Nicco

Ch. 3: The Enemies Part of Enemies-To-Lovers

ARIA

This bloody plonker!

The arrogance in his voice grates my ears. His work ethic is appalling. I've put my entire career on hold for him. I'm supposed to be preparing financial reports and interpreting market data for our clients' portfolios. Not putting out fires for a grown-ass man who refuses to do his fucking job. Yet, that's exactly what I've been doing for my new boss over the past two weeks. Every email he ignores, every call he dodges, every text he leaves on read, and every meeting he misses ultimately falls back on me. I'm the one who has to clean up these messes.

I can't believe he has the nerve to ask if I'm making a "good impression" on his undeserving ass!

I've been able to keep my cool until now, acting like the world's most agreeable PA. But I'm reaching my limit. Nicco has no fucking clue that his tardiness almost got me fired today.

"Well?" he prompts.

I know I should swallow my self-respect and give a nice, safe reply like "I hope I'm making a good impression" so we can both get on with our day. Unfortunately, that's not what I end up doing. Something about Nicco and the zero fucks he gives about his job keeps rubbing me the wrong way.

"You tell me," I fire back, trying to be semi-truthful without losing my temper.

"What do you mean?" he asks.

"I'm not sure if I'll be very effective at my job. You've placed me in a very interesting position."

Interesting—is putting it lightly.

This morning, when Nicco missed his meeting with Ted Manning, one of the senior-level managers from the Investment Banking division, Manning took it upon himself to rip me to shreds in front of the entire office. I apologized profusely and helped cover Nicco's misstep by telling Manning that I had fudged up the times for their meeting. Even though I did no such thing. Manning threatened to get me fired if I ever made a mistake like this again.

"Never have I encountered such a display of incompetence and idiocy!"

I can still feel the spray from his spit when he was screaming in my face.

"One more oversight, Ms. Senarath, and, I assure you, you won't step foot in Jackson & James again!"

I'm ashamed to admit it, but I almost burst into tears on the spot.

"I don't know how you managed to obtain this job, but I intend to hunt down the nitwits who hired you and give them a piece of my mind!"

For a moment, all I can do is stare at Nicco in an irate stupor. I fall speechless as sparks of aggravation threaten to ignite. Something else, unfortunately, is also simmering in me. As I continue to observe him, I can't help wondering how such an utter ass of a human being can be so fucking attractive.

Make it make sense.

Much to my dismay, Niccolò Vitale looks as moanable and fuckworthy as his name suggests. He's the definition of tall, dark, and handsome. Yet, his vibe feels casual and sexy. Trendy even. More GQ than investment banking. The top two buttons of his black dress shirt are unbuttoned. No tie. The fit of his gray suit is impeccable. He has a face and body that could coax angels to sin. Beautifully symmetrical features. Broad shoulders. Tapered waist. Long, muscled legs.

It doesn't help that he looks to be around my age. Maybe a few years older. He's certainly not fat or bald like the other managers at Jackson & James. If we met under different circumstances, like, at a party or club, I probably wouldn't even hesitate to fall into his lap for a harmless one night st—