Page 128 of Submission

“The fact that she is from a complicated family doesn’t change anything between us. She’s still my friend.”

“Don’t call her.” His voice hardens.

I stare at him cautiously, standing against the bathroom doorway with my cell phone in my hand.

“You’ve spoken to her father, haven’t you?”

His eyes dart to the floor.

“Hunter?”

“I don’t expect you to understand the intricacies of my business, but I cannot allow a man with Fabre’s reputation to land in Los Angeles and not recognize his presence.”

“He’s that powerful?”

“He’s very…connected.”

“Will he hurt her?”

“I don’t think so. He seems to care about her a great deal. I’m not sure why Naomi has cut him off like she has, but he seems genuinely worried. I assured him that she was safe.”

I take a moment to digest what he’s said and what he’s not saying.

“And if something happened to her while she lived in this apartment building, would her father blame you?”

“Probably.”

“Which is why you would rather she go back home with him.”

“Naomi is not a complication I was expecting, nor do I want. If it wasn’t for your friendship with her, I would have handed her over to her father on a silver platter a long time ago.”

“Hunter–”

“You want honesty from me, right?”

“Always.”

“Well, there you have it.”

I stare at my phone again and reluctantly place it back on the charger. This is her father she’s meeting, not some evil overlord. Hunter’s right. Naomi is my friend, but she has a right to privacy and a right to make decisions without my input. If she needs me, she’ll call me.

She’s nobody’s wallflower.

Chapter 49

Tying Up Loose Ends

Hunter

The Blue Whiskey always feels different to me during daylight hours versus in the evening. Maybe because the city feels differently at night, too, it’s dark and dangerous and unforgiving. Something I learned quickly growing up on the streets of Los Angeles.

My sister approaches my table in simple black pants and a t-shirt with an apron tied around her waist. She’s holding a large plastic platter of assorted hors d’oeuvres that look damn good.

“I thought you all could try some of these. I’m thinking about adding some of them to the menu.”

Lena’s smile is wider than normal and the reason why doesn’t escape me. The fucker to my left is the reason why.

“It all looks really great, Lena. Thank you,” Christian says.

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