Better?
“No,” he grumbles in frustration. “That’s not better.”
I arrogantly smirk and meet her stoic stare. “Take my gun and shoot him.”
The man nervously objects in the background, “Mr.-”
“Prove to him that he’s wrong.”
To my surprise, there’s no hesitation for her to transfer the weapon from my grip to hers nor is there any when it comes to firing. The bullet is lodged in his foot, and the howls of pain that proceed to pour out of his mouth feel a bit dramatic.
It was just his big toe.
No need to be a baby about the damn thing.
Try having it pulled out of your arm.
That was a shitty Christmas.
“You missed,” I casually state as I take the offered pistol back into my possession.
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
“I didn’t.”
“Sì, l'hai fatto.”
“No, I didn’t,” she swiftly argues back. “The shot was meant to be a lesson not an execution. The agony he’s experiencing will remind him of the mistake he made, and, hopefully, he’ll learn from it.”
The statement that comes from me is softer than anticipated. “You have mercy.”
Her smile slowly starts to blossom again.
“I don’t.” My weapon wielding hand lifts and fires two rounds straight into his skull.
Once more, I’m pleasantly surprised by her response. The fact she doesn’t flinch from the unexpected loud sound nor does she seem phased by the life I so callously took has much more than my curiosity stirring.
A woman not easily shaken.
Impressive.
Why wouldn’t my cock be begging to do something to change that.
Tucking my gun back out of sight, I motion my head to Miko to shut the door and casually turn to adjust the situation against my inseam that’s growing increasingly uncomfortable. “His mistake could’ve been deadly, and despite the fact that this time it wasn’t, I’d rather not risk the chance of it happening a second time. Besides, lessons and reminders can breed resentment, resentment often leads to betrayal, and betrayal lingering within your living quarters, just waiting for the perfect chance to kill you or lying in wait is how you end up being buried six feet under before forty and leaving your legacy in the hands of your young, inexperienced son rather than one you’ve had time to properly groom and prepare.” I clear away the haunting bedside story my father told me multiple times and turn on my heels to face her again. “Name?”
The light pink-shaded lips I want to suck my dick don’t even attempt to part.
“I do not enjoy speaking anonymously.” My arms fold themselves across my white dress shirt. “Worse, I do not enjoy being the only one who has been formally introduced within its confines.” I kick my head her direction. “Name?”
“Miss Brooks.”
My glower instantly deepens.
“You merely specified the need for a name not whether it be my first or last or even a nickname, but I can and do assure you that my name is not anywhere nearly as important as what’s in this folder.”
Miko chortles from where he’s leaning against the closed door, hand still cradling his cocked gun. “Vuoi che le spari?”
Do you want me to shoot her?
No, I don’t want him to fucking shoot her.
And, I don’t appreciate the mocking in his tone.
I swallow the irritation lingering on my tongue and inquire, “How did you get in here?”
Her demeanor noticeably shifts from impatient to annoyed. “I take it you’re not asking me if I used my feet or just so happen to possess the power of flight.”
Louder chuckles spring from my cousin’s chest prompting me to throw him a glare.
“Oh che?” His laughter increases in volume. “Mi sono offerto di spararle.”
Oh, what? I offered to shoot her.
I should shoot him instead.
“How’d you know where to find me personally?”
“It’s not exactly hard, Mr. Bennett. It’s not exactly a large town and considering the way your estate is gated off like Buckingham fucking Palace, locating it isn’t exactly difficult.”
It’s hard to disagree with that statement.
I carefully lean against the edge of my dark cherry wood office desk. “And getting through the gates?”
“I have the credentials.”
Intrigue, yet again, creeps onto my face. “Is that so?”
For the first time since her arrival, I see her confidence slightly waiver. “Sort of.”
“Sort of?”
“Kind of.”
“Kind of?”
“Um…in a way I do.”
“You either do or you do not, Miss Brooks. Which is it?”
“Okay, Yoda, look,” she huffs in exasperation, “I don’t have the exact credentials that you probably require to step foot on your precious grounds, but what I do have managed to get me here, so I would say that qualifies me as having credentials.”
Everything in her outburst is ignored except the obvious. “Did you just fucking call me Yoda?”
Laughter roars out of my cousin in the background further tempting me to dismiss him from the room rather than face further humiliation in front of him.
Miss Brooks doesn’t panic over my venomous bite.
Doesn’t rush to apologize.
She doesn’t even blink twice.
The boldness and brashness she exhibits are a dangerous combination, one that could be fatal in the wrong company.
Which I, undoubtedly, am.
Yet fascination and a suddenly fractious cock have me all but ready to beg this woman to spend what remains of her life with me.
Sono fottuto.
I. Am. Fucked.
Miko’s right.
Saying it in Italian doesn’t make any more or less true.
The next words are snarled, “What. Credentials. Do. You. Have?”
“I’m head of the accounting department.”
“There are multiple heads as there are multiple accounting departments. It’s a multibillion-dollar company. It-”
“I don’t think you said multiple enough.”