LEVI'S POV
"Me, a fuckboy? I knew Franco was up to no good," I muttered, my annoyance simmering just beneath the surface. How could he accuse me of that? Sure, I had a wild past, but that was ancient history. Franco didn't have a clue about who I really was.
I stared at Isabella's message on my phone, frustration mounting. Why did Franco feel the need to spill my old secrets? Did he even know anything about it or it's just office gossip?
“Why would he tell her that? And now she's asking me to keep it a secret. Would it be too petty to sack him? I mean, since he now claims to know too much about me, he might as well use that to get a job elsewhere.” I thought.
He doesn't know me. None of them do.
I stared at the message again, frustration and resentment bubbling within me as I leaned back in my chair. The evening had slipped away unnoticed since I returned from the apartment, lost in thoughts that revolved around her.
I allowed her to sleep in, wanting her to finish her day without any worries about work or any other thing. I can worry, but not her.
The urgent meetings that beckoned me now required my attention, but I found peace in the thought of her, a welcome distraction from the mundane tasks that filled my evening.
One thing was certain: her desire had been greatly shifted today. She seemed more wanting to Mr. L than Levi lately.
Or perhaps her current state was merely a lingering effect of her anger toward me, as her boss.
Then again, maybe it was just the day itself that made her love Mr L.
The mere thought of it made my cock twitch involuntarily.
It had been the best day of my life. The best sex ever and I've had a lot to compare with but nothing can compare nor even compare with what I had with her today.
The mere memories made me want to leave this work and touch myself to it.
Damn it.
Already, I missed her.
I needed her presence more than ever.
Me: I'll keep your secret.
I finally replied, hoping to alleviate any concerns stemming from my prolonged silence.
Isabella: Thank you, Master. I'm very happy now. I'm sure you will keep my secret.
Me: Why are you happy? Is this because you have a free day?
Isabella: No, no. It's because of you. In front of you, I felt compelled to express all my emotions without hesitation. You were right; there is a softness in me. Thank you for allowing me to reveal it.
A smile crept onto my lips, warmed by her sincerity.
Me: My sweet girl.
I typed, grinning quietly to myself. She was sweet. Remarkably good. I found myself growing fonder of her with each passing moment. I really like her.
Isabella: Master, the food delivery is at the door.
Me: Okay. Eat well and text me afterward.
Later, my phone beeped, signaling a message from Isabella.
Isabella: Master, I've finished dinner. It was delicious. Thank you.
I smiled at my phone, effortlessly typing with one hand while meticulously adjusting the week's schedule that Mark had sent over for my final review.
Me: Anything for you.
Isabella: I'll be heading back to the hotel. Looking forward to seeing you next time, Master.
I quickly typed out a reply.
Me: "Me too."
Although the next meeting hadn't been explicitly mentioned between us, Isabella's natural expectation didn't seem tinged with anxiety or uncertainty. She trusted me implicitly, confident that I wouldn't let her down.
That trust both comforted and unnerved me. How would she react when I finally told her the truth? I exhaled.
I was treading on dangerous ground, acutely aware that one wrong step could lead to my downfall.
My heart skipped a beat as a sudden longing to see her again washed over me.
I hastily closed my laptop after finalizing the schedule and sending the draft to Mark. I couldn't shake the worry that I might have overlooked a crucial detail but that can wait.
Throwing on a hoodie, I took the elevator to her floor, ‘Number 8’ hiding in a corner and waiting.
After a few minutes, Isabella emerged from the elevator, a smile brightening her face as she skipped down the hall. She seemed to float on air, dressed in the gown I had bought for her, a small bag in hand.
Further down the corridor, a door silently swung open—her room door.
I watched Isabella trot toward it, her gown billowing like a white butterfly's wings around her knees.
I loved watching her like this. She seemed so happy. So carefree.
After a while, I returned to my own room.
In the days that followed, both of us were consumed with busy schedules. My messages as Mr. L became less frequent over the next week. I knew she would see it as a silent acknowledgment front me that she would be starting a new routine. That way she loves me even more for respecting her.
I, too, found myself caught up in various commitments so the decrease in communication also served another purpose: maintaining a clear boundary between business and pleasure. It was a necessary separation for now, even if she didn't quite grasp the rationale behind it.
The F1 season was in full swing, with the Melbourne leg proving promising for the Ferrari team's aspirations this year.
By Wednesday, our entire team flew to Azerbaijan together. Isabella resumed her meticulous and organized approach from the previous week. Her confidence had grown since the last race, and she approached her tasks with even greater preparation. In addition to the usual practice, qualifying, and race day, the Azerbaijan organizers added a sprint qualifying race to spice up the competition.
This addition divided opinions among teams; while it offered drivers a chance to earn additional points, it also posed risks to the cars' conditions ahead of the main race.
The Ferrari team opted for a cautious strategy, prioritizing stability in the main events while recognizing the importance of maintaining a strong public image, led by Isabella in PR.
She was making steady progress, and I ensured she was entrusted with crucial responsibilities.
Somewhere in my heart, I knew that with Isabella, I could build an empire. Together, we would be unstoppable. Maybe it's time to take the next step.