Matteo (2 page)

Chapter 2

Have you ever been in a room full of people who are simultaneously smarter
and
better looking than you?

That is exactly the situation I find myself in this rainy April morning as I sit here in the conference room at the law offices of Cartwright Moretti Stevenson.

They’re all gorgeous. I’ve seen hundreds of pictures of them, but in person, they’re
that
much more beautiful.

Michael Moretti with his dark hair, blue eyes and chiseled face. His wife, Ruth, looks like she just stepped off the cover of a fashion magazine. Domenic Gattusso is all smooth tanned skin, wild blond hair and charming smile.

And of course, there’s Matteo.

Matteo Moretti.

Unrepentant playboy. New York City’s most eligible bachelor.

He’s
striking
. Everything about him screams arrogant bastard. From his thick, dark hair – cut short on the sides but long and shaggy on top. What kind of lawyer wears his hair like that, anyway? – to his perfectly-polished, patent leather shoes. He’s tall with wide shoulders that fill out his expensive suit just right. His juicy lips look like they’d be mighty fun to suck on. And those darned dimples dent his cheeks each time he flashes that panty-melting, white smile.

But it’s his eyes that really get to me. They’re intense and twinkle with mischief. I have to literally force myself to stay away from his gaze for fear that I might swoon on the spot like a damn groupie.

No – I have to avoid his gaze. I don’t need the distraction. It’s hard enough following along as Michael explains the details of my file and the work to be done.

Don’t get me wrong – I’m not dumb and I have a pretty decent vocabulary. I make a very handsome living as a professional blogger, after all. Plus, I hold a degree in journalism from Columbia University, having graduated at the top of my class.

But this legal jargon is flying
way
over my head. Due diligence? Probate? Letter of intent? I curse the memory of my father for having me thrust into this meeting as unprepared as I am. Even from the grave, that asshole found a way to remind me of my inadequacies.

The money I spent on buying this outrageously expensive dress, I should have invested in hiring a goddamn translator for this meeting.

I blow out a discreet sigh of relief when Michael brings the meeting to a close, promising that lawyers from the firm’s various departments will contact me to keep me abreast of the issues as they unfold. The dozen or so legal professionals present at the meeting all clamber out of the conference room, chatting with each other or tapping away on their smartphones as they go.

Michael straightens his tie as I rise to my feet. “Let me walk you out, Ms. Parker,” he says graciously as the room empties.

Just as I’m about to accept his offer, I feel an overwhelming presence approaching. “I’ll see her out.”

I turn in the direction of the deep, husky baritone. Matteo Moretti throws me a brash smile.

“Ms. Parker and I have some issues to discuss,” he addresses his brother but his eyes stay trained to me. “Do you have a moment, Ms. Parker?”

I nod, determined to keep my wits about me. I won’t let him see me all starry-eyed like a schoolgirl with a crush. But, I’ve got to admit – he’s so much more attractive in person than he was in all the photos I’ve seen of him.

Must be nice, being so damn good-looking.

Out of the corner of my eye, I see Michael shrug. “Okay, then. We’ll be in touch, Ms. Parker.”

I mumble out a reply as he heads towards the door.

And then, I’m standing, face-to-face with Matteo Moretti. All tall and suited and gorgeous.

He smiles, dimples denting his cheeks.

I bet he’s doing that deliberately.
Cocky asshole
.

I try to play it cool and that’s not easy because truth be told, dimples fuck me up. Throw in good hair, mesmerizing eyes and a sleek, tailored suit…I don’t stand a chance, do I? It doesn’t help that when he steps in closer to me, his body towering over mine, the scent of him envelops me – a spicy, warm musk that makes me heady.

Damn – he smells good.

And, he’s charming in a way that makes your heart pitter-patter even when you’re trying to resist him.

“Ms. Parker, it’s lovely to meet you,” he says. His eyes wander indiscreetly down the long strip of bare flesh peeking out at the plunging neckline of my dress. “Firstly, let me extend my condolences on the passing of your father.”

