Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65054 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 325(@200wpm)___ 260(@250wpm)___ 217(@300wpm)
“I’m sure it was just a filing discrepancy,” I say casually.
“One that would have cost my company millions of dollars in the first year. Either no one caught it, or no one was meant to catch it because it was someone’s personal payday. Thank you.”
It’s the first kind word he’s said to anyone all day, and he’s reserved it for me. It’s hard not to feel a little pleased.
After a quick lunch, we do a site tour, which unfortunately runs through a half-built building with nothing but industrial fans. At some point, I’m sure I’m going to pass out. Dominic looks at me with concern.
“Are you okay?” he asks.
“Just hot,” I murmur.
He narrows his eyes at me.
“You look a little pale,” he says, like it’s an accusation. “And you were throwing up on the plane last night.”
“Motion sickness,” I assure him. “And the paleness is just the heat.”
He nods. “Why don’t you go back to the lounge and wait for me. We’re almost done here.”
Once again, his kindness shocks me. It’s gruff and sharp around the edges. Most people would call it basic human decency. For Dominic Vieri, it’s as kind as he gets.
Ten minutes later, he finds me in the lounge sipping on a large, overpriced bottle of water.
“Bad news,” he tells me. “We’re here for another night. There’s a storm moving through.”
I sigh and nod, already dreading another night trapped in a penthouse with him. After avoiding him for so long, all this alone time is getting into my head. What if something happens? No one would be there to drag us back to rational thought.
Thankfully, I crash on my bed the second we get back to the hotel, and I don’t wake again until Dominic knocks on my door the next morning to tell me the town car’s here. I don’t even bother changing. I didn’t pack another outfit anyway.
When we land back in New York, I could kiss the ground. The flight home was just as brutal on my stomach, and I spent most of it clinging to the tiny toilet. I’m pretty sure I’ll never fly anywhere again.
Dominic insists on me taking a town car back to Queens, but I think that’s overkill. I leave him at the office and take the subway back home, promising I’ll stay home the next day to make up for the long weekend. Overall, it wasn’t a huge disaster. It could’ve gone a lot worse.
As I pass my corner bodega, though, I catch a display for tampons and realize I haven’t gotten my period yet.
It should’ve come last week.
Shit.
12
DOMINIC
Rafe is sitting in my office when I walk in on Monday morning.
“How was Vegas?” he asks with a smirk.
“A nightmare,” I tell him. “They were trying to skim four percent off the top of the deal. I think Calderone had something to do with it.”
“Why is that?”
I shrug off my jacket and drape it over my chair, then toss him the Ardent contract. “I traced the plan for that extra four percent. It was going to a ‘consultant.’”
“One of Enzo’s?” he guesses.
I nod. “Marble Ridge Consulting,” I confirm. “Sound familiar?”
“The same company that Bell Tower used in Jersey and Franklin used in Boston. Both had Calderone ties.”
“So,” I sigh, “he’s finally done it. He’s finally found a way into my operations.”
Rafe curses under his breath. “We’ll put a stop to it,” he says fiercely. “When has Enzo Calderone ever won against you?”
“There’s a first time for everything, isn’t there?” I ask, leaning back in my chair and pinching the bridge of my nose. “And those assholes really thought I wouldn’t notice. I guess technically I didn’t. Sofia was the one who picked up on it.”
“Ah.” Rafe laughs. “This is all making more sense now.”
I look up at him warily. “Don’t start,” I warn.
“Oh, I’m starting,” he says, leaning back in his chair with a satisfied grin. “Let’s be honest, all I really wanted to know about your trip is what happened with her. Tell me it was more interesting than her finding an accounting error.”
“A big fucking accounting error,” I remind him. “And not an error. A deliberate move against—”
“Blah, blah, blah,” he interjects. “Don’t tell me you flew her all the way to Vegas in a private jet and nothing happened between you two.”
I glare at him. “Nothing did happen,” I say seriously. “We slept in separate rooms in the penthouse and she was sick for most of the plane ride.”
Some of the light leaves his eyes. Nosy bastard. For as long as I’ve known Rafe, he’s been a shameless gossip.
The truth is, the only reason nothing happened is that I tore myself apart to stay away from her. That first night, it took every ounce of self-control I had not to cross the penthouse and knock on her door. I spent most of the night picturing her alone in her bed, and I was ready to be the one to fix that.