Page 30 of Silver Fox Grump
And he listens without judgement.
“I’ve been ignoring his calls,” I confess, but I don’t admit why. My dad threatened to sell me off as a mafia princess to benefit Mitcham, from when I was eighteen onwards. Getting a degree saved me at first, but the reason I got this job is I had to get away. Have some of my own money, so when Dad tried to force me to marry against my wishes, I had options.
Instead, I’ve fallen in love with his best friend, who is also my boss. I thought this was a crush, and I’ve told myself it doesn’t matter that Sev won’t claim me. But it does. I love him.
And the way my dad keeps trying to call and talk to me has my spine prickling cold. I’ll have to choose, sooner or later. Escape, freedom, and never see the man I love again. Or stay, and end up married to a London mafia boss of my dad’s choosing, and maybe be able to see Sev from afar. Sometimes.
And that might have to be enough. I trail to a halt in my chatter when the waiter comes to collect the plates I’m surprised to discover are empty. I squirm with discomfort that I’ve said way too much. Bored him. This could be one of my last chances to really spend time with him, and I just wasted it telling him about myself and my fictional companions.
Sev has eaten the salad as well as the steak, and it occurs to me that he is an actual adult, with mature tastes and decision-making that give him a body I suspect from the slight views I’ve had of his forearms, touching his chest, and sitting on his muscled thighs, is sculpted by discipline and work in the gym.
“She’ll have tiramisu, I’ll have an espresso,” Sev orders.
“What about you?” I ask when the waiter has left again. “Tell me about you, since this is a date.” I tingle at that word. My first proper date. Well. Fake date.
“What about me?” Sev shrugs. “There’s nothing interesting about me.”
Apart from being powerful, gorgeous, and bad-tempered. “I bet there is.”
“You want to know about my childhood? How my brothers and I fought our way up through the London mafias? How I covered my scars with tattoos, and there is barely an inch of my chest that isn’t inked? How I did things that I regret to gain the power I have?”
His jaw clenches. This is a reminder that Sev isn’t tame. He’s brutal and powerful and I shouldn’t be playing with fire.
“My brother Rafe made it his pet mission to save the school we went to and make it less shit. Vito left for Italy in a thinly-veiled search for some connection to our roots, but ended up doing the same thing Rafe and I did—accumulate power.”
His mouth twists. “There’s nothing interesting about me. I sabotaged Rafe, and he sometimes responded. I’m richer than either of them, and Morden is more powerful.” He heaves a sigh. “But now they’re both married and have families on the way, and I just have cold, hard cash.”
“You’re friends with my dad, too,” I’m compelled to point out. “And you do good things in Morden. You’re a good boss.”
He pins me with a look of such intense hunger it takes my breath away.
“I am neither a good friend to your father, nor a good boss. I am not a good man, Maisie, and it would be better for you to remember that.”
“You’re a good friend to me,” I say impulsively, reaching across the table and taking his hand. Paper creases beneath my elbow and Sev blinks in shock.
“I’m definitely not your friend, Miss Matthews. Do not mistake me.” The words are harsh, but for almost the first time in this meal so far, he turns away. He can’t look me in the eyes as he lies to me, I realise.
We are friends. More than friends, too. He’s my boss, my forbidden lover, my stalker. My teacher.
But he is also my friend.
And he doesn’t let my hand go. No, he traps it beneath his, like a cat that has caught a bird that it shouldn’t have, and cannot eat, but must keep and play with all the same.
We’re so close. I can almost taste the truth between us. He’s as lonely as I am. He wants a family like his brothers have, and I crave that too. We’ve worked together for two years, and I know this man’s stormy moods better than the familiar London skyline out of my office window.
“Sir.”
My head snaps up and I jerk my hand back guiltily, but Sev holds on, and my heart springs into my throat like a bouncing baby animal.
“Espresso and tiramisu, enjoy.” The waiter sets the cream, coffee, and chocolate dessert down in front of me, and a tiny cup of coffee in front of Sev, then his gaze snags on our joined hands for a beat. I bite my lip. But Sev isn’t letting up. He doesn’t let me escape, and the waiter retreats wordlessly.
And when Sev calmly lifts his coffee to his lips as though this is what we do now. Like he only has one hand available, and so do I, and who needs two hands? Overrated.
“Eat,” he orders when I just sit there in shock. Because this isn’t normal for my boss.
I pick up my spoon and dig into the layered dessert. It explodes on my tongue, but I can’t really taste how delicious it is. How decadent.
Because in the silence, Sev begins to stroke his thumb over the back of my hand, gentle and insistent, and my insides melt.