Ruthless Mr. Ricco, page 3
part #1 of Brutal Billionaire Bosses Series
An unfamiliar ceiling.
I squint and study my surroundings with as little movement as possible.
The paint is pristine. High-end light fixtures sit on the sleek bedside shelves. The headboard is something straight from a magazine.
Soft sheets caress my arms and legs, but my dress still squeezes my curves. My left breast threatens to pop free of the fabric, but I don’t have the energy to fix it.
A massive shadow rises from the couch and stalks toward me. Terror floods my veins with adrenaline, and my body leaps out of my control. I scream and throw the nearest thing—a pillow—and scramble back against the headboard before the monster steps into the streak of sunlight.
Matteo Ricco.
Emotions barrel through me. My head spins and nausea squeezes my stomach. Vomit surges up my throat. I clamp my hand over my mouth and scramble to the edge of the mattress.
Deft hands drop a waste basket right where I need it. Long fingers pull my hair away from my face and stroke down my back in the most confusing and comforting gesture.
In the most embarrassing moment of my life, I retch until tears streak down my face and acid burns my throat. When the horrible cramps cease, exhaustion adds a million pounds to my body, but I spit and grab a tissue from the box on the beside shelf.
A bottle of water appears in front of my face. I give Matteo an untrusting side glance but take the bottle from him, ignoring the zings of awareness as my fingers brush his. My hands refuse to grip the plastic hard enough to open the lid.
He growls in annoyance, snatches the water from me, cracks it open, and wraps my digits around the bottle. Before he can lift it to my lips like I’m a child, I push his wrist away and take a few refreshing sips. As much as I want to guzzle the entire bottle, I don’t dare with how unsettled my stomach is, so I twist the lid into place and brace myself before I look up at the man I’ve fought so hard to forget.
He’s panty-meltingly handsome with his coat and tie removed, his sleeves rolled up to reveal his muscular forearms, and the top buttons of his shirt undone.
Liquid fire pools in my belly at the sight of his collarbone and thick throat, and the stubble on his face and his mussed hair make him downright mesmerizing. I want to run my hands over him and explore the different textures with my teeth and tongue.
He quirks a brow and tugs his collar aside.
Ice travels down my spine.
Red blotches and tiny scratches pepper his exposed flesh.
My lips feel swollen.
Shit, I think I might have already explored him.
My heart tries to pound out of my chest as I meet his bottomless hazel eyes. The cold amusement shining from his orbs along with the sardonic lilt of his mouth promise a level of cruelty I’m not sure I can survive.
“Why is it you?”
The question bursts from my lips before my mind catches up. I long for a hole to open in the mattress and teleport me to another dimension.
His expression hardens.
My breath hitches in my throat. The fabric of my dress pinches my nipple as the wayward peak hardens. Fresh alarm spears through me, and I yank my dress into place and run my hands over myself until I’m certain no one took liberties with my body while I was out of it.
I’m not sure how a hangover feels since I’ve never had alcohol before, but unless I have a legit intolerance, I doubt a reaction this strong is normal. Worry worms into my brain.
Did someone drug me? Was it Matteo?
I instinctually shove the thought away before heaping logic on top and burying the idea for good. He may have changed since high school, but his moral code would never allow him to stoop so low. We competed in so many academics in school, and he never once cheated. Plus, here I sit, unmolested in a hotel room with him looming over me. It makes no sense for him to roofie my drink.
I slump in relief and drop my pounding head into my hand.
With a condescending scoff, Matteo drops a folder onto the bed beside me, stalks to the window, and yanks the curtains open.
I bite back a hiss and shield my face with my hand until my eyes adjust, then look up at the biggest asshole I’ve ever met.
He stands at the foot of the bed with his arms crossed over his muscular chest and icy hatred shining from his hazel eyes.
“Read and sign,” he says with a pointed glance at the folder.
Fuck. As dozens of horrible possibilities flit through my head, I rack my brain for clues, but I have no idea what happened last night. The folder could hold anything from a nondisclosure agreement, a summons to court, blackmail, or a hundred other horrible things.
And honestly, if those marks on his throat are from me, he has every right to sue me.
As I lift the black folder off the sheets, a ridiculous thought flashes through me, but I shove it into the stratosphere and chalk it up to mania. There’s no way he’d demand I marry him because of a few kisses.
Right?
I can’t force myself to open the folder.
“What is it?” I ask.
“Your employment contract.”
My head snaps up at his unexpected reply. Despite the coldness in his tone and the condescension in his expression, fire burns in his eyes.
“What? Why would you—”
I close my mouth so fast and hard my teeth clink together as fuzzy memories flit through my mind. As glasses and plates shattered onto the floor, I stood on the table and asked someone to hire me.
In front of everyone, he agreed.
Dark delight bubbles in my core, but beyond vague, broken sensations, I don’t remember the rest of the night.
But he said he’d hire me.
I set the folder in my lap but hesitate before I flip it open. Half relieved, half disbelieving, I study the cover page.
He really is offering me a job.
I blink at the letterhead. Double take at his title. Triple check his name.
