Blame it on the Champagne (Blame it on the Alcohol #1) - Fiona Cole Page 0,62

didn’t answer, I’d lock her in this office. Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

“Dinner and maybe a bar.”

I nodded. “Fine. Take a day off this week to arrange everything to be moved in before then. You can work from home if need be.”

She swallowed. “Okay.”

“Good. Also, I’d like you to make time to come with me to visit my grandpa. He wants to meet you before the wedding.”

“I can do that.”

“Thank you. If only you were so agreeable to everything. We wouldn’t waste so much time.”

“Well, Nicholas. One is to go meet a man who, I assume, has to be a saint for putting up with you, while the other is so you can bend me to your will because it makes it easier for you to do God knows what.”

“Yes, Grandpa is a good man, but who do you think I learned it from?” I said with a wink. If Grandpa had been there, he would have backed away with his hands up, not laying claim to teaching me any of the nefarious things no doubt running through her head.

“Ugh. Is there anything else I can do for you?” she asked, her annoyance on full display.

A million requests rolled through my head.

Get on your knees. Let me actually fuck you in this office. Ease some of this tension burning in my veins every time I see you.

Somehow, I didn’t think those would go over well, so I opted to keep my mouth shut and continue with the arrogance. It worked so well. She riled up beautifully.

“That will be all.”

“Yes, sir.”

Watching her walk out, her tight skirt hugging her plump ass, I promised that at some point, I’d get her to say that to me again. Only naked. And fulfilling at least one—if not all—of my fantasies.

Twenty

Vera

What the hell was I doing?

How well did I know Nico?

What if he was a con-man?

What if who he was at home was completely different than the man I’d come to know?

Any answers I came up with lacked the confidence I usually had when I made decisions.

The questions came comically late since I currently stood in the middle of the large open penthouse, watching movers set box after box wherever I directed them to.

Was I being crazy?

I knew the answer to that one without question. Yes. Probably certifiably insane.

“What about these?” one of the men asked. “It says bedroom.”

I opened my mouth to tell him the first door on the left. I knew without Nico directly telling me that he’d expect me to share a room to have the real marriage he asked for. Instead, the questions hovered, doubt crept in, and I said, “First door on the right.”

The guest bedroom.

To say Nico wasn’t happy when he came home would be an understatement.

“Vera?” his deep voice reached down the hall from the entryway and stroked up my spine. Just my name, and my skin prickled, partly from nerves, partly from something else I refused to put a name to.

“In here.”

I folded another shirt, trying to focus on the task when, in reality, every inch of me zeroed in on each hard step against the hardwood floor getting closer. They stopped a couple feet away, where I could imagine him looking into the master suite with confusion at not finding me or my belongings there before continuing again, closing in.

The steps stopped right outside the open door, his presence looming like a command to look up. I tried to stay focused on the task, to not show my trepidation at him staring at me.

The silence stretched, and my muscles ached with the refusal to look up from my shirt. “How was work?”

My voice cracked, exposing my nerves, and when he still didn’t answer, I finally caved, moving my eyes just enough to meet his. His nostrils flared. His jaw ticked. He looked like a bull ready to charge, barely holding on to control. I met his dark eyes for only a moment before going back to folding the same damn shirt.

Finally, with a huff sounding scarily close to a growl, he stormed away, releasing me from the tension tightening every muscle like a screw. I’d just released the breath I’d been holding when the door slamming down the hall reverberated through the apartment, making me jump.

This time, I scowled, jerking my gaze to the door like he’d be able to feel my disapproval through the walls. Seriously? He wanted to slam doors like a child because I wasn’t…what? Waiting in his bed like a good