The Proposition

Autore

Laila Callaway

Letto da

563K

Capitoli

Autore

Laila Callaway

Letto da

563K

Capitoli

Protettore Contemporaneo Maschi alfa Mafia

Chapter 1

ALEJANDRA

I slam the door to my office with a force that echoes my anger.

That creep!

One moment we’re talking about my restaurant, the next he’s asking me out to dinner. The thought makes my skin crawl. I invited him for the purpose of enticing him to invest in my business, not myself.

He’s over two decades my senior. Not a chance.

I push the thought of him out of my mind. I need a drink.

My office is well-equipped for working, but it could really do with a drinks bar of some sort. Luckily, it’s attached to my restaurant. I have another one, but it’s two hours away in a different city. This flagship location is my pride and joy; my parents started it when they moved here from Colombia.

When I was twenty and in my second year of university, they died in an accident. I inherited the restaurant, and my uncle managed it while I finished my business degree. At twenty-two, I took over and poured my heart and soul into making a name for myself.

Three years later, I’ve opened a second restaurant and have been featured in a local magazine. Both restaurants cater to an exclusive clientele. Not many can afford my prices. I offer fine dining and a luxury experience.

I need an investor, but I’m not settling for that creep. I take a moment to calm myself down and then I step out of my office.

I check my reflection in one of the mirrors hanging in the corridor, smoothing down my bodycon dress. Pushing through the employees-only door, I step into the restaurant in my six-inch heels, acting like I own the place. Oh, wait. I do.

I’ve worked my ass off to make this place what it is. I was handed everything by my parents, but that doesn’t mean I’ve had it easy. Losing my parents was anything but easy.

I hope they’d be proud of what I’ve done. I’m pleased to see that all the tables are filled. It’s only Thursday night, so that’s a good sign. The maître d’, Jeni, spots me and rushes over.

“Boss, I didn’t know you’d be here tonight.” She looks flustered.

I find it amusing when she calls me boss; she’s literally fifteen years older than me.

“Don’t worry, I won’t stay long. Just had a bad meeting with one of the investors. The creep was hitting on me,” I explain and shudder again. “I need a drink and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

I flash her a smile and head for the stairs.

“No problem. Stay as long as you want, boss!” Jeni calls after me.

Bless her, she’s scared of me. I have no idea why. I’m not a horrible boss. I know the staff gets nervous when I’m in the restaurant, so I won’t stay for more than one drink.

I head upstairs to the second level, where we have the more exclusive tables and the bar. I lean against the bar and wait with an amused smile for Rafael to notice me. He’s pouring out the remnants of a cocktail into a glass.

He adds some edible violets and slides the drink over to the waitress. He catches sight of me in his peripherals and smiles, coming over to my end of the bar.

“Hey, boss. What can I get you?”

“Pink gin, elderflower tonic, large,” I order and give him a look that shows what a day I’ve had.

He smirks and gets to work. “Coming right up.”

I scan the room, checking for any notable customers that I might recognize. A table of men in the corner catches my eye. They’ve booked the most secluded table in the restaurant, which I know costs extra.

There are nine of them around a circular table. They all look Italian or Greek, and they’re wearing suits. The one facing my direction catches my eye. He’s so handsome. I can see, even though he’s sitting down, he’s tall.

He has jet-black hair, dark skin, and dark eyes. He’s the epitome of tall, dark, and handsome. He’s leaned back in his chair, relaxed and confident. He runs his thumb over his bottom lip as he listens to one of his colleagues.

I want to look away. This man has an air of danger about him. They all do, actually. Something tells me the work they do isn’t exactly legal. They look like bad news.

Mafia.

If a romance book ever taught me anything, it’s what a table of Mafia members might look like.

As if sensing my gaze, the man suddenly switches his eyes to me. We hold eye contact for a moment, and he lowers his hand from his mouth, giving me full view of his plump lips. His mouth turns up at one side in a smirk, and I manage to tear my eyes away, embarrassed to have been caught looking.

“Here.” Rafael places my G&T in front of me.

“Thank you, Raf,” I mumble and eagerly take a sip.

