Carlo orders a drink and leans an elbow on the bar near us.
“Who do you think talked?” Al asks. I catch the danger in his gaze. Informers are eliminated. Immediately.
I shake my head. “No one on my side. I’m careful as fuck. Greta knows nothing, and she’s family, anyway.” My secretary is the sister of one of the soldiers in the organization.
“What about your girlfriends? That stripper who was getting pushy? Any of them know anything?”
My pulse speeds up. Stacy was a pain in my ass, but that doesn’t mean I want her in the don’s crosshairs. And justthe ideaof him threatening Lexi makes me itchy and hot.
“They’re clean. No contact to my business. Ever.”
“What about contact to your phone?”
“No.” Somehow I manage to keep my gaze perfectly steady despite the twitch of my fingers to close into a fist. Lexi had my phone the one time, but I believed her that it was a mistake. She saw a text about the investigation. Nothing damning. Nothing she could testify about.
Al’s eyes narrow like he knows I’m lying. “You sure about that?” There’s a thread of menace in his voice.
I’m not gonna come clean. Not to throw Lexi under a bus.
So I just nod my head. “Yeah. I’m sure. One hundred percent.”
* * *
Lexi
I text Bobby’s number the minute I walk out of the sample class Friday evening.I just taught my class!
And?he replies ten minutes later.
I think I rocked it.I send him a fingers crossed emoji.
You got this, he replies.I’m tied up tonight, but I’ll try to get over there by 9.
I try to swallow my disappointment. I’d been hoping for another fancy dinner to celebrate. I’m getting spoiled.
Okay, see you then,I text back.
At 8:30 p.m., I take a bath in the big jacuzzi tub and put on a lacy bralette and matching lacy panties. When 9 p.m. rolls around, Bobby doesn’t show or text.
At 9:30 p.m. I get a text saying,Running late.
I send back the simple one-letter reply,K,expecting he meant a few more minutes late. By 10 p.m., though, I’m getting antsy.
I guess I’m addicted to Bobby. Or his orgasms. Or something. I need satisfaction, and only he can bring it.
What’s up?I text.
Sorry, baby, I’m still tied up but definitely coming. Be there in less than an hour.
At 11 p.m., when he still hasn't arrived, I text,WTF?
He doesn’t reply.
Still not ready to throw in the towel and go to bed, I keep my sexy outfit on and sit on the sofa, watching TV. I’ve mostly written him off but still feel like I should wait up to see if he ever responds.
Twenty minutes later he walks through the door looking like he just stepped off the cover of a men’s magazine. He’s in an expensive suit and tie, but he smells faintly of whiskey. His eyes glitter with dark purpose.
“What is this?” He raises a brow and shows me the screen of his phone, which displays my last text message.