a brow. “Think about what?”
“About being your public relations girlfriend,” I clarify.
Gabriel gives me an indecipherable look, and I think he is about to remind me that I don’t have a choice in the matter, but then he nods.
I leave his office without another word, walking back to my room in a sort of daze.
I find myself considering Gabriel’s PR move as potentially opportunistic. It would bring me further into his good graces, which might help with my investigation. Beyond that, would it be so bad to be Gabriel’s woman?
I almost was, once upon a time. It wasn’t public, and we never discussed the kind of terminology we would use to describe our relationship, but in every way that counted, I was his, and he was mine.
But that was before I knew the truth about my dad’s death. Before the running and the hiding and the purple heroin. It’s too late to go back to that now.
Isn’t it?
15
Gabriel
I scrub a hand through my hair, squinting at the computer screen. My temple throbs, vision blurring slightly at the edges. I check the clock and realize several hours have flown by since I first sat at my desk to catch up on some work. I feel no more caught up than I did when I first sat down. The only difference is that now I have a headache.
I have been so busy for the past few days that I have barely had time to sleep. Things on the Mafia side have been hectic, with another attack from Irish rebels—a drive-by shooting of one of our casinos, for which we don’t yet have the assailant in custody. And on the Belluci Inc. side, having announced another cut in funding, I’ve been inundated with meetings and requests for interviews.
I open an email from Carmen. I’ve been ignoring her calls all day and she is not happy about it. Reading through, I sigh and decide that it’s time for a break from my screen. I close my laptop and pick up my phone, texting a quick message to Alexis.
My office. Now.
I wait, massaging my temples, and think about how our relationship has shifted ever so slightly over the past few days. I have been too busy to spend much time with either her or Harry, but I have slipped into her bedroom late every night to relieve my frustrations. She is always wet and wanting when I arrive. I have gotten used to falling asleep with her small, warm body wrapped in my arms, the light, flowery smell of her hair washing away any residual stress.
It’s times like this I think that maybe I can trust her again. Maybe we can dispense of the roles we play to keep distance between us—captor and captive, tormentor and tormented.
It is only when I wake that I remember all the reasons why Alexis can’t be trusted. Not yet.
The knock on my door startles me out of my thoughts. I half expected Alexis to ignore the text and to have to send someone to fetch her. I am pleased with her immediate arrival.
“Come in,” I call.
Alexis enters and closes the door behind her. She strides across the room and sinks into the chair across from me, as comfortable as if this were her own living room. Her chestnut hair falls in lazy curls to her shoulders and I remember wrapping it around my fist last night. My gaze lifts to her round cheeks, and the full lips that look pretty even when they’re spitting insults at me. When I meet her crystal gaze, one of her eyebrows is lifted in question.
“My publicist has advised that we should make a public outing together sometime soon,” I say.
Alexis snorts. “I never said I would do it.”
“I never said you had a choice,” I remind her.
“I hardly think you’ll achieve the delightful family image you’re looking for if you have to tote me around kicking and screaming.”
For someone who so eagerly gives in to my domination in the bedroom, Alexis makes a frustrating show of her independence everywhere else.
“This is important, Alexis. I am working to preserve Harry’s legacy.”
She laughs bitterly. “You’re working to cover your ass.” She narrows her eyes at me. “I heard about the second funding cut. No wonder you need a baby and a doll-eyed woman on your arm. I bet the public thinks you’re an absolute monster.”
Her comment stings more than she knows.
“Why are you doing it?” she presses. “Why cut the funding?”
“It’s none of your business.”
“It