Page 16 of His Little Angel

I shake my head. “I… I don’t think so.”

“Come on,” he teases, nudging the glass against my waist. “It’s just a little fun. Nobody’s judging. You can be a bad girl.”

My cheeks heat, and I glance around the bar. People are laughing, talking, not giving a single crap about us.

“Or,” he adds, “we can pretend we’re boring and miss all the fun. Up to you.”

I swallow hard, nerves screaming, but curiosity wins. “Fine… but just a little.”

He tips the glass carefully. Warm liquid slides across my skin. I shiver. He grins, his tongue flicking quickly along the curve of my stomach to catch the last drop.

“Oh God,” I gasp, half-laughing, half-squealing.

“See?” he says. “Not so bad.”

“I… I can’t believe I just let you do that,” I admit, cheeks blazing. “I usually—never—”

“Sometimes you just need to let go.”

He’s right. But even when I do, all my mind screams isEnzo. Enzo. Enzo.

Chapter Seven

Enzo

I’m in a foul mood. A black, bitter, consuming hole of darkness. And for the life of me, I don’t even know why.

I spent the whole damn night staring at the ceiling, perplexed at my own mind—why the fuck am I reacting like this to Mila leaving? And I think I’ve figured it out. I’m used to her. That’s it. I’ve been so goddamn used to her that the thought of her gone is hard to swallow.

She’s been flawless. Three years of her perfection, and I’ve rarely had to raise my voice, rarely had to correct her. But she’s found a replacement—Veronica—who’s competent enough. I need to give her a chance.

This possessiveness? I’ve always had that streak—a dark, ugly, possessive streak. Never liked sharing anything, not even with my brothers. And Mila… she’s been essential to the company.

But I keep telling myself: she’s an employee. Soon, she’ll be an ex-employee. Nothing else. No more “my Mila” bullshit. I swear it.

And yet… that confrontation in the kitchenette included me saying things that could make her think I was some lovesick, jealous bastard. That I felt something more than professional.

I’m not a lover. Love is a sickness. A disease. It poisoned my father until he couldn’t cage it anymore, until he killed himself. I don’t want love. I’m meant to be alone. It’d be a shame if she ever thought I would, no matter how I acted in the kitchenette.

I walk into the office first thing in the morning, expecting maybe, just maybe, to see her waiting at the edge of my desk, asking,What are we?

Instead, it’s Veronica trailing behind me with a cup of coffee in her hands. “Good morning, sir. Here’s your coffee and the schedule for today. Anything you’d like me to start with?”

I look at the cup, at her, at the skyline beyond my window—the city I built half of. My head has never been like this, never this messy.

Where the fuck is Mila?

For the first time in three years, I force myself to drink coffee that isn’t hers.

I last one minute.One fucking minute.

My tongue moves before I can stop it. “Where is Ms. Wilson?”

“She said… she wants to give me independence, sir. To get used to working without her presence. She’ll be here in an hour or so.”

I feel the warmth of my blood in my palms—I’ve been digging my nails into my skin so hard I didn’t notice.

“Anything else you need, sir?” Veronica mumbles, barely able to meet my eyes.