Page 40 of Ruthless Mr. Ricco

He chuckles.I reach for my purse, but he tosses it onto the passenger seat.

“We’re using my card today.You won’t need this.”

He shuts the door and tugs me across the sidewalk, ignoring my protests.I clamp my teeth together as he hauls me into the fancy shop.

With a few curt words to the saleswoman, he slips a black and gold card across the counter.She perks up and agrees enthusiastically with his demands.I bite the inside of my cheek as she guides us into a lavish changing room.

The moment she sashays out toward the main store, I shove against Matteo’s rock-hard abs and hiss, “What are we doing here?I am not discussing business while you try on clothes.”

“We’re not discussing business.”

“You said this was work related,” I remind him.

“It is.I’m also not the one trying things on,” he says.

His smirk drops my heart into my toes.

“No.No way in hell am I—”

“We have several galas and parties to attend in the upcoming weeks.Your work wardrobe needs an upgrade.”I open my mouth to tell him off, but he cups my bruised arm as though to remind me of every hardship I’ve suffered since he hired me.“You are my employee.Providing you with suitable clothing is my responsibility.”My stomach bottoms out as he threads his fingers into my hair.“And as my woman, you deserve to have the very best.Let me pamper you, little rabbit.”

The longing in my soul steals my breath even as I tell myself not to fall for his trap.

“I’m not your woman,” I argue.

His smirk awakens a throbbing low in my belly.

The saleswoman returns with two other ladies, each one pushing a rack full of items.After staging them beside the couch, all three women disappear without a word.

“Should we start with evening wear or business suits?”Matteo asks.

“No.This isn’t happening.”

He turns to the first rack.

“Let’s start with three of each, then,” he says.

“No, I’m not—”

“Four of each?”

“God, you’re infuriating,” I snarl.

Deciding I should take advantage of his offer of free clothes, I hip check him out of the way, snatch the first three items off rack one and two, then stomp behind the privacy screen in the opposite corner of the room.

After checking for hidden cameras and ensuring there’s no way for him to peek without walking around the partition, I slip the padded silk hangers on the wall hooks and lift my shirt.

“Don’t hesitate to ask if you need help.”

I yelp as Matteo’s voice sounds from beside me, but when I whip my shirt off my head, I realize he’s still on the other side of the screen.

“Don’t you dare!”

“My offer stands, little rabbit,” he chuckles.

“Noted.Go sit on the couch,” I demand.

“Only if you promise to show me each outfit,” he says.