Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128290 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 641(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
The dinner I took Boston to wasn’t only to show the Mitchells their desire for my wife would get them nowhere, because she was already mine. That was simply the bonus to the business meeting that night. The Mitchells found out someone was trying to upsell their products to fluff their own pockets. Much to Gorgio’s displeasure, he couldn’t find the answer on his own, so he asked me to do it for him.
My specialty might be in security detail, in finding and hiding all tangible things, so my initial reaction was to decline. That, and no part of me believed I was the only person who could help him with his little job, especially when the first photo of Boston and I together had surfaced only the day before that night. He wanted to see if the tabloid was true as much as I wanted to prove it was.
We both used the opportunity for personal gain, but at the end of the night, when he offered me the contract, I signed it, knowing I had men I could toss at his little problem without doing any of the work. I’d hurt his pride, take his money, and squash his son’s dreams of marrying my wife all with one signature.
And I did all that, delivering them the name of the dumbass bottom-feeder who pissed them off not two days later.
“But what about your contract could they possibly be interested in, if anything?”
“I don’t know, but it would be stupid to assume it’s a coincidence. The bigger question, though, is why do they seem so interested in getting what they want from my wife instead of me?”
“Because they know something we don’t,” Mino mutters as if that part fell to the back of his mind for a moment. “Does this mean we can’t trust Bastian’s word on his little friends?”
I sigh, looking back at my wife, smiling and chatting with Katana, before meeting his stare once more. “It means we can’t trust anyone.”
Chapter
Twenty-Seven
Boston
Enzo hasn’t been in our bed in four days. He’s here for breakfast, and then he’s gone until the following morning rolls around. Rinse, wash, repeat.
It’s getting on my fucking nerves.
“Stop frowning, you’ll get wrinkles.”
“No one must have warned you of such a thing, did they, Grandma?”
She mutters something about me being impossible and tries to take the half bottle of champagne left beside me, but I yank it from her grasp before she can, pouring another glass, just as Katana walks out in yet another ball gown.
Same as the last ten she tried on, this one has her frowning down at her body. Her eyes pop up to mine. “Can’t I just wear the dress I wore to the fundraiser?”
“If you want someone to cut it off your body simply to draw attention to your lack of commitment and care—it will likely be my sister, by the way—to the Greyson Society then sure, go right ahead. Recycle.”
Katana laughs, but when I don’t join in, her mouth drops open. “You’re actually serious?”
“And you’re actually annoying.” I roll my eyes, pushing to my feet and heading toward the door. “I’m over this. Pick a dress or don’t, I’m out.”
“You can’t just leave me here,” she squeaks, frantically looking around the place.
“Grandma is here, your guard is here, and this place is owned by one of our own. You’ll be fine and Nicholas will come back for you.”
“Boston, wait!”
I don’t wait.
Bottle in hand, I head toward my guard, waiting until he opens the door to signal the car is ready and waiting, and together we walk out.
Nicholas has the privacy window rolled down, and glances over his shoulder, his grin pointed at the bottle now settled in my lap. “Where to, your highness?”
“The Enterprise.”
Nicholas’s eyes widen at that, and he starts to shake his head, but I’m already rolling up the privacy screen, lifting a brow just as he disappears from sight.
Considering I left my glass on the tabletop, I lift the heavy bottle to my lips, glaring straight ahead, and I remain that way for the next ten minutes, mindlessly spinning my ring on my finger.
Enzo told me he’d disappoint me often, blah blah blah, but I’m not disappointed. I’m pissed.
And horny.
And where the fuck is my husband?
It’s not until my guard lifts his left hand, looking down at the watch on his wrist for the third time this trip that I snap. “Do you have somewhere else you need to be?” Maybe wherever my husband has been.
It takes the man a moment to realize I’m talking to him, seeing as how it’s in his job description not to talk to me. Or look me in the eye. Or tell me his name.
But he does two of those things a moment later.
Of course, it’s likely because I now have a knife to his carotid, though I’m pretty sure they’re instructed to take the blade rather than break the rules.