Matteo Ricco is the founder and CEO of New York City’s fastest growing multi-billion-dollar company.
I flip through the pages, expecting humiliating conditions and disappointment, but although the job requirements are overly vague, it covers all the topics expected from an employment contract from a massive company, including an ironclad nondisclosure agreement and several clauses on trade secrets and such.
My eye catches on the benefits package and annual pay. It can’t be right. If I ever make this much as a lawyer, it won’t be for at least ten years as I build my clientele and prove my worth, and it certainly won’t be with such amazing health insurance or so many vacation days.
I lift my eyes from the paper and study Matteo’s face.
“Why?” I ask.
“I keep my promises,” he sneers.
I fight the urge to shrink back at the accusation in his tone. I can understand him being angry if he thinks I manipulated him into offering me a job in front of everyone, but this goes beyond that. The hatred in his eyes runs deeper.
I don’t know what promise he thinks I broke, but the hardness in his expression warns against prying. He’ll no doubt rescind his offer and say infinitely crueler things than his parting words eleven years ago if I push back. With my head splitting and stomach roiling, I can’t handle his vitriol now.
“What about last night?” I ask.
He quirks a brow, silently judging me while demanding I elaborate. I swallow and choose my words carefully, wishing I could remember everything.
“Don’t most companies have rules against fraternization?”
“I wouldn’t call what you did to me fraternization,” he quips.
Embarrassment heats my face as he confirms my lack of judgement. I was an idiot for drinking alcohol.
“Then what would you call it?”
“A precursor.”
I stiffen at what I can only view as a threat.
“Did you drug me?” I accuse.
His eyes darken and menace wafts from him.
“Don’t insult me. We both know I don’t need to drug you to fuck you,” he growls.
I blanche.
“Did you? Fuck me?”
I don’t know what insane part of me spurts the words—there’s no way I lost my virginity to Matteo Ricco without some obvious sign—but I can’t rescind them as they echo in the silence.
He steps around the corner of the bed and invades my space.
“You’d know if I had,” he snarls.
I brace my palm on the mattress behind me and lean away from him.
“Yeah, sure, because rapists are trustworthy,” I spit.
He leans down and lifts my chin with the pad of his finger. The bed dips out from underneath me as he pierces my soul with his hungry eyes.
“Are your breasts sore from my mouth? Is your pussy raw from my cock? Do your bones ache from countless orgasms?”
His deep voice and shameless words sink past my defenses and embed themselves into my psyche.
My insides clench and need throbs low in my abdomen. For the briefest of moments, I want him with every fiber of my being, but then reality crashes down on my head and I shove his hand away from my face.
“You don’t have to be disgusting,” I say.
He chuckles and tucks a lock of my hair behind my ear before leaning back on the wall.
“I’m only being honest. Sex with me will be the best night of your life. You won’t forget it so easily,” he says.
I scoff and scoot across the bed, eager to put more distance between us.
“It won’t happen.”
I don’t know if I’m trying to convince him or me. Either way, it doesn’t work.
“Yes it will. You’ll beg me to fuck you,” he says.
His smirk arrows straight to my core.
“In your dreams, asshole,” I snarl.
He tsks and shakes his head in mock disapproval.
“Is that anyway to talk to your boss?”
“I haven’t signed the papers yet, so you’re not my boss.”
“Ah, but I will be soon. Be careful, Brook. I don’t hold grudges; I get even. Understand?”
All my confidence dries up, but I roll my shoulders back and lift my chin in defiance.
“I understand self-centered assholes like you better than anyone else and will never beg you for anything. Once I sign this contract, we’re nothing but coworkers,” I demand.
His smirk widens. Arousal dampens my panties. He runs a well manicured fingertip down the marks on his throat.
“Whatever you say, Miss Prescott.”
My brain splinters. Ice encases my soul. I snatch the folder off the bed, click the pen open, and sign my legal name on the dotted line.
“You’re wrong on so many things, Mr. Ricco, but as my employer, it is, of course, whatever you say, sir,” I say in a deadpan voice.
After closing the pen and tossing the papers to the edge of the mattress, I slip off the other side of the bed, retreat through the nearest doorway, and shut and lock the door between us. Thank fuck it’s a bathroom because all the movement rockets me into another puke session. I rush to the toilet, but there’s nothing more for my stomach to expel.
I vow to never drink again.
With cotton filling my head and dread pounding in my chest, I turn on the sink, wash my hands, and splash cold water on my face.
It doesn’t help. I take a few sips from my cupped palm before bracing my hands on the counter and hanging my head.
A streak of color on my thigh captures my attention. My heart leaps into my throat until I wiggle my skirt up and realize it’s ketchup, not blood. Mustard and a bit of grease dirty my other knee.
I swallow as I recall the sound of shattering glass as I kicked plates off the table.
My pulse pounds in my ears as I lower my gaze to my feet. From the knee down, my legs are squeaky clean.
I was wearing sandals. Remnants of food should be on my toes too if it reached my thighs.
A blurry vision of Matteo Ricco with his head bent and a washcloth in his hand sweeps through me.
