The Boss's Son

5. Surprise

"As we didn't delve much into the specifics of our arrangement yesterday," Elio begins, his voice smooth and confident as he closes the door behind him, breaking the quiet rhythm of my pencil scratching against paper. I glance up, my concentration on my homework shattered by his presence.

I set my pencil down and swivel in my chair to face him. "I'm all ears," I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, even though my pulse quickens at the sight of him.

He takes a deep breath, as if preparing for something important, and then begins to speak, his tone serious and deliberate. "Alright, here's how this is going to work. First and foremost, there's no love. It's strictly off the table—no feelings, no romance." He pauses, his gaze sharp as it locks with mine. "Second, no jealousy. There might be other... company from time to time, and I don't want any drama. And finally, the most important rule: we keep this between us. No one can know. Not your father, not my father, no one."

A strange pang hits me in my chest. Disappointment, maybe? Or something deeper? I had foolishly let myself imagine more—dates, laughter, maybe even something public between us. The idea of him wanting me and only me. But I swallow those thoughts, keeping my face neutral, not wanting to reveal the sudden ache. I lift my chin slightly, pretending it doesn't matter. "So, just sex?" I ask, my voice steady, though my emotions churn inside.

"Just sex," he confirms, his eyes never leaving mine, his tone final. Despite the weight of his words, the thought of it—just sex with Elio Bozza—ignites something wild in me. The disappointment turns into something else, something reckless. His presence alone is magnetic, and my body can't help but respond to the unspoken promise of what's to come.

He strides toward me, a dangerous smile playing on his lips. "Now come on, I have a surprise for you."

Before I can process his words, we're moving, leaving the comfort of the staff lounge. As we walk, I open my mouth to mention telling my dad that I'm leaving, but he beats me to it.

"I've already taken care of it," he says dismissively, a hint of impatience threading through his tone. "Now, let's go."

We exit through the back door and walk toward his sleek black Range Rover parked in the alleyway. The car's dark, polished exterior gleams under the streetlights. I slide into the passenger seat, sinking into the plush leather. "Nice ride," I comment, trying to ease the growing tension between us.

"Thanks," he says, flashing a smile that seems almost too effortless before focusing back on the road.

For a moment, we drive in silence, the low hum of the engine the only sound between us. But then, without warning, I feel his hand—a cool, steady touch—on my upper thigh. My heart stutters, and I glance over at him, but his face is unreadable, his eyes fixed on the road as though nothing unusual is happening. His calm demeanor only heightens the heat spreading through me. His hand inches closer to a spot that sends a rush of warmth through my entire body. I shift in my seat, trying to focus on anything but the burning sensation his touch creates. My breath catches in my throat, and I bite my lip, willing myself to stay composed.

A few minutes later, just as I'm about to break the silence, he withdraws his hand, leaving a strange emptiness in its place. "We're here," he says.

We've pulled up in front of an upscale apartment building. I blink, stepping out of the car and closing the door behind me. The night air is cool against my heated skin, and I take a deep breath to steady myself.

Elio appears beside me, his hand slipping naturally into mine as if it's the most ordinary thing in the world. "Come on," he says, leading me toward the entrance.

As we walk in, the doorman at the front desk greets him. "Good evening, Mr. Bozza."

"Evening, Derek," Elio replies, his tone casual. Derek's eyes flicker toward me, curiosity in his gaze, but I give him a polite smile and keep walking, my hand still in Elio's. We step into the elevator, and Elio presses the button for the 13th floor. He slides a card through a small slot, and the elevator begins to ascend smoothly. My mind races as we rise, my thoughts trying to catch up with the situation.

When the elevator doors slide open, I realize we've stepped directly into Elio's apartment. There's no hallway, no entryway—just a luxurious living space unfolding before me. My eyes are immediately drawn to the massive floor-to-ceiling windows that offer a stunning view of the city, the lights sparkling against the dark backdrop of the night. It's breathtaking, like something out of a dream.

I walk over to the window, pressing my hands against the cool glass, gazing out at the world below. "Wow," I breathe, more to myself than to him.

Elio watches me from a few feet away, the corner of his mouth twitching into that familiar smirk. "So," I say, turning to face him. "What's my surprise?" I can't help but smile back, curiosity tugging at me.

He stretches out his arm toward me, palm open. Without hesitation, I place my hand in his, the warmth of his skin sending a thrill through me. He leads me upstairs, our footsteps echoing in the quiet. When we reach a door at the end of the hall, he pushes it open to reveal one of the largest, most luxurious beds I've ever seen. The room is spacious, with dim lighting casting a soft glow over everything.