“Word around town is you got yourself a lady friend.” That’s Alaric. Typical for that son of a bitch to focus right on the female of any subject. I haven’t seen him in ages, so I stand from my chair and go to greet him.
“You heard wrong,” I say as I lift my hand and take his.
“That’s not what I hear.” Now, it’s Matteo’s turn to chime in.
“I don’t even want to know what that douchebag said to you.” I don’t need to clarify who the douchebag is. It’s obviously Lorenzo.
Matteo used to run New York. He was the head of the family. Lorenzo was his cousin and right-hand man and took over for him after he retired.
“My cousin is a total douche.” He laughs, handing me a tumbler. I take a swig. I’ll need it.
“Hey fuck face, I heard that.” Everyone turns to see Lorenzo striding into the room. “And Tobias might not have a woman, but he wants to.”
“Fuck off, Lorenzo.” I level him with my stare.
“That’s not a no.” He grins.
My phone vibrates in my pocket, and I see it’s a text from Gideon. As I swipe the screen, I realize my mistake.
A picture of Skye pops up. She’s walking down the street a block from her law firm.
“Who’s the girl?” Matteo asks.
“That’s the chick he’s obsessed with.” Lorenzo leans forward to grab my phone, but I pocket it before he can.
I tighten my grip on my whiskey, correcting, “My lawyer.”
“—that he’s stalking.” Lorenzo has the maturity of a prepubescent boy.
“For purely business reasons—”
“If by business, you mean obsession, then, yeah.”
“Maybe you’re on to something. She was wearing his shirt when she came to my office,” Trent adds, and I could kill him for that.
“Shut the fuck up, Trent.”
Lorenzo looks me up and down with a shit-eating grin on his face. “Wearing your clothes already? Wow. Are you guys getting hitched next? Is this why you’re retiring?”
“Lorenzo, leave Tobias alone.” Cyrus’s voice leaves no room for confrontation from a normal person, but Lorenzo is not normal. He is a sociopath.
“No can do, Cyrus. He brought her to see me under the guise of fuck knows what and then got all pissy when I started hitting on her.”
“She’s my lawyer,” I hiss.
“And?” Lorenzo looks at me with a bewildered look. “If you aren’t fucking the broad, why can’t—?”
He doesn’t even get the words out before I step up and brace my hands around his throat.
“Did I hit a chord with that one?” He chuckles.
I don’t apply pressure. It would be so easy, but I’m only making my opinion on Lorenzo fucking my lawyer clear, which, in turn, has also made something else clear: Lorenzo is on to something. I drop my hands, and the bastard grins.
“Just admit you want her.”
“No,” I fire back.
“Only because you can’t have her.” He needs to shut the fuck up before I really do murder him. Texas Chainsaw–style.
“You’re a real prick, Lorenzo.” Alaric chuckles behind us.
“What’s your deal with this chick, then?” Lorenzo presses me.
I let out a long, drawn-out sigh. This man is a dog with a bone. He won’t stop until I give him something. Moving toward the table, I pull the chair out and take a seat. Lorenzo follows suit as do the rest of the men already here. We are still waiting for a few, so I might as well get this over with.
I choose my words carefully.
“Ms. Matthews and I have met before.”
“And?” Lorenzo pushes.
Fuck.
Lorenzo’s head bobs up and down in understanding, a smile breaking across the bastard’s face. “Ahh, now I get it.”
“Get what?” Trent asks him, completely ignoring my presence and, in turn, the conversation.
“It was such a bad night she didn’t remember him,” he clarifies, barking out a fucking laugh. I’m about ready to take back my stance from two minutes ago on not kicking the shit out of Lorenzo.
Instead of getting up, I grit my teeth together and answer him. “No, Lorenzo. It’s not like that. This is from years ago, and no, she didn’t remember me.”
“And you want to make her life hell . . .” he trails off before looking over at Trent. “Bro, I don’t think that’s a good plan. Look at Trent over there.” He nods at him, and Trent inclines his head in agreement. “Maybe you should just tell her who you are.”
“No.” My voice is rough and abrasive. They won’t change my mind about this.
“Well, now that we got the gossip out of the way, can we play cards?” Cyrus huffs, probably already annoyed with us.
“You’re waiting for me, mate,” a familiar British voice says, and I turn to look behind my back. James approaches the table.
“What are you doing here?” I ask.
“I heard Alaric was coming in and realized the wanker gave me no choice.”
“Yeah, not sorry,” Alaric jokes, and then with everyone around the table, the cards are finally shuffled.
Lorenzo leans into me. “Everything good with the shipment?”
“No problems,” I answer.
“And Gideon?”
“He’s ready for the transition. Don’t worry, Lorenzo.”
“I’ll kill you if he’s not.” His voice is serious, but I know he’s full of shit. Lorenzo might be cruel, but he would never hurt one of us. He would die for us.
“I have no doubt you would try.” I smirk at him, letting my guard down for a second. Lorenzo is quiet as if contemplating what else bothers him, and then he opens his mouth to speak.
“And what about Bernard? Are we going to war?”
“I need to check a few things, but it’s looking that way.”
I don’t need to ask any of the men at this table if they are marching into battle with me. I already know the answer.
Yes.
16
Skye
I check my watch for the fourteenth time.
Still running late.
No matter how many times I lift my wrist and pray that time has started to go backward, it hasn’t. Instead, every time I check, I’m taunted by the fact another minute has passed, and I’m still looking for my left shoe.
Last night, I came home in a huff, opened a bottle of wine, and threw my shoe . . . somewhere. Two things are clear from this. One: I need to take better care of my things. Two: I probably shouldn’t drink an entire bottle of wine by myself.
My only saving grace this morning is that I’m not that hungover. That’s not to say I don’t have a headache, but I chalk that up to the fact I have been searching for my shoe for the past five minutes.
This is getting annoying.
Two more minutes pass before I’m on hands and knees, pushing my couch forward. Bingo. We have a winner. How in the hell my left heel got lodged behind the back of my couch is beyond me, but I really need to thank whoever advised me to drink Gatorade before bed after drinking.
Lifesaver. Moving forward, no matter how stressed I am from work, I will not be doing what I did last night.