Page 22 of Strength in Submission
The mention of Victorio's name makes my throat tighten. "Yeah. He's... he's the CEO."
Santiago must notice my reaction because his eyes narrow. "There something I should know about your boss, Vi?"
For a moment, I consider telling him everything—about my mother's affair, about my suspicions, about my plans to confront Victorio on my birthday. But the waiter returns with our wine, and the moment passes.
"No," I say once we're alone again. "Just workplace stress. You know how it is."
He doesn't look convinced, but he doesn't push. "You need to go back to work soon?"
The question startles me. I haven't even thought about work since catching Derek with that woman. "God, yes. I should probably call in tomorrow, explain what happened."
"You don't owe them details," Santiago says firmly. "Just tell them you had a personal emergency."
"And the bruise on my face?"
His expression darkens. "Makeup won't cover it completely. Tell them you fell. Or tell them the truth. Up to you."
I sigh, rubbing my temples. "I don't know what to do about any of this. My stuff is still at the apartment, I need to figure out living arrangements beyond crashing at your clubhouse..."
"Stay with me." The words come out quickly, like he's been holding them back. "At my apartment, I mean. I've got the space, and you'd be safe there."
I stare at him, surprised by the offer. "Santiago?—"
"Whip," he corrects gently. "When it's just us, you can call me Santiago. But we're in public, and in my world, names matter."
"Whip," I correct myself. "We've barely started... whatever this is. Moving in together seems like a big step."
"It's not about rushing things," he clarifies. "It's about keeping you safe. Your ex knows you're staying with Ash. He might come looking for you there. My place is secure, and he doesn't know about it."
"And us sharing a bed would just be a convenient side effect?" I can't help the teasing tone that creeps into my voice.
A slow, wicked smile spreads across his face. "I never said anything about sharing a bed. I've got a guest room." His eyes darken. "Unless you're offering something else."
Heat rushes to my face. "I just meant?—"
"I know what you meant." He reaches across the table, taking my hand. "And yes, having you in my space, in my bed, would be more than convenient. It would be fucking incredible. But that's not why I'm offering."
The waiter returns to take our orders, giving me a moment to collect myself. Santiago orders for both of us without consulting me—normally a red flag, but somehow it doesn't bother me coming from him. He chooses the restaurant's special pasta dish for me, which is exactly what I would have picked.
"How did you know I'd want that?" I ask once the waiter leaves.
"Ash mentioned it's your favorite. Last time you two went out for Italian, you wouldn't shut up about the handmade pasta."
The fact that he remembers such a small detail from a conversation with his sister touches me. "You pay attention."
"To you? Always have." His thumb strokes the inside of my wrist, sending shivers up my arm. "Even when I was pretending not to."
Our food arrives, and for a while, we fall into comfortable conversation about lighter topics—music we both like, movies we've seen, stories about Ashley that make me laugh. It feels normal, which is strange considering there's nothing normal about our situation.
Just as we're finishing our meal, Santiago's phone buzzes. He checks it and frowns slightly.
"Everything okay?" I ask.
"Yeah, just club business." He tucks the phone away, signaling for the check. "Nothing that can't wait until tomorrow."
The waiter brings the bill, which Santiago pays without letting me see the total. Outside, the evening air has grown cooler, and I pull his jacket tighter around me as we walk to his car.
"Thank you for dinner," I say as he opens the passenger door for me. "It was nice to feel normal for a few hours."
