“Should I forward this to Dad?” he throws over his shoulder.
I stop midway to the door and point to him. “No, make sure no one sees that.”
Ashton frowns, and I know it’s because Arloe’s father is exactly the kind of mark we go after. Wealthy men who come from old money with connections we can use to our benefit. We mostly deal with local benefactors, as it’s easier to keep tabs on them. But if my father knew that the girl I let escape was the daughter of a politician and the heir to a multi-million-dollar franchise, he’d surely make her his next target. And the fucked-up part about all of this is, I’ll do whatever he requires to bring her family down.
“Okay, you got it,” Ashton finally accepts, and I watch him clear the screen. “This is between me and you.”
I use my eyes to let him know I appreciate him understanding and exit his room. It doesn’t take me long to reach the bottom of the stairs. When I do, I call out Alfredo’s name, and he appears a second later.
“My car. I’m leaving.” I pull my phone from my pocket to check the time, throwing back my shoulders and lifting my chin in a show of superiority.
It’s a little after six in the evening, and I’m already itching to get back to Arloe. I stare at the torn page with her number on it, my mind racing a mile a minute. In the beginning, I’ll admit, I was only thinking with my dick. Having her in my store, seeing how demure she’d become, a stark contrast from the feisty little thing who’d hounded me outside her shop, sparked my interest. It was more about the power I felt as I stood behind her, bearing witness to her sharp, heavy breaths and how afraid she was. But it quickly shifted when I realized that though I scared her, she didn’t really fight that hard to get away. Not to mention, she kept her mouth closed just as she promised she would. And now, knowing what Baby just unveiled about her, has me more intrigued than I already am.
I think back to today and how beautiful she was in her element. I stood in the doorway for several minutes, witnessing the way she lit up. It was pretty obvious in that moment that books are her life. I never would have pegged her for a slutty romance reader. She looks like a girl who loves the classics, Shakespeare and shit like that. But as she listened to that man give a poor depiction of what falling in love with a Mafia boss looked like, I watched her.
Every rise and fall of her chest, the way her breathing changed when he got to the sexy scenes, the subtle act of crossing her legs to apply friction to her lower half. She was turned on from fake words, and my cock strained against my slacks knowing it had that effect on her. It took a lot for me not to laugh aloud at the blatant misrepresentation of what the mob life is like. But, I did, however, chuckle internally at the fact people really romanticize the shit.
Don’t get me wrong, it comes with its perks. The money, the cars—the women. But it’s nothing like how, what’s his face, described. There is no glamour, only darkness and destruction. Arloe’s in for a rude awakening, and though something tells me to leave her be, I can’t wait to corrupt her.
Alfredo breaks my thoughts, letting me know my car is out front. I didn’t drive myself today, but I’m starting to wish I had. That way I can keep Arloe a secret. Having a driver taking us places means there’s a chance one of them can spill my whereabouts to my father. If he knows just how deep my intentions go for this woman, he’ll ruin things as he always does.
Just as I’m about to exit my childhood home, Jude’s voice rings out in the distance.
“E.” He’s at the top of the stairs. “Dad needs us to handle something.” Jude turns away before I can respond.
A wave of disappointment washes over me, but I quickly push the notion out of my head. I stuff her number and my phone into my pocket, straighten my posture, and join my brother in my father’s office once more.
Chapter Five
Arloe
“I’m going to lunch,” Greer says and snatches her purse from underneath the register. “You sure you don’t want me to bring you anything? I’m checking out that new salad shop down the street.”
I look up from what I’m doing. “Uh. Yes,” I accept her offer with my fingers outstretched as I fumble around to gather my thoughts. “If they have it, can you order me the Southwest Asian?” Remembering my clutch, I lean down to pull a twenty from my wallet. “If not, a Caesar salad works.”
Greer retreats and takes the money from me. “You got it,” she adds on her way out the door.
“Oh, and Greer.” She pauses. “A peach tea, too, please.”
She nods and before I know it she’s gone, making her way in the direction of Easton’s jewelry shop. The thought of him rips through me, and stand up straight. It’s been three days since he waltzed into my store making demands of me. Disrupting my flow and creeping into my mind.
And he stayed there, the memory of him, the scent of his cologne, the closeness. It’s all trapped in my mind, festering and teasing me. The day went on, yet I couldn’t stop thinking about him. I still can’t stop thinking about him. Even when Tatum asked me out, all I could think about is Easton.
I don’t know if it’s curiosity, fear, or pure infatuation. I should be happy he never showed up. Because that’s crazy, isn’t it? He threatened to kill me—or let his brother do the job, rather. He’s the bad guy, one of the ones I read about. The type of man I know I should steer clear of.
The door chimes, and I shake my head to clear my mind. Easton is a plague, and he’ll ruin me if I let him. The part that scares me the most is how badly I think I want that.
“Welcome to Ever After Books,” I say, feigning excitement, when really I’m a jumbled mess.
I make eye contact with the customer. He’s young, barely appears to be in his early twenties. His hair is a mess, and he’s carrying a box. I frown when he steps toward me, an awkward smile on his face. He’s nervous, and that sends the same emotion running through me.
“Are you Arloe?” he asks, his voice cracked and meek.
I swallow, unsure if I should be honest or lie and send him on his way. “Yes…what can I do for you?”
The boy shoves the box in my direction, nodding aggressively for me to accept it. Annoyance paints his face when I don’t do as he wishes.
“Listen, lady, some guy paid me a hundred bucks to bring this to you. So would you take the damn box?”
I flinch at his tone, reluctantly allowing him to place it in my arms. “What is it?” I glance down at the box, my face twisted so badly I feel the wrinkles forming.
“I didn’t ask,” he snaps while holding out a bag that I hadn’t noticed he was carrying, then storms out of the door.
I watch in total confusion as he shifts from side to side before finally rushing across the street, seemingly unfazed that he’s almost hit by a car. The driver is fussing with him, but I tune the scene out and point my gaze to the item in my hand.
It’s a soft, black velvet casing with a logo etched into the top. It’s heavy in my grasp, and from the feel of it, expensive. I set it down on the counter and run my hands along the edges, trying to determine how to open it. I get my answer when I locate the Velcro flap at the tail end of it.