Page 31 of His Little Angel

Probably.

“Anyway,” I continue, “I already introduced her to the marketing team. She knows the contacts for scheduling campaigns and—”

“Mila,” he growls, stepping around the desk. “Did you tell him you won’t be speaking to him anymore?”

The laugh that wants to escape me is sick and twisted.

“Veronica has my number if she needs anything,” I go on. “But she’s very proficient. She won’t need me much.”

“Mila.”

He says my name like it’s a warning. A threat.

Again, I try to turn the conversation to something professional.

“MILA!” He snaps. Then he’s right in front of me, hands on the arms of my chair, leaning down, trapping me without touching me.

His eyes look feral. Dark. Unraveled.

“Who. Was. He?”

“None of your business,” I say. “And today is my last day.”

I think he stops breathing.

“Mila, I’ll double your salary.”

“No.”

“I’ll triple it.”

“No.”

“I’ll—hell—name your number.”

His voice cracks on the last word. Cracks. Enzo Morelli doesn’t crack.

“No,” I whisper. “No. Nope.”

I rise, gathering the papers, but he blocks me with his body.

“Ask me the same questions you asked last night,” he orders.

“No.”

“Mila—”

For the first time in his goddamn life…

“…please.”

The word hits me in the chest.

“Do you want me?” I ask.

“Yes.” No more shame.

“Do you love me?”