Giancarlo eyed the fountain pen.
What the…?
There had always been something strange about Ian Basti, but he'd never quite been able to put his finger on it.
He cleared his throat. "I know you're interested in my daughter."
"Was," Ian corrected flatly. "Get out of my—"
"You're surprisingly not a very good liar, Mr. Basti."
Ian arched a brow.
"Before I was a father, I was a young man too. And anyone with eyes can see the way you look at her."
"Mr. Giancarlo—"
"No man who looks at a woman the way you look at my daughter would lose interest that easily. You're lying to yourself if you think so."
Ian dragged a frustrated hand through his hair. "Is this why you're here? Because if it is, I need you to leave my office."
Giancarlo shook his head slowly.
"I want your help," he said.
Ian narrowed his eyes. "With?"
