Page 33 of Taken In Trade
I make my way into the room, spotting the woman in the club chair on the opposite side of his desk.
She’s beautiful, with straight reddish-brown hair and a slender face. She’s wearing a cream dress with gray piping. It accentuates her tits and makes her waist seem ridiculously tiny.
I try not to let myself be intimidated by anyone, but I hate her without even knowing for sure who she is. Everything in me says this must be Francesca, and I bet she’s enjoying seeing me in nothing but a T-shirt.
Spending time with Angel and Kassie and having a full stomach did wonders for my mood, but the cocky little smirk on that woman’s face pisses me right off.
If she keeps that up, I’m going to have to teach her a lesson about where I came from. It might not be classy, but I grew up in the lifestyle. One thing my father didn’t skimp on was my self-defense training.
Not that it helped much when Blade’s guys kidnapped you.
Moretti waves me around the desk and stands as I come to a stop at his side.
“Good morning,” he murmurs, planting his hand on my ass at the same time he leans down to kiss the side of my head. “Mmm, you smell good.”
He’s really hamming it up.
After spending the better part of ten minutes thinking he had a girlfriend and his kid living here, I like that he’s being affectionate in front of this woman.
“Vanessa, this is Francesca,” he says, palming my backside. “Francesca, this is my wife.”
“That’s the shitty personal shopper?” I ask, playing dumb as I bat my eyelashes.
“I’m a personal stylist,” Francesca says, and even the sound of her voice grates on my nerves.
“Right,” I say, and I’m sure my tone conveys how bad I think she is at her job.
Hell, maybe I’m unfounded, and she’s a perfectly nice person, but I don’t need a reason to dislike her on sight. Not that she didn’t give me a strong reason with the garbage that she pulled.
My mom always told me to trust my gut, and my gut thinks Francesca needs to go.
Some people just give off bad vibes.
I have no interest in seeing what she’ll try to mess up next. If she brought me a dress that I couldn’t zip myself into for something important like a syndicate party, we’d have a real problem on our hands.
“Francesca brought over an entirely new selection of items,” Moretti says. “Hawk is bringing them upstairs as we speak.”
He moves to sit once more. This time, he tugs me with him, using his hand on my ass. Even though his desk chair is rather spacious, it’s not easy to kneel over him, and I’m sure Francesca gets a nice glimpse of my ass as I get settled.
My eyes stare into Moretti’s blue orbs, waiting to see what he’s going to do next. She didn’t even try to fake platitudes, likeit’s nice to meet youor apologize for the sizing mix-up.
If I had walked in and her energy was different, I probably would have admitted that I was stressed last night and overreacted.
Despite what people love to say about me, I’m not unreasonable. I match a person’s vibes. If they’re genuine, I am too, but if someone is an asshole to me, I echo it right back.
Moretti quirks an eyebrow.
He’s asking something.
I’m just not sure what.
My head shakes minutely, and his lips tip up at the edges.
“I have other clients to see today,” Francesca says from behind me. “I’m leaving, but I’ll bring you suit samples next week?—”
“That won’t be necessary.” Moretti looks at her over my shoulder. “Your services will no longer be required. Your final payment will be made within twenty-four hours. I wouldn’t expect a reference. If anyone calls, I’ll be directing them to speak with my wife. Close the door on your way out.” He reaches around me, swipes his phone off his desk, and it feels like he types out a text. I can’t see it, but I’m jostled around again as he tosses his phone back down. “Sorry about that. I needed to ensure someone would be around to escort her off the premises and revoke her gate access.” He leans back in his chair, studying my face. “Did you enjoy your breakfast? You smell like syrup.” He brushes his thumb over my lower lip, and I get whacked with his electric scent.
“It was great.” I jab a finger at his chest. “You should have warned me about Angel. I thought that baby was your kid.”