That’s what people do – they offer their condolences when a loved one dies. But I’m not sure I’m grieving, I’m not sure I care that my father, his wife and my half-brother all died in a freak helicopter accident just weeks ago.

I was Elias Parker’s dirty, little secret. His bastard daughter. I didn’t appear in high society magazines along with Catherine and Benjamin, his legitimate family. I wasn’t ‘upper crust’. Financially, I was always taken care of – support checks came regularly and reliably – but a girl needs more than hush money. She needs her father. And Elias was never that to me.

But I don’t need to air my dirty laundry to this complete stranger. Instead, I try to keep my facial expression impassive. “Thank you,” I say quietly to Matteo with a half-shrug.

His hand flits gently along my shoulder. The touch threatens to melt me. But I won’t let it. I know all about Matteo Moretti and his philandering ways. And I’m not about to let myself become his next victim.

“Is there something you wanted to discuss with me, Mr. Moretti?” I ask pointedly, facing him squarely and looking him straight in the eye. I won’t waver in front of him although my stomach is doing flips. I’m prepared to fake it till I make it. I have lots of practice. I’ve been feigning confidence for as long as I can remember.

He lowers himself to the lip of the conference table, leaning his weight on the wrist splayed behind him and crossing his legs at the ankles. It’s an elegant, fluid movement. “Well, we’ll be commencing our due diligence next week and I just wanted to brief you on the way the process unfolds.” He looks at me with that soul-piercing gaze and a smirk pulls across his lips. It’s like he’s looking right through my tough-girl façade and straight at the little girl beneath who’s quaking in her $600 red-bottom heels.

One thing’s for sure – I can’t stay in his presence for much longer without breaking. I draw my bottom lip between my teeth before glancing quickly at my wristwatch. I don’t really see the hour. All I know is that it’s time to get away from this divine piece of man.

“I really need to get going. I have an important meeting to get to at the office. Can you have your secretary send me some notes?” I reach for a pad of paper sitting on the table beside me and I scribble down my personal email address.

He takes the scrap of paper from my outstretched hand and the tips of our fingers brush. I instantly feel heat roll down my neck. “What is it that you do, Ms. Parker?”

My stomach tightens into a nauseating loop. “I’m a blogger,” I say curtly, deliberately remaining vague.

A condescending chuckle escapes his lips. “Surely your little
blog
can wait a while so that we can discuss your nine-figure inheritance this morning.”

I feel my pulse spike. My eyes narrow. My chest tightens. I poured my everything into that blog. I built it up from my college dorm room and now it’s finally starting to get the recognition it deserves. I most definitely don’t appreciate having it shrugged off by this smug asshole.

Between his good looks and his privileged background, I bet he’s never had to work hard for anything in his whole life. With his family connections, getting into law school was probably a breeze and after graduation, a cushy job was waiting for him here at his daddy’s law firm. This man knows nothing about the hustle and I won’t let him talk down on the business I’ve struggled to build from the ground up.

“Actually, it can’t wait,” I say, seething. “Have your secretary email me, Mr. Moretti. I’ll see myself out.”

With that, I grab my purse and stomp out the door.

Chapter 3

I watch as Mackenzie pulls a thick slice of bread from the basket sitting in the middle of the table, breaks off a huge chunk and drags it through the platter of butter.

Madison rolls her eyes with an exasperated grunt as she thrusts a butter knife in our little sister’s direction. Mackenzie smirks, sets the knife down next to her plate and swipes another piece of bread through the butter.

Madison looks like she’s about to have a conniption. She tends to be a little uptight. Meanwhile, Mackenzie is as carefree as ever and knows exactly how to push all of Madison’s buttons just for fun. Over the years, Madison has always scolded Mackenzie for her lack of table manners, but I’ve witnessed this non-verbal waltz between my sisters enough times to know that, this time, something deeper is bothering Madison.

“What’s wrong, Maddie?” I say, giving her a playful kick under the table.

