Page 93 of Diego

I stop with my hand on the handle and close my eyes for half a second before looking back. “What?”

Lorenzo is smiling again. “I’m glad Meridian worked out so well for you.”

“Ma vaffanculo, Lorenzo,” I mutter, and walk out.

Chapter Eighteen

Blair

I make it through the doors of Meridian at 8:57 with damp hair, fresh makeup, a different outfit, and the feeling that I am already done with this day.

I went home only long enough to shower, scrub every trace of yesterday from my skin, change clothes, and make myself look like someone who definitely did not wake up naked in someone else’s bed with one of the owners of the company.

There was no time for breakfast and barely enough time for a quick cup of coffee. I dried my hair badly, fixed what I could once I got in the car, and spent the entire drive reminding myself that one spectacular lapse in professional judgment does not erase every good decision I’ve ever made.

I am still working on believing that when Carter’s voice reaches me from reception.

“Three minutes.”

I glance toward him and find him leaning against the desk with coffee in one hand as he checks his watch. “What?”

“Three minutes before nine.” He looks mildly impressed. “Cutting it close, rookie.”

“I’m here, aren’t I?”

“You are.”

“And I’m dressed.”

His eyebrows rise. “That is generally encouraged 'round these parts.”

I keep walking before my face can betray me. There is absolutely no reason for that comment to make my heart jump into my throat. He means clothes. Ordinary clothes. Normal morning clothes. He has no idea that less than two hours ago I was searching for my underwear while Diego Conti stood nearby with my panties stuffed in his pocket.

Leah looks up as I reach my desk, and unlike Carter, she takes a long look at me. Her gaze moves over my damp hair, my face, and the coffee I am clutching like a lifeline.

“You look tired.”

“I am tired.”

“Another late night?”

My hand pauses halfway to setting down my bag, and the penthouse flashes through my head mercilessly.

I set the bag down carefully. “I was working.”

Technically true.

For a significant portion of the day, anyway.

Leah swivels her chair toward me. “How did yesterday go?”

Before I can answer, Carter says, "Yes. How did yesterday go?”

I sit down, wake my computer, and try to look like a woman whose thoughts are entirely appropriate for the workplace. “It went well.”

Neither of them says anything.

I look from Leah to Carter. “What?”