Running From The Mafia CEO
He glances down at my shoes, like it’s a gentlemanly offer, until his head rises again and I can see the excitement lurking in his eyes.
Fuck.
“No,” I shake my head, as politely as possible, with a smile that doesn’t feel anywhere close to genuine or grateful. “I can manage.”
“Don’t knock it until you try it,” he presses with a grin, bending his forearm to flex his bicep. “I keep fit, you know. Not like my brother. He sits behind the desk all day, acting like he’s all that—” his tone turns to snide as he shoots a look over his shoulder, “—as if it takes a genius to run a company.”
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