Page 56 of I Would Beg For You

Anya has the gall to chuckle. “Naomi Smith, you dark horse. When I told you to invite your guy over, I thought you’d be seeing some milquetoast young lawyer or something.” Shewhistles softly. “But of all the men possible, it’s Valentino Andretti.”

She’s in PR, of course she knows who I am—it’s a requirement of her job to know of everyone worth knowing in the world she circulates in. I know who she is because we’ve identified everyone who’s in Joel Smith’s entourage.

“You can get that out of my face, Andretti,” she says, nodding to the gun.

I narrow my eyes. “No.”

Gotta hand it to her, the woman has balls of steel. She now has the audacity to roll her eyes at me as she clearly shows me the phone in her hand then starts texting someone.

“What has her father promised you if you find us in a compromising position?” I ask.

“Relax. I don’t work for her father.” She’s still typing, not glancing at me as she speaks.

“What do you mean?” Naomi asks.

I’m wondering the same thing.

She tucks the phone back into her purse, then pulls out a sleek laptop that she places on the coffee table. “You’ll meet with my employer soon. In the meantime, I suggest you both get dressed?”

The raised eyebrow speaks of effrontery, but if the sight of a gun didn’t faze her, nothing will. I nod to Naomi to do as she said, and we both get dressed quickly then emerge into the living room.

Anya glances up at us. “Well, it’s obvious you’ve both just been thoroughly fucked, but maybe that can help explain your relationship to my employer.”

“Who is…?” I prod.

“You’ll see.” She motions to the couch.

When we both sit down, she turns the opened laptop our way then taps the keyboard. A window pops up. It’s a video call, showing an elaborate office appointed in leather and dark wood.

Naomi and I are both squinting at the backdrop, and it’s obvious it’s a place neither of us recognizes.

Then a man slides into the executive chair. He’s older, early fifties maybe. He has a lean, pale face, striking grey eyes, and fair hair that looks neither blond nor silver.

I frown. There’s something familiar about him, but I can’t place it.

And then he speaks, and it suddenly dawns on me. It suddenly makes sense.

“Hello, Naomi,” he says with a small smile. “My name is Declan Reeves. I’m your uncle.”

Chapter 19 Naomi

Time freezes as Istare at the man on the screen. There’s definitely something familiar about him. I don’t recall ever seeing him, but he reminds me of my mother. She had the same ‘look’ in her pictures—fair, almost ethereal. I can see them both cast as graceful elves in a fantasy movie.

“I…I thought my mother was an only child,” I finally say, breaking the silence.

It dawns that Declan Reeves allowed me the time to gather my thoughts. There’s an aura of benevolent patience about him, the little smile on his thin lips soothing and heart-warming. It makes me think, if he were physically here, he would smile more and open his arms, and I’d gladly snuggle into his hug. He emanates warmth and comfort, a feeling of safety.

My words, which I now realize must have come across as sharp and snippy, barely make him frown.

“She was,” he answers. “For her mother. We had the same father.”

“Yet, I’ve never heard about you,” I say softly.

He nods softly. “We didn’t have a chance to properly meet before.”

Something in the way he says this makes me frown. What does he mean? I can’t help but read that there’s something momentous about now, and I don’t mean just this moment in this apartment.

“Anya works for you?” I cut a glance at the woman in question, who gives me a soft nod, before I return my gaze to the screen.

---