Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Point one for sisterhood, I guess,” she said, exhaling hard and leaning back to look at the ceiling.
“Do you think you were seen?”
“Not by that camera. And she made me turn right out of the hallway because there were cameras to the left. I hid out in my dressing room while security ran past, then tried to casually make my way out.”
“You must have been terrified,” I said, reaching up to run my fingers through her hair. The movement loosened her curls. She turned her head into my chest again, soaking up the sensation, the comfort she badly needed.
She was not meant for this.
For fuck’s sake, she was a former beauty queen and model. A present singer. She didn’t do shady and illegal shit. Her mind and system weren’t built for this.
“My heart got a workout for sure,” she said, trying to play it off. “I did manage to get some pictures,” she added. “I don’t know if they are anything worthwhile, but I got some receipts, mail, and a couple pages of files.”
“Anything is appreciated.”
“Are you sure I don’t have to worry about the flashlight?”
“Positive.”
“Even though my prints are on it.”
To that, a little chuckle escaped me. “Trust me, baby, Frank doesn’t have some super-secret fingerprinting database to compare it to.”
The tension melted a bit at that, but it was a long time before she spoke again.
“I looked you up, you know.”
My stomach clenched.
“I figured you would.” I forced my fingers to keep drifting casually through her hair and up and down her back. I didn’t want her to know just how tense that comment made me.
I’d been nauseated since I’d given that name to her, knowing she would find out who I was, what I did, then maybe change her mind about me.
That said, it felt wrong to keep my name from her once I put my hands on her. Especially when she asked for it.
There’d even been a moment when I’d wondered if she’d used the heat between us to manipulate me, that she might be some kind of fucking double agent.
But I knew it was much more likely that she simply didn’t like the idea of coming for a guy whose name she didn’t even know.
Shit.
That was not the right thought to allow to cross my mind right then. Not with her on my lap, all soft and sweet. And traumatized, for fuck’s sake.
“Your family is in the mob.”
It wasn’t a direct question, but I could hear one hanging in the air between the words.
“I am too,” I confirmed.
Granted, those weren’t words we were supposed to say. But it wasn’t like I was fessing up to actual crimes. Just to my own identity. To someone who was risking her life for me, for us.
“I thought so.” She paused, making it impossible for me to figure out what she thought about that. “It looks nice.”
“What looks nice?”
“Your family’s restaurant. Famiglia. It came up when I was looking into you. So I checked out pictures. It looks nice. The deck is amazing.”
“It is. No better place to eat in town. Hopefully, you can see it after all this shit is done.”
“That would be nice.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“What’s going on in your head about it?”
“The restaurant? Mostly that I didn’t have dinner yet.”
“I was actually talking about me and what I do,” I said, patting her leg. “But I can do something about the food situation.” I slid out from under her. “What are you in the mood for? Got a lot of shit around here. I dunno how room service is here, so it might be smart to stick to a place you already know is good.”
“I almost never eat out. So I’m not a good judge.”
I paused at that, trying to find a tactful way to ask what was in my head. “Is that a watching what you eat kind of thing?” Lord knew she didn’t need to have any kind of concerns about her figure.
“It’s a ‘I don’t make a lot of money, so I eat at home’ kind of thing. Mostly salads. Or cold sandwiches. I don’t have a stove.”
“Is that legal? In an apartment?”
“That was my same question. Apparently, yes. You just have to have safe conditions and running water. No stove regulations.”
“Huh. Feel like that’s just padding the landlord’s pockets and fucking over tenants.”
“Right? I miss hot food.”
“Well, I can do hot food. What are you feeling? Chinese? Italian? Mexican? Americana?”
I swear her eyes went hungrier with each mention. I knew what I had to do.
“That was way too much,” she complained (very half-heartedly) when I finished the last call.
Normally, I’d be ordering on an app to make life easier. But I wasn’t taking any chances that some local contract delivery guy was linked with Frank.
Delivery from each restaurant still allowed you to use cash and first names only.