Selfishly, I’m glad as hell to hear that. “You don’t have to hate me.”
“I should, though,” she insists. “I hated him when he was an asshole, and you were every bit as bad.”
My fingers itch to tuck her hair behind her ear. I resist the urge, but just barely. Attempting to lighten the mood a bit, I tell her, “I guess I’m just special.”
Laurel cracks a smile, but it’s a smile bursting with sadness. “I kinda thought so.”
I watch her for a moment, then I lean back and check the hall beyond the potted plant to make sure Rafe isn’t around the corner. I was torn on whether or not he would come back here once he saw I wasn’t at the table. I might have been escorting the redhead out of the club and laying into the incompetent motherfucker who let her into the VIP section in the first place. That’s what I should have done, but I told Gio to do it instead. I’m not the one who should be issuing orders and he knows it, too. The disgruntled look he shot me got the point across just in case I had the intelligence of a brick, but I didn’t care.
Rafe made it through Cassandra Carmichael without murdering her, so chances are he can survive Laurel Price. I wasn’t taking any chances though.
He’s not in the hallway storming toward me though, so we still have a minute. If Gio was back at the table by the time he got there, there’s little chance Rafe will come check on us unless we linger way too long. He’s not a man prone to emotional outbursts to begin with, and he won’t want to give off the impression he doesn’t trust me or Laurel. Not even if it’s true. Makes him look foolish to keep around people he doesn’t trust, and he has to present a strong front for Gio. I’m less concerned about what Gio thinks about me, but if I lose Rafe’s trust, I’m more or less fucked. Didn’t think I’d be putting my own ass so far over the line when I hatched this idea, but I wasn’t prepared for Laurel Price. Didn’t think a week or so would be long enough for even a fraction of the feelings shining in her eyes at me right now to develop.
I could kiss her right now and she wouldn’t stop me. Hell, I could do more than that. I can visualize dragging her body close, pushing the flimsy straps of her dress down over her shoulders. I can see that pretty head falling back as I bend to take one of her rosy nipples into my mouth. Hear the sharp intake of breath, followed by one of her little moans as she drags her fingers through my hair, keeping me close.
Laurel’s voice draws me out of that ill-considered visualization, but not before my cock starts to respond to it. “I have a question. Purely academic in nature, mind you.”
That draws a little smile out of me. “All right.”
“I know this isn’t the kind of job you can quit or retire from, but are you able to transfer? Like, between branches of the family? You obviously work in Vegas, but say you didn’t want to work in Vegas anymore. Could you transfer to Chicago and work for Mateo instead?”
The little wheels in her head are clearly turning, alerting me that the hug was as bad an idea as I originally thought it might be. “It’s been done before, sure. I am not transferring to Chicago, Laurel.”
“Why not?” she asks, wide-eyed at my immediate refusal. “Chicago is great. The family there is… well, different. A little twisted, but they have a nice set-up. Mateo clearly has more money
than God, so I imagine he pays well.”
I’m already shaking my head. “Based on what I’ve heard, I can’t work for Mateo. I wouldn’t be able to do it. Guy’s an asshole.”
“But you’re only hearing what Vegas people say, and guess what? I think the Vegas Morellis are assholes. I’m friends with Mateo’s wife and she assures me she’s a very good person to have on my side. I bet you if I asked her, she would talk to Mateo about it. I bet you could work for him. This guy Adrian does, and he even lives at the house with his wife and kids. I say house, but it’s… I mean, it’s basically a castle. They have these traditional Sunday night dinners where the guys have drinks in the study while the ladies commiserate and make dinner. It’s old-fashioned, but somehow kind of cool and fun. And then the women serve their men. We could make that sexy. I’m not saying you would have to live there, but Mia already invited me to and I bet you could, too, at least until you were used to the city. She said the bedroom she would give me is basically its own apartment, just without the kitchen.”
Since she’s about to ask me to run away with her, I grasp her shoulders to steady her. “Laurel. No.”
Her shoulders sag and she appears to be exasperated with me. “But why?”
“I don’t run from my problems, for one thing. You’re also having Rafe’s baby, so even if I went to Chicago, it’s not like you can go.”
“Yes, I can,” she insists. “I’m considering it anyway. Whether you stay here and deal with Rafe or you make a super smart decision to relocate, I’m not sure I want to deal with his shit. I told myself I would give Rafe a chance, but if this is what life with him is like, I don’t want it. And I don’t have to take it. Mia is my anchor. She told me I don’t have to stay in Vegas if I don’t want to. She gave me a very appealing back-up plan, and… well, to be honest, it’s more my plan A than my plan B right now. If you transferred… things would be different.”
I sigh, looking at the wall behind her so I don’t have to look at the hope in her eyes. “Laurel…”
“I know you started out using me, but don’t try to tell me all of it was fake. You wouldn’t be standing here in this hallway if you didn’t like me at least a little bit.”
“Keeping an eye on you is me protecting Rafe’s interests.”
Her eyes narrow, like she’s had about enough of my bullshit. “Oh yeah? Was eating me out protecting Rafe’s interests? How about shoving your dick down my throat?”
Damn, she’s got me there. Instead of saying that, I respond like the asshole I am. “Well, I don’t work for free. I had to get a cut of the profits, didn’t I?”
Laurel stares at me, but it doesn’t even piss her off. Somehow she deflects my taunts and barbs like they don’t bother her—which is odd, since I say them specifically to bother her. As if I’m some Romeo she still wants to run away with instead of the dickhead with the mean mouth, she asks, “Why won’t you even consider Chicago?”
“You are having Rafe’s baby,” I say slowly, since she can’t seem to get it through her stubborn head.
“You said that didn’t matter to you.”
“He is not going to let you go to Chicago. He’s damn sure not going to let me go to Chicago with you. There is no chance of any of this happening. Get your head out of the clouds and focus on what you can have. It’s not me. It’s never been me. Nothing has changed.”
Futile anger burns in her big blue eyes now. “You drive me crazy. You’re a liar and I want to punch you in the face.”