Page 31 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
“I have a feeling if you gave him cash, he’d find it offensive.”
I look at my phone as if it’s begun translating her words into Gaelic. “Who finds cash offensive?”
“People who like a little more thought with their gifts.”
“Then what do I do? I won’t have peace until he’s been properly compensated.”
“Have you updated his title and salary?”
“Yes, and I gave him the raise you told me to.”
“I might have a few ideas,” she says, followed by more pen tapping. “When is dinner going to be served?”
“I don’t know.” I hold the phone to my chest. “Mr. Portelli?”
His shoulders shift and tense. Putting down his utensils, he looks at me over his shoulder. “Who you calling Mr. Portelli?”
My throat goes dry. He really looks like a mobster when he’s irritated.
Fuck, that’s sexy.
When he stitches his eyebrows together, I realize I haven’t answered him. “Oh, sorry. Um, Joe—when do you think you might be done with dinner?”
He shrugs. “Twenty to thirty minutes. You hungry?”
“I am, but I’m also asking because Sherry might stop by.” Her response is too muffled to understand, but I can guess what she’s saying. “Or she may fight her way in. I told her you were creating pasta from scratch, and she’s already in the car.”
His stern look breaks and he smiles. God, it lights up the whole kitchen.
“I’ve shared some of my lunch with her before. Tell her to get her ass over here so she can have it fresh.”
I turn back to the phone. “Did you hear that?”
For a few seconds, all I hear is a softly muttered, “Yes,yes, yes.”
“Sherry?”
“I’m doing a happy dance, don’t interrupt me.”
I go quiet, listening, and it sounds like she’s moving around quite a bit. I’m not sure how many moves a lovely, plump woman of fifty-five has in her, but I’m sure Sherry is as above average in that area as she is with everything else.
“Okay, I’m back. I’ll be there in thirty with a solution to your little problem.”
“Who said I had a problem? I was just…”
“Overthinking things, as usual. Don’t worry. I’ll use my company card.”
She ends the call, and I tap the edge of my phone to my forehead.
What have I gotten myself into?
* * *
Twenty-eight minutes later,Sherry walks through the elevator doors, a supremely smug look on her face. She’s holding a substantial box, which she went to the trouble of having gift wrapped. Not sure I fully understand the purpose of that or what she could possibly have in a box so big.
“Rand,” she says, grinning. “It is nice to see you this evening.”
“Rand?”
