His Dirty Demands (Dirty Billionaires 1)

“How did you live before you landed on your grandmother’s doorstep?”

Closing my eyes, I shake my head. For me there was only the time after we moved in with my grandmother. The years before were too painful to recall and thankfully Bethany has no memory of it. “I don’t want to talk about it. We survived, some days were better than others.”

Cesare is still as a statue. I don’t think he’s even breathing. “Were you hurt?” The words are an exhalation of breath.

My own eyes go wide. I know what he’s asking. I shake my head, refusing to remember the close calls, the night I kicked and screamed until my mother came running into the room only to be slapped by her for “teasing” the man. Or the other nights when I locked Bethany and me in our room with a chair under the doorknob to keep men out.

I’m saved by the waiter asking how our meal is. I assure him it’s wonderful. He takes the time to fill my wineglass then swirls it for me. Bemused, I sip cautiously. Oh, it tastes a little oaky, not enough to be bad. I cut into the steak, chewing slowly, then swallow and sip again. Now I get it. After the slight wood-grilled flavor of the steak, the wine complements it all.

For a while, we concentrate on our food, which I will admit to being the best thing I’m pretty sure I’ve ever tasted. Even though I never ordered it, the waiter comes back with a small bowl of blackberry sorbet for both Cesare and me that is to die for. I groan a little bit and eat the whole thing even though I only intended a few bites not to be rude.

“What about your father?”

I shrug. “I don’t know who my father is. There’s no name on my birth certificate and my mom said she had no idea who it could be, which I believe. Around the time she got pregnant with Bethany there were three different men she brought to the apartment.

“A few years ago Bethany got curious and got one of those DNA kits. I really didn’t want to do it, but she was scared of doing it alone. Neither one of found relatives closer than fourth or fifth cousins. My DNA showed my father’s family was from the Jalisco region of Mexico. Bethany’s dad was from the Nuevo Leon region of Mexico. So my mom had a thing for Latin men, which I do remember many of the men being, although from time to time she would bring home a pale white guy in khakis and a checkered shirt and glasses. But they always bored her.”

“It must have been difficult to be so alone. You have done well for yourself. How did you come to making quilts?”

“I started from watching my grandmother. When she was making a quilt, it was as close to happy as she ever got. At first, she barely let me help with even the smallest thing. Gradually though, she saw me trying to make my own small quilt. She pointed out everything wrong I was doing until I was on the verge of tears, then out of nowhere told me it looked good for a first try.”

“I’ve heard be careful of selling something you take enjoyment in, that it ruins it.” It’s weird how he makes questions out of statements.

“Maybe. In the beginning, it was all work. There were times I was making what I thought were just the ugliest quilts that were a waste of my time and skill. Then I would deliver them, and the praise would be effusive and glowing. Also, I like creating something that people will use for years, and maybe even their children or whoever they pass it on to.

“It’s also a great stress reliever—the time it takes to plan then gather the fabric, cut then slowly watch it come together. It can be very soothing. Of course, there are moments and some quilts when it feels like nothing is going to plan and I want to start all over again.” I shrug. “I don’t know. I get more enjoyment out of it then if I were waiting tables or something like that.”

“You’re responsible for all your sister’s cost of living? Does she not have a job?”

I bristle at what sounds like censure. “It’s the way I want it. The program Bethany is in is very intense. For me, it’s far more important she focus on school than worrying about getting enough hours to cover what school doesn’t. And the state does cover her undergrad like it did mine because we were foster kids. But we can’t get loans or anything because of my mother’s messing our credit up. Besides, it’s better this way—she’ll graduate without owing her life. It will free her up to pick a place she wants to be, not where she needs to go to pay bills.”

He nods. “Dante says she is studying to be a physician assistant. Why not continue onto medical school?”

“Because one takes six years and the other twelve. She liked the idea of being able to work in clinics that can’t afford doctors. When she was young, she was always sick. The physician assistant at the clinic we went to made a huge impression on her. She knew what she wanted since she was young. I want to help her get there.” Slowly sounds are getting louder, and I realize it’s late. We are the only table left in the back. “I didn’t realize we were shutting the place down.”

Looking around, he nods. “I guess we are.” Seconds later, the waiter is back with the bill. Cesare slides a card into the black holder then gives it back. He pulls out his phone to let the driver know we’ll be right out.

“I’ll be right back, sir.”

I barely have time to get nervous before the waiter is back with the bill. As I stand, I’m grateful for my straight back as I head toward the front of the restaurant. There’s only one other table left as we make our way to the front. I feel Cesare behind me. Back in the warm coat, I don’t bother buttoning it—simply tying it closed as I make my way outside.

The drive home is too fast. Cesare doesn’t say a word the whole way there. Tension is rising inside me slowly. Something twists low as the limo draws up outside my building. It’s a four-story brick walk-up in the Wrigley Park area. The building is better than I could ever have afforded if it wasn’t for the owner of the condo, who only charges her monthly payment with maintenance fees.

Everyone here is nice and looks out for each other. There are only about thirty or so people with some of the condos being bought to make larger homes, taking it from the one-bedroom, one-bedroom with offices, and two-bedrooms into larger three-bedrooms because they love the building so much they didn’t want to leave.

“I’ll see Ms. Jeffries up to her apartment, Daniel. Give me a few minutes.”

“You don’t have to.” I’m embarrassed at him seeing my small apartment that until Bethany went to school fit both of us tightly.

“I know I don’t. However, it is

how I end the night with any woman, Hannah included if you feel the need to remark upon it to Dante.” His voice is drier than the Sahara.

Fine. Jerk. I open the first door that opens to a vestibule for someone to call up to the apartment they want so the lock can be released by the press of a button in our apartment. Unlocking the door is something that needs to be done with a wiggle of the key.

Cesare frowns. “That should be repaired.”

Rolling my eyes. “It’s not a big deal, there are other things that are more important.” My apartment is on the second floor. Once again he’s at my back, and even though with his long legs he could eat up the floor in a few strides he gives me space as I fight not to struggle for air on the stairs. My knee twinges like it always does on the last few steps.