Feminine hunger twists my insides at the thought of him caring for me in such a gentle, intimate way.
And respectful. He didn’t wander above my knees.
I banish the image and splash more water onto my face.
There is no way in hell I’ll ever get close to Matteo Ricco again. I’ll work for him with the dogged determination I used to become a lawyer until the end of the contract. After I pay off both my mother’s medical debts and my student loans, I’ll save enough to start my own law firm, terminate my employment with Mr. Ricco, and walk away without looking back.
Even as the thoughts form, I doubt my fortitude.
Revenge against my father is for both me and my mother, but denying Matteo is the same as denying myself because even though his cruelty wounded me deeply, my body and heart crave him.
I’ve stepped in the proverbial shit now and fear I might light my entire lawn on fire instead of wiping my shoes in the grass.
A shiver runs down my spine as I envision Matteo’s thick fingers unlatching the clasps of my sandals. My ankles must have looked so delicate in his masculine hands.
Fresh heat blooms in my core.
Shit.
I’m trapped in a hell of my own making with Matteo Ricco as the devil in charge of meting out my punishments.
It’ll all be worth it once I decimate my father and return my mother’s inheritance back to her tenfold.
I just need to keep my distance from the hazel-eyed demon on the other side of the door while I work for him. He can be nothing but my boss from now on.
I can totally do that. For my mom, I’ll see it through.
I hope.
Chapter 4
Matteo Ricco
Amusement and lust throb through me as Brook darts into the bathroom. With the feel of her long legs wrapped around my hips and her soft ass wriggling in my lap as she nibbled on my throat and ran her hands through my hair still fresh in my mind, I fight against the urge to follow her into the bathroom and demand she finish what she started, but her erratic behavior, slurred words, and vomiting make me think there was more to last night than alcohol.
The thought of her falling prey to another man when she was so vulnerable and desperate fills me with roaring fury. No woman, not even conniving little liars like her, deserves to have their right to choose stripped from them. I grab my phone off the charging station built into the coffee table and send a text to my personal assistant, Liam Brunswick. He replies instantly despite the odd hour. I slip my phone into my back pocket, trusting him to let me know once he’s retrieved the security footage from the restaurant and pause when the sound of rushing water sneaks out from under the bathroom door.
My body’s instant reaction shames me as I picture her naked in the shower, but after experiencing the little flirt’s hands and mouth all over my face, throat, and shoulders, I forgive my cock’s incessant throbbing. I ignore my disappointment as I realize I hear the sink and not the shower.
The black rectangle sitting on the white sheets catches my attention. I smirk in satisfaction and stride to the bed.
Brook Prescott has no idea what she just got herself into. She thought using her daddy’s money to disappear after graduation would save her from my retribution, but the little rabbit hopped right into my trap.
I tap the folder against my palm a few times as I anticipate her reaction to being my lackey. I can’t wait to see her expression when I order her to fetch my coffee, retrieve my dry cleaning, and complete the menial tasks usually reserved for interns.
Delight fizzles through me as I imagine her inept anger as she serves me. The pride in her voice when she declared she was a lawyer was too easy a target to ignore when I drafted the vagueness of her job description. All the money her parents spent on her fancy law degree will be wasted. I’ll enjoy wielding every loophole to my advantage.
My mirth dissipates when I open the folder. Her signature lies stark on the page.
Brook Simons.
She has a different last name.
A block of ice settles in my stomach. I snarl and stalk across the room to her purse. If she’s married, she wasn’t wearing a ring—I’d know since she had her hands all over me—but cheaters rarely do when they go out to break their promises.
With barely leashed fury, I break the cheap fastener of her purse, grab her wallet, and dump the rest of the contents onto the floor, but only a set of keys clinks onto the marble. After searching for hidden pockets and finding none, I tuck her purse against my side with my elbow and open her wallet.
Her driver’s license reads Brook Simons. She’s an organ donor. The address is in a decent apartment building. Beyond her weight, height, and hair color, the plastic rectangle offers me no insights.
I systematically empty each compartment of her wallet before snatching her keys off the floor and flipping through them.
No ring. No pictures. No answers.
I’m not a Prescott. I’m a lawyer.
Was that her veiled way of telling everyone she’s married? If she’s unavailable, why wasn’t that the first thing she said when she woke up? Why hasn’t she mentioned having a husband?
My heart pounds as I recall how her sharp little teeth pinched the sensitive skin of my jugular. Blinding-white rage steals my vision as I imagine her treating another man the same way.
I both envy and hate whichever unsuspecting socialite she dug her claws into.
I shove everything into her purse, chuck it onto the entrance table, and spin back toward the bed only to halt in my tracks as another possibility hits me.
What if she targeted me to use my money and power to get out of an unhappy relationship? It wouldn’t be the first time a woman set her sights on me to improve her social status.
Unwilling to continue spiraling with no answers, I call Liam and order a thorough background check on her.
I’ll know everything there is to know about Brook Simons, and what I can’t learn from research, I’ll pry from her myself. Her secrets won’t remain hidden for long.
The water turns off.
