Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 287(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Jordan sat up in the bed, panting, and stared at his wet boxers in confusion. Had he really just come in his sleep? That hadn’t happened to him since he was a teenager. He couldn’t even remember what he had been dreaming about—just a vague impression of skin and want.
Bizarre.
Shrugging it off, Jordan kicked off his boxers, turned onto his stomach and fell asleep again.
Chapter 5
Jordan woke up feeling cranky and tired. He went to the ensuite and stared in the mirror at his dry skin and bloodshot eyes. This wouldn’t do. He was supposed to be a guy in his twenties, and guys in their twenties didn’t look like this after a bad night’s sleep.
A warm shower and his skin moisturizer helped him feel human again. He would have felt even better if he could’ve used his hair gel and worn his normal clothes instead of the T-shirts and jeans Nate wore, but he could put up with Nate’s lack of style for a week, since he was getting paid handsomely for it. It would be the easiest $180,000 he’d ever made.
Piercing gray eyes flashed to the forefront of his mind, but Jordan shoved the thought away. He wasn’t afraid of the man, no matter how interesting and dangerous that man was. So what if Damiano had seen him last night? Watching a man receive head wasn’t a crime—creepy and somewhat embarrassing, yes, but hardly suspicious. Damiano had probably already forgotten about it; Jordan should do the same. He would keep a low profile for a week, help Ferrara find out who was targeting him if possible, and then receive his paycheck. Easy.
Feeling calmer, Jordan got dressed in a blue T-shirt that flattered his eyes and complexion before slipping into a pair of jeans, and went downstairs.
The house was loud this morning.
It confused Jordan a little, since the wedding wasn’t until tomorrow, before he remembered that the ladies of the family were supposed to arrive from Milan.
Putting on his friendliest expression, he headed toward the sound of voices—toward the living room.
Ferrara was seated in the big armchair by the open windows and he had two little girls in his lap. He was surrounded by a gaggle of smiling women, talking to him animatedly in Italian.
Jordan stared at his normally formidable, unapproachable boss, wondering if he’d woken up in an alternate reality.
The side of his face prickled with awareness, and Jordan stiffened, feeling someone’s eyes on him.
He turned his head and found Damiano lounging on the couch in the far corner of the room, as far from Ferrara and the women as it was possible to be.
Damiano’s eyes met his, and Jordan hoped he wasn’t blushing. He wasn’t really the blushing type, but his face suddenly felt uncomfortably warm as he remembered last night.
Damiano tilted his head slightly and looked at the seat beside him. A silent command to come to him.
Jordan considered refusing or pretending not to understand. He was more than a little miffed, truth be told. He wasn’t some—some underling to be ordered around. But his curiosity won out.
He headed toward Damiano and took the seat beside him with an air of nonchalance, as if he weren’t acutely aware of the man next to him. “Hi,” he said. “Lovely morning, isn’t it?”
Damiano regarded him for a moment. “Why didn’t you sleep in Raffaele’s room?”
All right. Apparently, they weren’t doing small talk.
Jordan raised his eyebrows and put on a mildly amused look. “I’m surprised you found time between fucking that redhead and fucking with your family to spy on our sleeping arrangements.” There. If he mentioned last night’s incident himself, Damiano wouldn’t be able to hold it over his head.
“What makes you think I’m fucking with my family?”
Jordan smiled. “Please. Last evening you were getting a kick out of having them all quake in their boots. What did you do to Andrea to make them so scared?”
The bored look was gone from Damiano’s eyes. Now there was something like curiosity in them as he studied Jordan, as if he were a lowlife far beneath his notice that had just done some unexpected trick.
“Why didn’t you ask your sugar daddy?” Damiano said, his lips curling in derision.
Had Nate been here right now, he would have probably exploded with indignation and denial. But frankly, Jordan didn’t really disagree with Damiano: the power imbalance and financial gap between Ferrara and Nate was so vast, it wasn’t inaccurate to call Ferrara Nate’s sugar daddy, even if their relationship dynamic was different. Of course, the term wouldn’t apply to Jordan if he really were Ferrara’s boyfriend. While he might not be a billionaire, he came from an old, wealthy family and he did pretty well for himself. Not to mention that he was hardly sugar baby material: he was a grown man close to Ferrara and Damiano’s ages.