Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 69138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69138 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“This here is wrong,” Ferrara said, laying a hand on Nate’s shoulder and leaning over to point something on the screen.
Inhaling shakily, Nate nodded, seeing nothing, his head empty of all thought.
He wanted to grab the asshole by the tie and—
Focus.
If he didn’t know better, he’d think the bastard was being all over his personal space on purpose, trying to drive him crazy. But that made no sense. Raffaele was the one who had said that Nate was being disgustingly needy and cuddly. It would make no fucking sense for him to enable that behavior. Right?
“Nate, are you going to lunch with us—Oh. Good morning, sir. I mean, good afternoon, Mr. Ferrara.”
Nate exhaled in relief when Raffaele pulled away from him and straightened up.
Nate smiled shakily at Sasha, a cheerful girl from the marketing department, and got to his feet. “Sure,” he said, putting his computer to sleep. His hands didn’t shake. Much. “I’ll finish this after lunch, sir,” he said quickly, without looking at Raffaele, and strode toward Sasha, who was waiting for him by the elevator.
“Holy crap, did you see the look on his face?” Sasha whispered quietly, taking his arm. “I nearly pissed myself. How can you put up with him all the time? You should be given a medal!”
Nate pressed his lips together. “He’s not that bad,” he said, and then immediately wanted to smack himself.
He’s not that bad? Really?
From the look on Sasha’s face, she clearly thought he was nuts.
Just great.
Nate resolved to do better, but try as he might, he couldn’t seem to quash the urge to defend Raffaele to his co-workers as they shared lunch. The worst part was, it genuinely bothered him when his friends bad-mouthed him. It had never bothered him before. But now he couldn’t seem to shut up whenever one of his friends said something cutting about Raffaele.
“How is that fucking fair that Linden was fired just because he said he wouldn’t work overtime?” Ron said, to a chorus of agreement from his co-workers. “He’s an asshole.”
Nate bit his tongue, trying to stop himself from speaking again, but it was useless. “Linden wasn’t fired for refusing to work overtime,” he said, fixing his gaze on his mug of coffee. “He was fired for going to that journalist and spreading false information that the overtime is forced and unpaid. You know it isn’t true.” Those nasty rumors spread like wildfire, causing hundreds of clickbait articles that made people “cancel” the company. Nate had his issues with the Caldwell Group’s corporate policies and crunch, but that time the backlash was uncalled for.
“Well, yeah,” Ron said, deflating a little. “But it’s not like we can really refuse to crunch—being paid triple is too good an offer to turn down. Only an idiot would turn it down.”
Nate nearly snapped, If you’re too greedy to turn it down, don’t blame it on him.
But he held the scathing remark back. Barely.
By the time the lunch was over, Nate felt pain in his knuckles from how hard he had been clenching his fists, and he was incredibly annoyed with himself for feeling so damn protective of a man who didn’t deserve it. Raffaele wasn’t a good man. His co-workers’ complaints and grievances were partly justified. Partly. Because they weren’t really being fair to him. Raffaele wasn’t a hypocrite. They didn’t know how much he worked. They didn’t know that Raffaele was one of the last people to leave the building every day—and he actually wasn’t paid for that. They didn’t know him. They didn’t know him like Nate did.
“For fuck’s sake,” Nate muttered under his breath, heading back to the office.
Stop. Just stop.
***
“What happens in Italy, stays in Italy” was a good idea. In theory.
In practice, Nate just couldn’t look at Raffaele—Ferrara, dammit—with the same eyes. Not when he knew exactly how his boss looked under his designer suits. Not when he knew what it felt like to sleep curled up next to him, with his hand on his bare chest, feeling his strong, steady heartbeat. Not when he knew what that mouth and that stubble felt like against his face, his mouth, his belly, his inner thigh, his—
Nate ripped his gaze away and tried to focus it on the project leader reporting on his progress.
Job. He must focus on the job. Raffaele was his boss. Nothing more.
But a few moments later, his gaze was drawn back to Raffaele, as though by a magnet.
He stared at Raffaele’s strong fingers playing with his pen absentmindedly while Raffaele listened to the report, and licked his suddenly dry lips as he remembered those very fingers pushing into him, fingering his hole loose, preparing it for his cock.
Nate’s cock went from half-hard to painfully hard in an instant. He bit the inside of his cheek, hating himself a little, but it seemed his stupid body hadn’t gotten the memo that it wouldn’t be getting this man on top of him and inside of him ever again.