Page 94 of Mafia and Gold Digger

“Right, because they have the money to waste on some plush beanbags and tasty cupcakes instead of essential building maintenance?”

“Emerald.”

“Valentino.”

The way she mimics me like this makes my body tense and tighten. I shouldn’t react the way I do, but she never fails to affect me. I turn to her. “You’re going inside.” I know she’s just grasping at these excuses as an avoidance tactic.

“Fine. But I’m not expecting much.”

“As long as you go.”

She keeps snapping the clasp of her purse open and shut. I’ve noticed she does that a lot, especially when she’s stressed, just like she keeps fiddling with her bracelet clasp and washing her hands over and over again. But I don’t comment or judge because I get they are a part of her coping mechanisms.

She doesn’t move from her seat. There’s still a good five minutes before it starts, but she hasn’t even unbuckled her seatbelt. Her lip is caught between her teeth, and I fight the urge to caress it with my thumb. My hand curls into a fist as I shake those thoughts away. We’re in a fake relationship. And that means I shouldn’t be thinking about her goddamn plush lips.

“This was the only option, Saint?”

Her question brings me back to the car and the way her scent of chocolate mints fills my nostrils. Her assault on my senses does nothing to stop the image of her lips parted, glistening from where she’s licked them, taking place at the forefront of my mind. That particular image has haunted me far more than I’d care to admit.

“Saint?”

I blink, shaking my thoughts away. “It’s the only option. Unless you want to carry on in the same merry way and get caught and charged, yeah.”

She nods, her eyes glued to the building. She puts up a good front—just like she does with everything in her life. She’s always smiling, but it’s her way of having her guard up. She struggles to let people in to help her, like accepting help is admitting that she’s weak. But I know her better. It’s the way those green eyes dart around the place and the bounce of her damn luscious leg. She’s really anxious.

“I can go in with you.”

Her nose wrinkles as she turns toward me. “What? God, no. I’m not a child. I can go into a meeting by myself just fine.”

I arch a brow. “Can you? You haven’t even unbuckled.”

“Obviously, I can,” she says, unclicking the seatbelt.

My mouth twitches. “Good. Now, get out of the car.”

Her lips flatten at me, but she opens the car door. Then she hesitates and closes the door again.

“Emerald?”

She looks at the building, then at me. That damn lip is caught back between her teeth. “Will you come in with me, Saint?” she says quietly.

It takes every ounce of control I have not to smile because she’s actually asking for my help. Instead, I give her a simple nod, keeping my face a blank slate despite the feeling that zips through my body. Because I like that she’s asking me for something. And I like that I can be the one to help her.

Unbuckling myself, I step from the driver’s seat to round the car and stand beside her. “When you’re ready.” I let the words hang between us, ensuring she realizes she’s the one in control. “One meeting, and if it doesn’t help, we move on and try something else.”

A loud exhale leaves her, and she takes a step toward the building. And silently, I follow.

She looks up at the worn sign. I come to a stop next to her. She stares at the sign before slowly shaking her head. “I don’t think I can do this.”

I wonder if I’m ever going to get her inside, but I give her hand a reassuring squeeze. “Remember, I’ll be right there with you,” I remind her. She looks up at me, worry and anxiety swimming in her gaze. I give her a small nod, making sure she understands that she’ll be fine.

She stares at me. “You’ll have to confess to stealing too.”

“Wait!” My eyes widen. “What?Me?”

“Yeah,” she smirks. “You have to be a thief to attend these things. But that’s easy enough—you can just say you steal people’s money. Because that is kind of true, what with the way the Imperiosi make their money through illegal exploits. Anyway, it doesn’t matter if you’re notentirely truthful—I already know that you’re a beautiful liar, so you don’t have to worry about me thinking any less of you.” She grins widely at me, but I can only manage a low growl in response.

Her hand pauses on the handle of the door as she looks at me again, and her lips purse before she pulls it open.

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