some of my favorite clients, but taking care of the day-to-day tasks around here will be a full-time job.
“Anthony?” My voice echoes across the cathedral ceiling as I shut the front door. The grand marble entry gives way to an even grander split staircase.
“Miss Montgomery.” Kim, Anthony’s full-time cook, greets me in the foyer, curling a strand of shoulder-length black hair behind her ear. I envy her perfectly straight hair, flawless Asian skin, and shy demeanor.
Her presence calms me. I hope when I move in here, Anthony keeps her here to cook for our family.
She frowns as her gaze affixes to my wrapped hand hugged to my chest. “Oh, dear …”
“My sister’s dog chased a cat on our walk. He didn’t seem to care that the leash was wrapped around my hand. Supposedly, it’s not broken, but I wonder if they read the X-ray wrong. It’s the worst pain imaginable.”
Kim grimaces. “I’m so sorry.”
“Thank you. Me too. Where’s Anthony? I tried calling him.”
“He’s in his office.”
“Thanks.” I take a few steps toward his office and turn back to Kim. “You’re here late.”
“Mr. Bianchi requested I make some meals and freeze them since I will be on vacation next week.”
“Oh. Lovely. Where are you going?”
Kim’s expression morphs into something between nervous and scared. “Um …”
I shake my head. “Sorry. It’s none of my business. I hope you have a nice trip. We’ll probably eat out most of the time.” I gesture to my hand. “Clearly I won’t be doing any cooking.”
A constipated smile settles onto Kim’s face as her head dips into a cautious nod.
I knock twice on Anthony’s office door.
“Come in.”
I ease open the solid cherry door.
“There’s my angel.” Anthony shuts his laptop and leans back in his leather chair behind the presidential-looking desk.
He’s twenty years my senior, but at forty-nine he’s the sexiest silver fox I’ve ever seen. Okay, maybe the second sexiest silver fox I’ve ever seen. I once dated a guy in his early fifties who looked like the Pretty Woman version of Richard Gere—but with straight teeth and more muscle definition. He died unexpectedly during a routine procedure to repair a hernia. I wasn’t in his will. Apparently, three months of deep-throating isn’t enough to get as much as a pair of diamond and white gold cufflinks. Lesson learned.
Anthony has an odd-shaped nose, like a three-year-old’s first attempt at molding putty, and it’s a bit too big for his face. He tastes of thick, molten whisky and the clashing flavor of spicy, full-bodied, hand-rolled Cuban cigars. I used to be more of a minty mouthwash kind of girl, but I’ve grown accustomed to his particular taste. Money.
Anthony Bianchi Jr. tastes like money, and he treats me like a queen.
I’ve tried the sweet nice-guy route—the jock, the teacher, the aspiring actor, the musician. I’ve tried the bad-boy route—the tattoo artist, the wannabe rock star, the guy who always carried a gun but couldn’t tell me why. They are all cheaters with no direction and clueless when it comes to knowing how to treat a woman.
“Angel, what happened to your hand?” He stands and closes the distance between us.
“Don’t touch it!” I cringe, angling my body away from him.
“I’m not. What happened?”
“Swarley happened. Where have you been?” I shoot him a teary-eyed look. “I called. You never answered. You didn’t respond. Ingrid took me to the hospital.”
“Ingrid?”
My head juts forward. “Yes. Ingrid.”
No light turns on. He has no clue whom I’m talking about. “You hired her as my personal stylist last year.”
“Oh …” He nods.
He still has no clue.
“Why didn’t you call your sister?”
“Hello?” I scoff. “Where have you been? My sister is on vacation. I’m dog-sitting Swarley for her. Do you not listen to anything I say?”
He rests his hands on my shoulders and kisses my cheek. “Of course I do, angel. I’ve just been very busy lately. I’m sorry I missed your call. I thought you were going out with your friends tonight.”
Okay, so he kinda listens to me. “I was, but Swarley chased a stupid cat, and my hand may never be the same. I can’t go out with friends. I can’t see clients. I’m useless at the moment.” A lone tear trails down my cheek.
His phone buzzes. He glances at the screen. “I have to take this. It’s business. Give me a few minutes, and you’ll have my undivided attention.”
I nod, wiping the tear I thought he’d wipe away with the tender pad of his thumb or kiss away with those full ruddy lips.