Underboss (With Me in Seattle Mafia 1)

“I need a shower, but I’ll be ready in an hour.”

“I’ll order up breakfast,” he says as he climbs out of the tub.

“It’s handy having you around, Carmine.”

He grins, winks at me, and then leaves the bathroom.

Jesus, Mary, and Joseph, that man is sexy. I start the shower, and when the water is the right temperature, I step in and get busy washing my face.

I’m in a damn good mood. Maybe the best I’ve been in for months. Maybe ever. I’m in my favorite city, with someone I enjoy, and I’m going to spend an obscene amount of money.

“Breakfast will be here in twenty,” Carmine calls out.

“Sounds good,” I yell back.

Yeah, it’s damn convenient having that man around.

* * *

“The bag you just bought looks like the one you already have.”

We’re eating pizza and sitting by a fountain. The boutiques will deliver our new things to the Four Seasons for us so we don’t have to walk around Manhattan loaded down with bags.

“Uh, excuse me Mr. I-just-bought-a-ten-thousand-dollar-watch-that-looks-just-like-the-one-I’m-currently-wearing.”

He stops mid-chew and narrows his eyes at me. “It looks nothing like this watch.”

“And my new bag looks nothing like the others I have.” I shrug a shoulder. “Besides, it’s a new style this season. And it’s going to look so cute with jeans and a sweater.”

“I want to look at shoes at Bergdorf.”

I grin at him. “I can live with that.”

We finish our pizza and walk down the street to the old store, wandering through. Browsing. When we find the men’s shoes, Carmine studies some Louboutins that have me salivating.

He’s not the only one who appreciates luxury.

“You could wear those with any and all of your suits.”

He nods and wanders down the table, picking up a pair of sneakers. Carmine flags down a salesperson and asks to try them on in his size.

“Sneakers?”

“I do wear casual clothes.”

I take in his khaki slacks and light blue button-down. “When?”

“I brought out a couple of sizes because you just never know how Louboutins will fit,” the salesman says as he returns and sets the boxes at Carmine’s feet.

After twenty minutes—and six pairs—Carmine chooses two, and then we’re off to find the women’s shoe section, just one floor up.

“I need more heels like I need a hole in the head,” I mutter as I brush my index finger over a pair of glossy patent leather Chanel heels. “But damn if they’re not beautiful.”

I try on Dior, Choo, and Hermes, and settle on a pair of Dior slingbacks, Hermes sneakers, and the cutest Valentino flip-flops.

Again, they’ll deliver everything to our room, so we leave the store and start walking down Fifth, hand in hand, enjoying the afternoon sun.

“I did a lot of damage today,” I say with a happy sigh. “But it’s so fun. Nothing compares to shopping in New York. Well, aside from Paris. Paris is the mecca, of course. But New York ranks up there. I could have spent all day in the Hermes boutique and bought scarves and all kinds of fun little things. But I won’t wear them often, so I need to be strong and cut myself off.”

“I enjoy watching you shop. You touch everything.”

“I’m a texture girl. I like to feel the leathers, the silks, and cashmeres. It feels pretty, you know?”

“Just one of the reasons I enjoy touching you.”

I laugh, but when I look up at him, he’s staring down at me, and he is not laughing. “You’re charming, you know that?”

“I’m just telling the truth. I hope you like tea.”

“Tea?”

He nods and leads me to the doorway of the Tiffany & Co. We get in the elevator and ride it to the fourth floor, and then he leads me to the Blue Box Café.

“Oh, I’ve never eaten there.”

“We’re having afternoon tea,” he informs me with a smile.

“Fancy.”

A regal woman with perfectly coifed, sable hair greets us. She takes Carmine’s name and checks her reservation list, then leads us to our table and sets Tiffany-blue menus in front of us.

“We’re having the afternoon tea,” Carmine informs her.

“Of course.” She nods and backs away. What seems like only moments later, a waiter wheels a cart to our table, piled high with finger foods and hot, steeping tea.

The waiter explains everything on the tray, pours us each a cup, and then leaves us to our own devices.

“I’m sort of shocked,” I admit as I reach for a scone, break it in half, and spread real, whipped butter on it.

“At what?”

“This is the last thing I would have expected from you.”

“We’ve had plenty of meals together.”

“I meant the tea.” I chuckle and take a bite of my scone, then close my eyes in happiness. “This is delicious.”

“We’d already had lunch, but I wanted to do something different for you.”

“This is different. And fun. And fancy.”

I watch as his brows knit together.

“It’s okay, Carmine. I like the fancy side of you.”