I say with finality in my tone.

“But Ellie – if we don’t, somebody else will. This story is
huge
. Imagine all the traffic we’d get. All the hits our site would get –“

I repeat myself as calmly as I can. “We’re not posting the story, Dove.” I know she can sense the irritation brewing right beneath the surface. To temper the blow, I say, “Didn’t we just post a story claiming that Domenic and Madison were about to break up?”

Dove looks even more excited. “Exactly – Maybe the baby caused them to reconcile. Pure gold! Everybody loves a second chance romance.”

I sigh. “We’re not posting it, okay?” To change the subject, I say, “Do we have anyone covering fashion week? Maybe you could go down there and see if you find a story or two.”

“Fashion week? You’ve got to be fucking kidding me, right? You want me to cover fashion week when I just dropped the biggest story of the week right into your lap and you rejected it?”

“We’re not posting the story, Dove. This discussion is over!” My voice comes out way louder than I intended it to. Now, the whole office is staring at Dove and me through the glass wall.

I’ve never wished for an opaque wall more than I do in this moment. I really didn’t mean to embarrass Dove. She’s only doing her job – digging up the hottest gossip in the city. It’s not her fault that I’m right in the middle of one of the juiciest scandals of the moment and I’m trying to cover my ass.

I lower my voice considerably. “Look – I’m sorry for losing my temper, okay? But, we’re not covering that story. Can you please go dig something up at Fashion Week?”

Her expression is one of complete indignation. “Fine,” she says as she grabs the photographs off of my desk. She shoots me one final glare before she storms out of my office.