Page 68 of Tempting Kat
He runs his hand through his hair again, a gesture I now recognize as one of his few tells when he's genuinely rattled. “She never mentioned working with you.”
“Why would she? She knows me as Kat DeLuca, not as daddy's little fuck toy.” The words come out harsher than I intended, but I'm too shaken to care.
Conrad steps toward me, his expression darkening. “Don't call yourself that.”
“What? Your fuck toy? That's what I am, right? The woman you pay to spread her legs whenever you want to blow a load?” I'm lashing out, and I know it, but I can't stop the words from spilling out.
“That's not what this is, and you fucking know it.” His voice changes to a tone I’ve never heard before.
“Do I? Because finding out you have a secret daughter my age who happens to be my client doesn't exactly scream 'healthy relationship foundation.'” I cross my arms over my chest, suddenly feeling exposed in just his sweater and my panties.
Conrad's nostrils flare. “So you finally fucking admit this is a relationship then.”
“Fuck you,” I snap, ignoring his comment about our relationship status. “This isn't about that. This is about you keeping a massive fucking secret from me.”
Conrad takes another step closer, his chest heaving with each breath. “Contessa is private. She likes to do things on her own merit, so we don't broadcast our relationship, and I respect that. But don't for one minute think I was hiding her.”
I scoff, backing up until my ass hits the weight bench. “Right. You just conveniently forgot to mention you have a grown-ass daughter while you were balls deep in me every night.”
“I just didn't want to fucking scare you since it's only been a fucking month,” he growls, closing the distance between us. “You're like a black cat, highly suspicious of everything. If I sayor do one wrong thing, you'll hiss and scratch my fucking eyes out before running away.”
The accuracy of his assessment stings more than I want to admit.
“So you thought lying was the better option?” I cross my arms tighter over my chest.
“I never lied. You never asked if I had children.”
“Oh, I'm sorry,” I say, voice dripping with sarcasm. “I didn't realize I was supposed to run through a fucking questionnaire before letting you rail me. 'Excuse me, Mr. Gallo, before you bend me over and fuck me stupid, do you happen to have any secret children I should know about?'”
His jaw clenches. “Are you more upset that I have a daughter or that she's your client?”
“I'm upset that you kept something this huge from me! What else are you hiding? A wife? Other kids? A fucking murder dungeon in the basement?”
Conrad's eyes darken dangerously. “There's nothing else, and if I had a murder dungeon, it would contain all the fucks from Euphoria who’ve touched you. And if you'd give me half a fucking chance to explain instead of jumping to conclusions?—”
“Fine, explain.” I gesture wildly with my hand. “I'm all ears.”
He exhales slowly, as if he's counting to ten in his head. “Contessa's mother and I were never married. It was a fling when I was twenty. When she told me she was pregnant, I stepped up. I've been in Coco's life since the day she was born, but her mother and I co-parented from separate households.”
I swallow hard, trying to process this information. “And you never thought to mention any of this?”
“Contessa values her privacy. She doesn't want to be known as Conrad Gallo's daughter. She wants to make her own way in the world.” His expression softens slightly. “Sound familiar?”
The parallel to my own stubbornness isn't lost on me, but I'm not ready to let him off the hook. “That still doesn't explain why you kept it from me.”
“Because it's been a fucking month, Katarina.” His voice rises. “A month where you've been fighting this thing between us every step and looking for an exit every time things got too real between us.”
I stand there, feeling like someone just punched me in the gut. “What the fuck are you even saying right now? What is even real anymore? You’ve been keeping secrets, and now you’re acting like I’m the unreasonable one?”
Something in Conrad snaps. I can see it happen—his control breaking, his eyes turning almost black as he closes the distance between us in two long strides.
“You want to know what's fucking real, Katarina?” His voice is a dangerous rumble. “Real is I've wanted you for months. Months. Since the first time I saw you. Real is now that I have you, I refuse to let you go.”
I try to twist away, but he holds me in place, his eyes boring into mine.
“I want you every day, every minute,” he continues, his voice getting rougher. “I only want you. I fucking want to keep you, Katarina.”
“Conrad—”
