by S. J. Tilly
“You hate them, too.” I point out.
Mom huffs. “That may be true, but I don’t make a big fuss about it. Unlike some people we know.”
“She wants to go tonight?” I already feel defeated before she even answers.
“Yes. With a stop off for dinner.”
My initial reaction is to say no. Annie knows how much I hate last minute changes to her schedule. Almost as much as I hate going to those damn singing movies. And I could really use some quality time with her after the day I’ve had. But thinking of my day reminds me of my conversation with Sasha, and how the press conference next week is going to impact Annie’s life. Once it’s out that she’s my daughter, that she’s a Mazzanti, her life is going to get complicated. And dangerous.
“Fine. Under two conditions. You go with them. And you tell Max to bring a second man to escort you both.”
“I’ll tell him as soon as we hang up.” Mom agrees.
My mom might be argumentative, but Annie’s safety is something we both agree upon. Max is their usual bodyguard, and he’s more than capable of handling this on their own, but another guard can’t hurt.
I sigh. “Let me know when you’re on the way home.”
“Will do. Love you, son.”
I set my phone onto my desk and drop my head against the back of my chair. I’ll have to find a time to talk to Annie about all of this soon. Before next Friday. It’s not like Annie doesn’t know about our family history. So that won’t be a surprise. But at school she’s just known as Annie Mazz. I’ve arranged the fake name with the principals at all of her schools. But once my face is out there, it won’t take long for her classmates to figure it out, even with the partial name. As of now, they just think I’m some overprotective rich asshole and that’s why she has a bodyguard. Not that it’s a wrong assumption. It’s just not the whole picture.
Why is it so hard to raise a small human?
Shutting my eyes, I let my thoughts drift to my childhood. It’s so different to be the parent. There are so many things to think of. Safety, food, friends, socializing, manners… I’d be lost without my mom’s help. I don’t know how she did it with me on her own.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
VINCENT
“D
ad!” The scream tears from my throat.
He doesn’t hear me. My eyes bounce back and forth between him and the gunmen.
“Dad!” I scream again.
Henry asks me what’s wrong, but there’s no time to explain. I start to scramble across the seat. I can get out using my dad’s door. But then the gunfire starts.
The rear window shatters into a million pieces.
I open my mouth to yell for my dad one more time, but the sound is drowned out by the echoing pop of guns.
Bits of glass are hitting my face and arms. I’m frozen in shock. I need to help but I can’t move.
Staring at my dad, I watch in horror as everything happens in slow motion.
His eyes move to meet mine. I can’t hear him over the deafening noise, but I see his mouth move.
My name.
“Vincent.”
My name is all that leaves his lips before a bullet rips into his chest. His eyes glance down, as if he needs to confirm what struck him, before coming back up to look at me.
I’m still frozen, still stuck in place. Helplessly, I watch as blood starts to spread across his white shirt. It’s too much blood. It’s growing too fast.
He uses a hand to gesture for me to get down.
I don’t want to, but when another car window breaks, I roll to the floor of the backseat. Curled up like the scared child I am.
Vibrations roll through my skull. I think I’m still yelling for my dad.
I look up between the seats towards Henry, he’ll know what to do. I start to call out to him, but his body is slumped over the steering wheel. I don’t want to look, but my eyes move on their own and I see the blood that’s splattered across the inside of the windshield.
Then just as suddenly as it started, the gunfire stops. Everything goes quiet for a moment. Until the screaming begins.
I clamber across the floor and reach for the door handle. It takes me three tries before I get a good grip and yank the door open.
Falling out of the car, I land at my dad’s feet.
“Dad!” My ears are still ringing but I can hear my voice enough to recognize that I’m crying. “Dad!”
I crawl up towards his head, chunks of broken glass digging into my palms.
There’s a second circle of blood on his shirt. This one lower, in his stomach. The blood isn’t spreading, and I don’t know if that’s good or bad.
Dad’s hand reaches out for me. Taking it, I grip his fingers as tight as I can.
“Dad. What do I do? I don’t know what to do!”
His fingers squeeze mine back as his eyes close. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”
His words are a whisper, but they’ll be forever etched onto my soul.
“No!”
My shout jolts me awake. My heart is beating wildly, and my palms are sweaty.
“Fuck!” I bend forward, resting my elbows onto my knees. “Fuck.”
Still sitting in my office, I realize I fell asleep while thinking about my dad.
Dreaming about that day isn’t new, but it always ends when the shooting starts. I always wake up before dad gets hit. Always. Until today.
My hands are shaking. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my fingers into fists. It’s not like I wasn’t there, like I didn’t already live that nightmare in reality. But to have to see it all again, in such perfect detail…
“Fuck.” This time my curse comes out as a whisper.
When my phone rings, I startle. Goddamnit that dream has me on edge.
I debate ignoring the call, but it’s Angelo.
I answer. “Yeah.”
“Vin, what do you know about this girl?”
“Huh?”
“Sasha Clark. The girl you wanted me to run.” He lets a pause hang between us. “Dude, you called me like an hour ago to run her. Did you forget already?”
