Page 126 of Sinful Lies

She stormed off toward the elevator, her heels stabbing into the floor.

I lingered for a moment, saluting the chauffeur and slipping him a generous tip for putting up with her attitude.

“Merry Christmas,” I muttered, smirking before catching up.

Stepping into the elevator beside her, I watched her finger hover over the button for her office floor. Before she could press it, I leaned in, brushing past her hand to tap the one marked “Rooftop.”

Her brows knit together. “Where are we going?”

“Making sure this isn’t the most boring Christmas of your life,” I said, leaning casually against the wall.

A flicker of curiosity in her eyes betrayed her.

When the elevator doors opened, the rooftop greeted us with freezing wind and the roar of a waiting helicopter. She pulled her fur coat tighter, and for once, she let me guide her into the seat without throwing a tantrum.

I climbed in after her, slipping the ear protectors over her head, securing her seatbelt with care before fastening my own.

Then, with a tug, I slammed the door shut, sealing us inside.

The ride to the Hamptons was quiet.

She stared out at the glittering New York skyline, her profile lit by the city’s glow. Every bump of turbulence made her handshoot out to grab mine, her fingers clinging for a heartbeat before she snatched them back.

After forty minutes, we landed on my parents’ estate.

I stepped out, unbuckling my seatbelt before opening her door and offering my hand.

Naturally, she ignored it.

Instead, she sat there, arms crossed, her cheeks blazing red.

“To your parents’ house, Lazzio? Are you insane? If I walk in there, they’re going to think we’re together!”

“Maybe they should.”

Her eyes went wide, disbelief etched into every line of her face. “Excuse me, what the hell does that mean?”

“We’ll talk about it inside. Later.”

She wagged her finger in my face. “Oh no, Lazzio. There’s no ‘this,’ no ‘us,’ no whatever twisted fantasy you’re cooking up?—”

I leaned in, cutting her off mid-rant. “Get out of the fucking helicopter, Miss Whitenhouse. Or I’ll bend you over right here, right now, in front of everyone, and make sure they all know exactly who you belong to.”

She gasped. “Ugh, you’resoinappropriate.”

“I prefer efficient. Now, out.”

Her eyes narrowed dangerously. “I have nothing to wear, Lazzio.”

“Four dresses are waiting for you upstairs, along with everything else you’ll need for the next two days. It’s all taken care of.”

With a groan, she unbuckled her seatbelt, shoved past me, and stormed toward the house without another word.

Let the Christmas spirit begin.

Chapter

Thirty-One

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