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“If only you could have waited…” The words rush out of me, my forlorn heart wishing for impossible things, living in a state of permanent nostalgia.

“Don’t need to make me regret my choice, Enzo,” she sighs. It sounds like she’s talking about something completely different.

I message Lorenzo to bring me a uniform for her, and I walk upstairs to change into one of my suits.

Hearing the ring, I head downstairs and watch as she picks at each piece of clothing as if it’s a freaking alien she has no clue what to do with.

“I have a meeting in the city. Go change.”

Her brows furrow, a contrite expression slipping over her face. “It’s a uniform.”

I cross my arms over my chest. “Have a problem with that? Don’t like the working class so much?”

“No,” she says through gritted teeth. “Just my boss, who is a cheap ass and gave me a man’s uniform. Did the global search for me leave you bankrupt?”

Patience. I inhale deeply, trying to dig deeper into this well of patience she threatens to drain every time she opens that mouth of hers. I doubt the devil or God is listening—thoroughly entertained by the shitshow I produced.

She runs upstairs, stomping on the stairs like a damn child throwing a tantrum.

If I thought her wearing a man’s uniform would keep my desire at bay, I was sorely mistaken.

She walks downstairs, tucking the white shirt in her pants and rolls the sleeves to the middle of her forearms. Her shirt shows a bit of cleavage as she unbuttons the first two buttons. She’s pulled her hair in a low ponytail, the shades low on her nose, giving her a touch of mystery that makes any man want to take another peek.

Even wearing a uniform that is one size too big, she makes it work. It’s her confidence that shines through, even in sneakers.

“Move.”

She snatches her sunglasses and bats her lashes at me. “Yes, sir. Anything else, sir?”

“You’re really testing me, Luciana,” I gnash out.

This witch cursed me to perch on the edge of insanity.

“And we both know you’d like to punish me… Please keep your cock away. I am shivering.” She rolls her eyes at me, pretending to be annoyed but failing.

“You were when you took every inch.” My hoarse voice betrays me, and she gives me a sultry look.

The atmosphere rises to scorching hot. I rush outside, needing some fresh air to cool down.

We bypass my Lambo heading toward the Audi A8. I wait for her to do her job and open the door for me. She tilts her head and says, “I think you forgot a small detail.”

My jaw clenches tight enough to pop a muscle. “I am already running late, Luciana.”

“Fine. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Then with the fakest smile this world has ever seen, she opens the door for me. Once I am inside, she shuts it with more force than necessary. My fingers itch not to wrap them around her neck and fuck out that attitude of her. With my luck, it will give her even more ammunition to behave like a brat.

I am about to check my emails when a jolt rumbles through the car, propelling me forward, almost making me hit my forehead on the driver’s headrest.

She can drive. She has a driver’s license, but damn, if I knew she was this bad I would have thought about other ways.

“It’s fucking automatic. This shouldn’t even happen,” I snap.

“Give me a damn minute. It’s been a while,” she snaps back.

Most people would be terrified to make eye contact with me when I am mad. She not only does that, but she also gives me attitude, even when she’s at fault.

Automatic cars are dummy proof. If you have the slightest notion how to drive, it makes things easier.