“A custom-made thank you cake from Crumble & Bake?”
“I don’t eat dessert.”
That was just wrong. What kind of monster didn’t eat dessert?
I chewed on my bottom lip, trying to think of something else. “My eternal gratitude? I’ll sing your praises to all my friends.”
Christian tipped his head to the side, his gaze assessing.
You’ve got to be kidding me. I’d meant that as a joke.
“One favor from you in exchange for a favor from me,” he said. “To be decided upon on a future date of my choosing.”
Wariness crawled into my stomach. It sounded suspiciously like what Max had asked of me, minus the whole creep factor. “What kind of favor?”
I swear to God, if Christian asked me to sleep with him—
“Nothing sexual or illegal.” His reassurance didn’t ease my anxiety. I had a shitty history with the F word. “That’s my offer. Take it or leave it.”
Agreeing to an open-ended favor was a dumb idea, but I didn’t have the luxury of long-term planning when faced with a short-term emergency. Besides, Christian was the CEO of a reputable organization, not some low-life criminal like Max.
I hope I don’t regret this.
“I’ll take it.”
A satisfied gleam entered Christian’s eyes.
I couldn’t shake the eerie sense I’d just struck a deal with the devil. But whatever favor he wanted in the future would be worth dispelling the black cloud of the sex tapes once and for all.
Right?
“Excellent.” He opened the door wider. “My next meeting isn’t until eight-thirty. You have eleven minutes.”
I followed him through his penthouse and explained my situation—the tapes, Max’s blackmail threats, my desire to erase the recordings once and for all. I omitted the part where I used to steal for money; Christian didn’t need to know, and I didn’t have time to get into it anyway.
“I see.” He sounded almost bored by my dilemma.
I was half annoyed that he didn’t appreciate the gravity of the situation and half hopeful that his calm response meant he had a solution.
Christian didn’t speak again until we reached his private library. Colorful books filled two walls of floor-to-ceiling shelves, and windows carved massive nooks on the remaining walls and bathed the room in piercing morning light.
A man stood in the middle of the room, dressed in a suit as expensive-looking as Christian’s. Annoyance etched deep lines in his face as he spoke rapid-fire Italian into his phone, but he hung up abruptly when he saw us.
“Dante, I trust everything is all right,” Christian said, like the other man hadn’t sounded like he was ready to murder someone in broad daylight.
Dante flashed a tight smile. “Yes, of course.” He slid his eyes toward me, his curiosity a warm weight against my skin.
He looked a little older than Christian, maybe mid to late thirties, but that only added to his physical appeal. He wasn’t as classically good-looking as Christian, but he exuded a rugged masculinity that would make most women swoon. The thick dark hair and muscled frame didn’t hurt, either.
“I didn’t realize you had company,” I said to Christian. It seemed too early for a business meeting, but what did I know? I wasn’t a CEO.
“I was just leaving.” Dante held out his hand. Silver cufflinks engraved with tiny V’s glinted on his shirtsleeves. “Dante Russo.”
“Jules Ambrose.”
He gave me a curt nod and slid an indecipherable look at Christian. “We’ll finish our conversation later. My grandfather just died.” He delivered the news like he was announcing a trip to the grocery store.
My eyes rounded with shock, but Christian didn’t even blink. “Of course.”
After Dante left, Christian walked to the computer in the corner and typed something. A minute later, the printer spit out a sheet of paper, which he handed to me along with a pen.
His cufflinks flashed in the light, and I realized they were engraved with the same V’s as the ones Dante wore.
“Sign this, and I’ll take care of the tape.”