ARIA

This bloody plonker!

The arrogance in his voice grates my ears. His work ethic is appalling. I've put my entire career on hold for him. I'm supposed to be preparing financial reports and interpreting market data for our clients' portfolios. Not putting out fires for a grown-ass man who refuses to do his fucking job. Yet, that's exactly what I've been doing for my new boss over the past two weeks. Every email he ignores, every call he dodges, every text he leaves on read, and every meeting he misses ultimately falls back on me. I'm the one who has to clean up these messes.

I can't believe he has the nerve to ask if I'm making a "good impression" on his undeserving ass!

I've been able to keep my cool until now, acting like the world's most agreeable PA. But I'm reaching my limit. Nicco has no fucking clue that his tardiness almost got me fired today.

"Well?" he prompts.

I know I should swallow my self-respect and give a nice, safe reply like "I hope I'm making a good impression" so we can both get on with our day. Unfortunately, that's not what I end up doing. Something about Nicco and the zero fucks he gives about his job keeps rubbing me the wrong way.

"You tell me," I fire back, trying to be semi-truthful without losing my temper.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I'm not sure if I'll be very effective at my job. You've placed me in a very interesting position."

Interesting—is putting it lightly.

This morning, when Nicco missed his meeting with Ted Manning, one of the senior-level managers from the Investment Banking division, Manning took it upon himself to rip me to shreds in front of the entire office. I apologized profusely and helped cover Nicco's misstep by telling Manning that I had fudged up the times for their meeting. Even though I did no such thing. Manning threatened to get me fired if I ever made a mistake like this again.

"Never have I encountered such a display of incompetence and idiocy!"

I can still feel the spray from his spit when he was screaming in my face.

"One more oversight, Ms. Senarath, and, I assure you, you won't step foot in Jackson & James again!"

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I almost burst into tears on the spot.

"I don't know how you managed to obtain this job, but I intend to hunt down the nitwits who hired you and give them a piece of my mind!"

For a moment, all I can do is stare at Nicco in an irate stupor. I fall speechless as sparks of aggravation threaten to ignite. Something else, unfortunately, is also simmering in me. As I continue to observe him, I can't help wondering how such an utter ass of a human being can be so fucking attractive.

Make it make sense.

Much to my dismay, Niccolò Vitale looks as moanable and fuckworthy as his name suggests. He's the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Yet, his vibe feels casual and sexy. Trendy even. More GQ than investment banking. The top two buttons of his black dress shirt are unbuttoned. No tie. The fit of his gray suit is impeccable. He has a face and body that could coax angels to sin. Beautifully symmetrical features. Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Long, muscled legs.

It doesn't help that he looks to be around my age. Maybe a few years older. He's certainly not fat or bald like the other managers at Jackson & James. If we met under different circumstances, like, at a party or club, I probably wouldn't even hesitate to fall into his lap for a harmless one night st—

No.

No.

No.

I quickly catch myself and my wayward hormones. I can't be thinking this way about my boss. I remind myself that I'm still hella salty about him ditching work for two weeks while I busted my ass to save his ass. With every morsel of my self-control, I fight the mounting aggravation and attraction I feel for the man. I want to slap that smirk off his face. Then, I want to kiss it away. But I have to keep my head on straight. HR will have a heart attack if I act on either impulse.

Like a sexy, clueless idiot, Niccos's dark eyebrows rise up in confusion. "An interesting position? How so?"

My internal chaos seems to be lost on him.

"Don't worry about it," I assure him with a grumpy sigh, "that's my problem. Not yours. Now, if you'll excuse me, I'll take another look at your schedule and try to clear out some of the nonessential activities."

I head for the door.

Nicco calls after me. "Wait."

I glance over my shoulder. "Yes?"

He frowns, appearing to pick up on my prickly mood. "I thought we were on the same page about taking things easy around here?"

"You," I mutter, "are certainly free to take it easy."

"You sound unhappy about our agreement," he observes.

No shit.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes and snort. That would be job suicide. With some effort, I mask my real feelings and try, instead, to keep the peace. "What are you talking about? I'm not unhappy. Some of us simply suffer from RBF."

"RBF?"

"Resting Bitch Face."

Sarcasm has always been my defense mechanism whenever shit gets stressful. Nicco ignores my snark. A pensive look crosses his handsome face when he asks, "Did you get in trouble because I skipped the morning meeting? If anyone gave you a hard time, let me know. I will take care of it."

Surprise trickles through me. This sexy, clueless idiot is surprisingly perceptive. Yet, even though he means well, his offer to "take care of it" triggers something else inside me. He reminds me of the assholes I used to go to school with back at Hawkins. I know he's trying to play the knight to my distressed damsel, but I never asked to be saved. Right then, my anger from these past two weeks boils over, erupting like a lid that can no longer contain a boiling pot.

Manning's nasty lecture clings to my mind. Anxiety over my future at Jackson & James shoots through the roof. I should know better than to let emotions get to me. Investment banking is an industry full of cocky douchebags. Dealing with their bullshit without losing my shit has become second nature at this point. But there's something about Nicco that taps into the hidden rage that I hide away from the world. I resent him. He's the source of my problems.

Frustration flies from my mouth before I can simmer down, "I don't need you to take care of anyone or anything for me. I am perfectly capable of doing my job without special treatment."

Nicco interjects, "I apologize, I did not mean to suggest that—"

Interrupting him, I spew coldly, "It might be nice, however, if, going forward, you pulled your weight once in a while, so the rest of us don't get thrown under the bus whenever you drop the ball."