“Nothing,” she says with an unconvincing shrug.

Mackenzie’s eyebrows furrow. “The
New York Flame
posted a story saying that Domenic is about to call off the wedding,” she informs me. She scrolls through her smartphone and produces a recent article written by an Eloise Benoit, claiming that Domenic got cold feet and decided to bail on my sister in advance of their upcoming nuptials.

“That’s ridiculous,” I say tossing back a hearty gulp of my scotch. I angle my chair away when I glance out the street-level restaurant’s window and notice the paparazzi on the sidewalk snapping away at some celebrity or other as they enter the front door.

“That’s what
I
told her,” Mackenzie says grabbing a sip of her water. “Fuck the
New York Flame
and fuck that Eloise Benoit. I bet she’s a fat, ugly troll who lives with a thousand cats.” Mackenzie sneers.

Madison sighs and it seems like the whole world is sitting on her shoulders. “I’ve just got way too much going on – with dress fittings and cake tastings and pre-wedding jitters. The last thing I need is to have Dom run off on me now.”

I slide my hand across the table and tap her lightly on the fingers. “Maddie – Dom isn’t going anywhere. You know that.”

Her lips scrunch up and her eyes begin to water. She nods slightly but doesn’t say a thing.

“Would you like to order?” a perky voice says out of nowhere, startling the shit out of us. I glance behind me to find a busty, petite thing with shiny cinnamon hair I can imagine sliding my fingers into while fucking her from behind. Too bad her voice is annoying as fuck.

Madison hurriedly tucks her head into her chest, discreetly wiping away her tears.

“Not yet. We’re waiting for our brother,” Mackenzie offers, going for another slice of that bread. The waitress l nods with an overzealous smile and walks away.

“Aren’t you on a no-carb diet or something? You might need to lay off the bread,” I say eyeing my sister. I don’t mean it facetiously. I swear. She’s not fat or anything but she’s training to become a professional ballerina and I’m pretty sure she’s supposed to watch what she eats. I’m just a concerned brother looking out for my little sister’s best interests.

She doesn’t take it that way, though.

“Asshole,” she growls at me, throwing her linen napkin my way before turning her attention back to Madison. “It’s just the wedding jitters. That’s why you’re such a nervous wreck,” Mackenzie says knowingly as she leans back in her chair and pops another piece of bread into her mouth.

I glance at my watch again before facing Madison as well. “Look – if it makes you feel any better, I’ll talk to Domenic. Make sure he knows better than to hurt my little sister.” I poke her softly in the shoulder and she finally cracks a smile. “Does that sound good?”

“Sounds good,” she says hoarsely and I ruffle the top of her head.

“Hey – stop,” she whines, ducking out of my reach. “I just got my hair blow-dried.” She rakes her dark mane back into place.

Mackenzie snickers and peers over at the door before her expression turns serious. “What’s taking Michael so long? I have ballet rehearsal in an hour. I don’t wanna be late.”

“I saw him at the reception desk speaking to a client when I was leaving the office,” Madison says between sniffles. “Pink and blonde hair. Blue dress. Killer heels.”

“Ellie Parker,” I say, a grin itching at my lips when I think of the way her skin-tight dress hugged that sexy little frame of hers.

“Huh?” Madison asks, her eyebrows furrowing.

“Ellie Parker. She just inherited ToneWave.” Madison is more or less familiar with the ToneWave file. I think she worked on it when she was still an intern at the law firm.

She pouts slightly. “Ugh – lucky bitch. That company is worth a fortune.”

I swirl the scotch around in my tumbler. “Ellie Parker’s a lot of things,” I mutter under my breath. She’s sexy and feisty and –

“Ah – here comes the birthday boy now.” Mackenzie’s eyes are riveted to the door.

My gaze follows hers and I see Michael and his wife, Ruth, entering the restaurant.

“About goddamned time,” I growl as I slide out of my chair to give my older brother a birthday hug.