Affair with the Billionaire

The elevator doors swooshed open and I stormed out. My furious steps startled Miss Caige, the middle-aged secretary guarding the entrance to the office. 

"You're late, Miss Banks," she said without delay, her fingers dancing on the keyboard.

"Only by two minutes." 

She looked at me with a wolf-like stare.

"Twelve," she said, pointing to the round clock hanging behind her head. "The manager has asked for you." 

"Thank you," I muttered as I searched for my ID pass. My hands shook as they roamed through the contents of my handbag. 

A sharp click made me jump. Miss Caige opened the doors and looked at me with a fake smile. I thanked her with a quick nod and entered.

Sofia popped her head over my cubicle and greeted me with a genuine smile. We started working at D’Argenti Corp at the same time, two years ago, and we were the only female fraud investigators in the insurance wing. We were neither friends nor enemies. 

"Have you heard the news?" she asked.

The AC unit roared above her head, waves of cool air tangling her ponytail. It was barely past nine o’clock in the morning, but the Tuscan heat had already laid its scorching siege over the buildings. 

I shook my head in answer to her question as I opened my bottom drawer. I took off my comfortable sandals and slipped into the six-inch stilettos I kept stored in there.

"Il Libro Mastro di Maggio (The Maggio Ledger) is missing," she whispered, her voice trembling from excitement. 

I stopped. Angry shouts came from the manager's office, spreading across the room like thunder. Then the door flew open and his triangular frame appeared. 

"Banks! Get your ass in here. Now," he yelled. 

"Right away, Signore (Mister) Russo," I shouted back, shoving my dusty sandals into Sofia's hands. ‘Hide them,’ my eyes told her.  But I caught her frowning at the sight of my worn shoes. 

"Try catching a taxi in high heels . . . thirty minutes before rush hour," I said as I distanced myself, "and still be ten minutes late." 

A tall man stood in front of the window with his back to the room, his hands resting on his hips. He stared at the giant billboard hanging on the side of the building in front of ours. Next to him, sat on the sofa a pretty blonde with oval facial features. Her eyebrows seemed a bit too elevated to be natural. And her glimmering plump lips made her look needy for attention. 

But my eyes wandered back to the mysterious man. 

"This is Tamira Banks... Our best of the best," Russo said, laughing uncomfortably at his own joke. 

I cringed. It wasn't funny, you fool.

The man turned around and I found myself in great awe. Smooth hair combed to the side and groomed all over. He looked like he had stepped straight off the front cover of a magazine. 

"Signore (Mister) Cosimo di Maggio," Russo presented him.

I reached my hand out to greet him. In response, he flashed his long lashes at me

What a prick. He should get himself good manners or chivalry with all the money he has. 

Russo did all the talking. He informed me about the misplaced item. Well, that thing right there raised my eyebrows. Seriously?

"How can someone misplace a thousand-year-old, thirty-kilogram family heirloom?" I asked, suspicion radiating from my high-pitched voice. 

"It was in my father's possession," Cosimo answered, leaning forward. "He died without ever revealing its location." 

"So it's not lost nor damaged?" I asked.

Russo let out a couple of warning coughs.

"It's worth two billion Euros," he said in a low tone, the words grating his throat. 

"It wouldn't just vanish,” I said, crossing my arms.

I caught a smirk on Cosimo's face as he leaned back on the sofa casually. 

"La Polizia (the police) is working on it discreetly," he said. "We don't want to set off a treasure hunt, so the media doesn't know about it yet."

His lady friend leaned closer and whispered something to him. I had a feeling it was about me. It wasn't Italian, but it sounded like one of the Latin tongues, for I understood a couple of the words. She shamed my long legs and threw shade at my credibility, insinuating that I must have a small or short intellect. 

My inner heat rose to above boiling point as that plastic bitch made fun of me. In a momentary rush, I rotated my body towards them, challenging her to finish saying that sentence to my face. But she stopped. 

"I'm a history major, and I wrote my dissertation on il Libro Mastro di Maggio," I exclaimed, determined to step on her toes. "I even saw it

While leaning back on the sofa, a foxy smile sat on Cosimo's face and I felt his eyes undressing me, his mind measuring me from head to toe. Somehow, his attitude changed. I instinctively flicked my chestnut-ombre waves behind my right shoulder. And he continued staring at me, his dark brown eyes eating me up, his grinning lips drinking me in. 

Only then I realized that I was sitting there as Sharon Stone in Basic Instinct, with my legs spread and my panties on full display. My cheeks flushed, and I crossed my ankles, turning away embarrassed. But the damage had already been done. And I didn't even realize the extent of it. 

This visual was the first thing that crossed my mind. Then Cosimo’s smiling face popped in front of my eyes. The bastard enjoyed peeping under my skirt. What an asshole. 

"That's why Miss Banks is the one we're sending to the Palazzo (palace)," Russo said. 

"What?" My eyes widened, popping out in amazement.

As much as I appreciated him stepping in, this wasn’t helping at all.

"You will be living with the Maggio until you conduct your investigation," he said. 

"What's there to investigate? The police will—" 

"This company got a golden ticket when my father insured the ledger,” Cosimo smirked.

His words weighed the heavy truth. This sort of issue had the power to destroy a hard-earned reputation. I couldn't back down. Finding the ledger was on me.