Because of who I am - I never let anyone get away with stealing from me. Even my own children wouldn’t dare to do it. If someone who worked for me stole from me, they would lose a hand - or worse.
But for some reason the idea of her stealing from me turns me on.
It makes me want to punish her.
And I know how much she enjoys being punished. I’m sure she still has a handprint on her ass cheek from last night. I smacked her with the full intent of leaving my mark on her body. A sort of territorial thing.
“Misha Blake.” I say as I dial the number of one of my men and wait for him to pick up.
“Sir?” he answers professionally.
“Dante, I need you to go back to the restaurant I was at last night. There is a girl who used to work there - Misha Blake. I want her contact details. Her address. Whatever they have on her.”
“Yes, sir. I will get back to you when I have it.”
I hang up and settle back into the sofa, savoring my coffee and wondering how I should approach her once I find her. I’m going to have to make it exciting for her - she’s not the type of girl who would be interested in an average date request. I’ll have to make her an offer she can’t refuse.
While I sit there watching the sun rise, I think about our night together. She brings out a version of me that I had forgotten existed. A version of me that loved life, enjoyed the hunt, someone who was passionate and wild.
She makes me feel alive. Something I’ve been too busy with work to feel.
But now I’ve handed over most of the business responsibilities to my oldest son, Masaccio - and I have plenty of time on my hands. And plenty of money.
And I want a little pet raven to tame. A petite young thing with pitch black hair and bright green eyes.
My cock throbs at the memory of her.
Mm.
Dante had better find her - sooner than later.
I’m already growing impatient.
By late afternoon, my mood is starting to grow dark. I came to my office to distract myself with work and kill some time - but when Dante arrives to tell me he hasn’t managed to find her - I want to murder someone.
“What do you mean she doesn’texist?” I say, as calmly as I can manage. “She was working there last night, she left a good enough impression that the manager, staff and all the customers would never be able to forget her, even if they tried?—”
“Everyone knows who I’m talking about. The girl who threw oil over her boss - theyknowher. And they all call her Misha Blake - but that’s clearly not her real name.” Dante says defensively.
“She used a fake name?” I ask, shocked and impressed at the same time.
“Yes, sir.” There is only one Misha Blake in this city and she’s still in primary school, so I doubt it’s her. I went to the house myself. The real Misha Blake has red hair and freckles and there was no sign of the girl who’s image I pulled off the security footage.
“Alright.” I smirk. “Then run her image through the database. You have her photo. Find her.”
Dante nods and backs out of my office, keeping his eyes on me until he is out of the door. He has worked for me long enough to know that I don’t enjoy bad news. But what he doesn’t realize is that not being able to find her because of her craftiness - it’s not terrible news at all - it’s just become a more interesting game to me.
And it’s made me even more curious about her.
What is she hiding from?
I guess the girl whose first instinct is to throw hot oil over her boss has a few more secrets to uncover.
I lean back in my office chair and fold my arms across my chest.
“Where are you, little raven?” I murmur, narrowing my eyes.
Masaccio walks into my office carrying a folder of paperwork.