He glares at me. "Excuse me?"

I glare back. "With all due respect, sir, let me be clear. The only reason I can't do my job is because you don't know how to do yours."

Nicco's perfectly chiseled jaw drops over my outburst.

I'm shocked by my ballsiness as well, and I don't stick around for the consequences of my actions to blow up in my face. Averting my gaze, I duck out of Nicco's office, leaving my boss gaping after me, and wonder with a delayed burst of remorse if I'm about to get myself fired—for the second time this morning, no less—as the world's most unprofessional PA.

All thanks to my big, stupid, impulsive mouth.

I stifle a groan as I slink back to my cubicle. My overachieving heart is breaking at the moment. I hate failing at anything. It makes me feel like shit for days.

Ugh.

I've pissed off not one but two very influential managers at Jackson & James. Might as well chuck my career off the London Bridge and let it sink to the bottom of the Thames.

I'm so fucking dead.

***

NICCO

Shock seizes me as I watch Aria scurry back to her cubicle. I cannot believe that my pretty, soft-spoken assistant has rendered me speechless. The girl is full of contradictions.

Earlier, she went through the trouble of making me a perfect cup of cappuccino.

Yet, she does not seem to like me much.

She obviously knows how to act pleasant. Accommodating.

But, as I have discovered in the last five minutes, it is clear that she can also be utterly savage.

I realize, suddenly, that I was wrong about her. Aria is no godsend. It would be a lie to pretend like her attitude did not sting my pride. For someone with such a sweet voice, her tongue cuts like a blade. She is the opposite of the submissive, biddable angelo I had hoped for in an assistant. She is more like a diavola disguised as an angelo.

I do not like it.

Or do I?

I have only spent an hour in Aria's company, but, already, the girl's effect on me is confusing. She frustrates me. I find myself drawn to the fierce, determined gleam in her eyes. I am also drawn to her in the way red-blooded males are naturally drawn to beautiful women. My attraction to her leads my mind down a dangerous rabbit hole.

Before, I had pegged my assistant as the kind of girl who would prefer to make love gently, sweetly, and respectfully.

Now, I believe—otherwise.

If Aria ever let me fuck her, I suspect I might wake up the next morning with scratches across my back and bite marks along my neck.

A wicked heat washes over me at the thought of this possibility. My cock stirs against my will. It makes me want to rile her up more. Just to see what might happen. My jaw clenches as my Armani trousers grow a bit uncomfortable. Damn their impeccable tailoring. I shift my legs slightly. I need to calm the fuck down if I am to get through the rest of this workday.

Out of necessity, I replay Aria's viperous words in my head, several times, with the intention to tame my unruly prick: The only reason I can't do my job is because you don't know how to do yours.

It almost does the trick. My boner shrinks to half-mast while my mouth sets in a grim line. Indignation seethes inside me. I cannot remember the last time I let any female affect me in such a way.

Sternly, I tell myself: I have no intention of fucking the girl. Fucking her would be messy. Aria is my assistant. She is supposed to be off-limits. She is also rude and abrasive. No one has come close to reprimanding me in such biting tones before.

Through large panes of glass windows, I scan the cubicles outside of my office, seeking out the source of my shitty mood. When I locate Aria's workspace, I cannot help but glare at the back of her head while she taps away at her laptop. Usually, I am not a petty asshole. I possess thick skin and a fairly blasé outlook on life. It takes a lot to ruin my day, but, somehow, my pretty, little assistant has pissed me off.

What right does Aria Senarath have to judge me?

She is a nobody. I am her boss. I am also a Vitale. The girl is meant to answer to me. Not the other way around, damn it. Resolve hardens in me.

I will make Aria rue the very moment she decided to fuck with me.

***

ARIA

I spend the rest of the afternoon tiptoeing around the office on pins and needles. My bluster from moments ago has run its course. A lowly, insignificant employee, like me, at a behemoth bank, like Jackson & James, is extremely replaceable. I have no doubt that I'm treading on thin ice with my new boss.

However, the stubborn bitch in me refuses to fuck up again before the workday is done. I want another chance to prove myself to Nicco.

In my cubicle, I glance over my shoulder every five minutes or so in order to avoid a certain sexy, green-eyed somebody. He's been glaring daggers at me all afternoon. Every time I sense his tall, dark figure approach my vicinity, I dash into the restroom and don't return until the coast is clear.

If the man can't find me, he can't fire me, right?

I sense Nicco will need some time to cool down, and I want to let my effectiveness as a good worker bee speak louder than my harsh words. I'm hoping this fiasco will blow over in a few days as long as I keep my mouth shut and make myself useful.

Over the next few hours, I hunker down and focus on doing my job as though my life depended on it. and when I say my job, what I really mean is Nicco's job. I set up all the necessary software and apps on both of our Jackson & James-issued laptops. Organize my cubicle for maximum productivity. I type up extensive notes on every member of our team so, in the weeks to come, I'll know what the hell is going on in the department Nicco is supposed to supervise. I start memorizing everyone's first and last names, titles, job descriptions, and any potential issues that may need to be resolved regarding the projects and portfolios they're working on.

Unlike a certain sexy, green-eyed somebody, my last name isn't Vitale, so I don't have the luxury of being a clueless freeloader. I need to have my shit together. Failure simply isn't an option.

If I'm not prepared next time Nicco fucks up, Ted Manning won't hesitate to get me fired for real.