Shaking off the dreamworld, I sit up straighter. “Sorry, lots on my mind. You’re done already?”
“Yeah, not much to find. She’s 30. Rents a nice apartment a few blocks from her office. Which happens to only be a few blocks from our new office. It’s not a cheap apartment, but she makes good money and can afford it. Has a decent credit score. Other than some pricey clothes, there’s nothing really flashy about her lifestyle. Nothing that stands out as a red flag.”
That sounds like the Sasha I know. “Okay. Family?”
“Not much. Dad did the disappearing act when she was a baby. Mom died when she was in college, from some sort of medical thing, best I can tell. But this next part is where it gets interesting.”
I know he doesn’t mean to be callous, but this information has me feeling defensive of Sasha. She’s an orphan. Never even had a dad. Lost her mom when she was just starting to become an adult. My mood was already shit after that dream, but this is sending me deeper into the darkness.
Angelo continues. “One brother, named John. Older by five years. His tracks disappear after the academy.”
“The academy?” I repeat.
“Yeah. Your girl’s brother was a cop.”
That is interesting. “What do you mean was? I know for a fact that she still talks to him. He’s not dead.”
I can hear the smugness in Angelo’s voice. “Nope, not dead. Just a change of career. He’s in the FBI. Special Agent John Clark based out of Chicago. And here’s the best part, he heads up a task force specializing in, you guessed it, organized fucking crime.”
My grip on reality must be slipping, because the next thing I know, I’m laughing so hard I almost fall out of my chair.
CHAPTER TWENTY
SASHA
“I
think that wraps it up. Thanks, guys.” I smile at the group sitting around the conference table w
ith me.
I’ve been given free rein to use these five employees from M.E.’s internal PR team. They’re all very cooperative and seem to be team players. Which is good since it’s already nearing lunch time on Monday, giving us less than one week until the big press conference.
I glance at the time on my phone. “Sorry, we went a little longer than I planned. If you can all have your items to me tomorrow by noon, that’d be great.”
There’s a chorus of affirmations as we all start to stand.
Noticing a shift in the energy in the room, I look up from the papers I’m organizing. Everyone has stopped moving. All frozen in place. Staring at me.
I open my mouth to ask them what’s wrong when a familiar voice speaks from the doorway. They aren’t staring at me. They’re staring at the person standing directly behind me.
“Sorry to interrupt. I just need a moment with Ms. Clark.”
Ms. Clark? The combination of his voice and his professional tone have desire and annoyance battling for dominance inside my body. I clench my fists and fight to maintain my cool. This jerk just walks into my meeting like he didn’t insinuate that I was sleeping with his assistant, and my brother, the last time I saw him. The audacity of this bitch.
With my back to the door, and Vincent, I give a tight smile and a nod to the team. Taking that as permission to leave, they all hustle out of the room. A few of the women give Vincent lingering looks, but fear of his reputation apparently outweighs the possibility of flirting with the Mr. Sin.
“Sasha.”
His voice is close. Too close. But the weekend did nothing to cool my anger and I can’t look at him yet.
“Yes.” My tone is clipped.
“Do you have a moment?”
“No. Sorry.” I don’t sound sorry. I’m also lying. I have an hour before my next meeting.
Not wanting to give Vincent any time to sway me, I scoop up my things and spin around to leave. I turned away from his voice so I could slip around him, but he planned for my evasion. And moved.
He’s right there in front of me.
Momentum keeps me from being able to stop. My free hand automatically comes up to prevent me from crashing into him. His chest is hard and warm under my palm.
That half second of contact has my pulse picking up and my blood heating. I jerk my hand back and step around him. He doesn’t try to stop me, and I’m glad. Or I should be glad. Talking to him is a bad idea. Touching him is an even worse idea. But I still crave him. He’s like a drug that I just can’t get out of my system.
My office is only a few doors down, so I make it to safety quickly. I shut my door for the small sense of protection it brings, then drop down into the chair behind my desk.
“Get yourself together, Sasha.” I mumble to myself. A second before my door opens.
I look up and watch Vincent as he steps into my office, closing the door behind him. I shouldn’t be surprised by anything he does anymore. It seems that I still forget that he owns this company, and he can do whatever he wants and go wherever he pleases. I’m just thankful I didn’t drop my forehead to my desk like I wanted to.
I continue to watch him in silence as he lowers himself onto my single visitor’s chair. It’s almost laughable to see him fold his large body into the small chair. It’s not a terrible chair, but it’s not built for someone his size. I internally smile as he shifts in discomfort.
My eyebrows hit my hairline when Vincent sets a to-go cup of coffee on my desk and nudges it towards me.
Did he seriously bring me a coffee? For what? An apology?
Slowly, I reach out and pick it up. Hesitating when I see that it’s from BeanBag. Either he noticed that the coffee I brought Brent was from there, or he asked Brent where to go. Because there’s no way this is a coincidence.