I grab my drink and sit down at the bar, making sure my back is to the table so I can’t embarrass myself further.

“Rough day?” Rafael asks. For the next half hour, we catch up.

I like Raf. He’s my age, and I don’t often get to talk to many people my age. I only have Hanna, my best friend. I spend the majority of my time doing the accounts for the restaurant and checking our expenditures.

We don’t have a bookkeeper. I do it all. When my parents died, I had to grow up and be responsible much faster than people my age. I don’t often go out, but Hanna manages to drag me out occasionally.

“You know, there’s a gentleman at table thirteen”—this is the exclusive table; I already know who he’s talking about—“who hasn’t taken his eyes off of you. I’m surprised you can’t feel them burning holes into your back.”

I can feel them, actually. I’ve just been choosing to ignore it. I take a large gulp of my drink.

“He’s rather attractive, isn’t he?” I muse.

Raf raises an eyebrow. “Without overstepping the line, boss, it’s been a long time since you got some action. Maybe you should go introduce yourself,” he suggests.

I glare at him. “How would you know?”

Rafael laughs at me. “Because you’d tell me. You always like to come and have a drink here when something big has happened. Tonight is an example of that.”

I roll my eyes and scoff, but he’s right. I consider Raf a friend, and I really do tell him everything.

“You’ve got me there.”

“So, boss, how long has it been? A year?” he asks.

I wince. “Almost two,” I mumble and drink some more.

“You haven’t had sex in almost two years?” he splutters, his mouth hanging open in shock.

“All right, no need to say it so loudly,” I hiss and self-consciously glance around to make sure no one heard.

“I mean this in the nicest way, but how is that possible? You’re hot,” he blurts.

I glare at him. “I’ve been busy! There are a lot of other things on my plate right now.”

“Even the prime minister must find time for a little action,” Rafael remarks with a smirk.

I can’t help but let out a sigh.

“Maybe. Hanna is always pushing me to meet someone when we’re out, but I’m choosy. It’s not easy finding the right guy these days. Most are either scared off by me or they’re just colossal jerks.”

The last time I had sex was a forgettable one-night stand. He was so self-centered he didn’t even bother to check if I was having a good time.

The whole experience was a huge letdown.

“I get it, it’s tough. But honestly, you’re not giving yourself enough credit. You deserve some fun,” he chuckles, and I find myself nodding in agreement.

I finish my drink and express my gratitude to Raf.

I decide it’s time to head home and grab a bite to eat. It’s past seven.

As I get up from my seat, I find myself locking eyes with the handsome Italian man again.

Wow, he’s really good-looking.

But there’s a nagging voice in the back of my mind warning me he could be trouble.

I flash him a quick smile, wave goodbye to Raf, and head downstairs.

“Hey, boss!” Jeni calls out just as I’m about to leave. “Wasn’t sure if you had dinner plans, so I had Michele pack up some of his lobster ravioli for you.” She hands me a bag with a take-out box inside.

“You’re a lifesaver; thank you.”

Well, that’s dinner taken care of.

I hail a cab, and twenty minutes later, I’m stepping into my apartment.

I’m grateful for the solitude. I’m a bit of a clean freak and couldn’t handle messy roommates, but I’ll admit it gets lonely at times.

I unpack the food, kick off my heels, and settle down in front of the TV to savor Michele’s signature dish.

Michele is my head chef, and he’s honestly a big part of why the restaurant is thriving.

After dinner, I draw myself a hot bath and light a few candles. I sink into the water and lean back, relishing the tranquility.

Unable to resist, I slide my hand between my legs and pleasure myself. Being careful not to splash any water out of the tub, I rub myself in small circles.

It doesn’t take long for me to reach a quick but satisfying climax.

I rest my head back against the edge of the tub and sigh contentedly.

Once I’ve dried off, I remove my makeup and flop onto my bed. I respond to some emails and check my social media before turning off the lights.

My dreams are dark and erotic. When I wake the next morning, I’m incredibly horny and my thighs are sticky.

My cheeks flush as I recall who I was dreaming of—the Italian man from my restaurant.

A girl can dream, can’t she?

I fight against my growing desire to see him again. I can only pray that I can control myself if that happens…