Sinful Too by Victor McGlothin Page B

strike me as an alright dude, when your ego isn’t getting in your way.” Dior didn’t give him a chance to question her comment. She skillfully shooed him away before allowing room for it to happen. “Okay, goodbye. I have work to do. Call before you come. I’d hate for such a busy man to waste a trip and come up empty.”
    Richard left resentfully, passing Giorgio on the way out of the store. Both men nodded cordially in passing, sizing each other up in the process, then immediately stared at Dior for different reasons. Giorgio was protective, understandably so. Richard clocked the Italian’s swagger, his expensive taste in shoes and clothes. Dior waved at her boss amicably then sent Richard away wondering what, if anything, Giorgio meant to her. Jealousy was written plainly on his face. Dior thought it was a good look for him. She liked it.
    Giorgio, average height with dark skin, was fifty years old. For a workaholic and proprietor of many money-making enterprises, he was incredibly fit. Dior was reminded of that when he removed his sports coat. She eyed him up and down, admiring how Giorgio’s clothes always hung perfectly from his strong wiry frame. His silver hair was a match for the sexy movie star Richard Gere, and his quiet confidence made Dior want to lock the office door and jump him on the desk. The first time she pulled that stunt, a former employee almost walked in on them. Dior grinned at the thought of being discovered straddling the boss. She’d been in a crowded bed before. It wasn’t her proudest moment but she garnered no regrets, reasoning that life had screwed her so often that it was time to get paid for it.
    “Dior? Dior, are you feeling well?” Giorgio asked, after calling her name without getting an answer. He leaned back in the chair, gazing at her peculiarly. “Where is your mind today?”
    Dior smiled innocently, while hiding a stream of guilt running just beneath the surface. “Oh, I’m fine. Just a bit hungry. Next time I’ll get something to eat before coming in,” she asserted calmly.
    “Late night?” Giorgio said slyly. His tone was filled with uncertainty, questions he wouldn’t dare ask outright. He wanted to believe his relationship with Dior didn’t rate an interrogation.
    “Yes, I was up late last night. And yes, I was alone.” She strutted around the desk and stood between his legs to put him at ease. “I painted the downstairs bathroom again. The other color was all wrong, too much mustard.” Dior brushed her hand against his inner thigh. Giorgio moaned under his breath. “You should come by and check your net,” Dior whispered. “It’s been a while.” The rise in his gray slacks was saying yes. His eyes argued against it. She was aware of his other women, those other than her and his wife. Dior teased him about setting mutually beneficial traps, alluring arrangements with hot singles around town, which she sometimes called “nookie nets.” Giorgio had an appetite for erotic diversity and fostered several financial relationships that yielded casual sex when he had time to get away. It was a provocative form of solicitation without having to pay for it by the piece.
    Giorgio stroked Dior’s behind as air in the small room began to thicken. “I called over the weekend for some of this but I got no response,” he said, staring coldly into her eyes. “Was that man, the one I passed out there, the cause of it?”
    “Who? That preacher?” she spat, with her lips twisted disagreeably.
    “He left holding your cell number in his hand. There was no ticket, no purchase, no other reason for his visit. Don’t tell me you’re looking for another job?” he submitted dubiously. That was his way of asking if she was interviewing other men. Dior caught it right off. She unzipped his pants and slid her hand inside them.
    “Nah, baby, I like this one just fine. I can’t give up on a gig that really works for me.”
    “Glad to hear it,” he sighed, with slight