Removing the lid, I sniff the drink, eyes still on Vincent. His expression is serious, but his eyes hold a touch of humor. Lifting the cup to my lips, I give him a once over while I sample the latte. He looks just as handsome as the last time I saw him. His constant shadow of a beard and dark hair are impeccably imperfect, as always. I’m guessing he has a suit jacket in his office, but right now he’s in a dark gray button up shirt and black pants. Being near him always makes me glad that I’ve collected a nice wardrobe, like today’s fitted plum dress. He’s intimidating enough without adding feelings of clothing inadequacy.
When the beverage hits my lips, my eyes widen.
Vincent smirks.
I lick the froth from my lip. I don’t know how he knew, but he got my favorite afternoon pick-me-up.
He stares at me a moment longer before speaking. “I’m sorry.”
He’s sorry. Great.
I keep watching him.
“For what I said on Friday.” He clarifies. As if I was unsure what his most recent asshole behavior was.
I watch him for another moment, waiting for further explanation, but get none.
Holding back my sigh, I give him a nod and my best professional tone. “Noted. Thank you for the coffee.”
Turning my attention away from him, I unlock my laptop. Then wait. Vincent doesn’t move. He doesn’t do anything. Fine. Two can play at this game. I open my email and pretend to read a few messages. I have to pretend because I can’t actually concentrate with the Devil sitting across my desk, staring at me.
Needing to occupy my hands, I open up a new email, addressed to myself, and start typing out all the insults I can think of. There are many.
I’m wondering how long we’ll go on like this when Vincent finally lets out an audible exhale. I stop typing but I don’t look his way.
“Look, I apologize. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to those conclusions. Can we please put it behind us and move on?”
I start typing again. This time I’m using full sentences. My keystrokes are getting aggressive. This bag-of-dicks apology is more useless than a hairbrush dipped in tar and covered in stranger’s pubes.
“Sasha.” Vincent has the nerve to sound exasperated.
I finally snap. “What, Vincent? What do you want from me? You are honestly the most frustrating man I’ve ever met in my entire life! You think you can just snap your fingers and everything will be as you wish. Your apology sucked worse than your attitude. Sure, you said the word sorry, but that doesn’t just wipe the slate clean. I’m here to work. I’m here to make your life easier. But instead of helping me do my job, you have literally made it harder at every step. Holding back information. Being generally difficult. Implying that I’m some sort of slut that sleeps with anyone willing. Well, you know what, my sex life is none of your damn business. I can fuck whoever I choose. But at least give me some credit. I might not be one of your usual runway models, but I don’t need to go around spreading my legs for anyone who looks.”
Instead of looking chastised, Vincent looks enraged. “The fuck you will!” He booms. “You don’t get to choose anybody. I don’t share. And fight it all you want, but this thing between us isn’t over. I’ll stay out of your way while you do your job. But if you think you can go out and fuck other guys, you’re wrong. End of discussion. And if there’s some walking-dead-man out there that needs to get that message, I’ll tell him myself.”
I’m so stunned at his outburst; all I can do is shake my head.
“Good.” I’m not sure if I just agreed to something, but he still sounds angry. “And I don’t want to ever hear you talk about yourself like that again. You’re the sexiest woman in this building. I swear to fucking god, if I have to watch one more of my employees mentally undress you, I’m going to start throwing people out the fucking windows. And I’m quite sure that’d make your job harder.” He pushes up to standing. “I’m sorry for being a prick before. But I’m not sorry about being a prick right now. We needed to get on the same page.”
He takes the two steps to the door before turning back to face me. “Send the talking points directly to me. Not to Brent.” I open my mouth to reiterate that there’s nothing betw
een me and Brent, but Vincent holds his hand up to stop me. “I don’t care. Just do it.”
I’m pretty sure I hear him mutter something about making me insane before he disappears out my door and down the hall.
I blink at my empty doorway for several moments. What in the hell just happened? We needed to get on the same page? What page was that exactly?
I shake my head and turn my eyes to the ceiling. This man has more mood swings than a pharmacy. I should be mad at him for how he just yelled at me. But if I’m going to be honest with myself, I’m more than a little turned on right now. The whole caveman act shouldn’t be attractive, but it is. And if we weren’t in an occupied office building, I’d probably have thrown myself over the desk at him.
Blinking out of my trance, I glance at the clock. I don’t have time to try and figure this damn man out. Things are going to move fast this week. I can’t let my hormones distract me any more than they already have.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
SASHA
“W
ell, I think we’re set.” Cheryl says as we look around the lobby.
We went back and forth on where to hold the press conference. Vincent’s office. The executive conference room. The event hall. Ultimately it was decided that the casual setting of the building’s lobby was the best way to present Vincent. He’s impressive and intimidating enough without putting him behind some high-powered desk. Most people have an underlying distrust for large corporations, so we’re staging this as more of a public gathering than a formal press conference.
“I think so, too.” I agree while checking my watch. “And we have two hours before the media starts arriving.”
“Perfect. I have to hand it to you. I don’t know how you got Mr. Mazzanti to cooperate so well, but you two make a good team.” Cheryl winks at me. “Oh, speak of the Devil.”
“Devil indeed.” I murmur out loud, distracted by the fact that my boss just winked at me.
