Page 35 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
JOE
Per Edgerton’s request,Rand and I have stayed in his penthouse for the last several days. I have to admit that the guest suite, if that’s what we’re calling it, is very comfortable. The bed is way more supportive than what I was sleeping on in my fifth-floor walkup.
I thought we’d warmed up to each other with the first dinner, but…no. It’s clear we’re meant to stick to our respective spaces, using the company’s instant messaging platform to communicate ideas to share with the board. He’s been open to my suggestions, though it’s weird that he’d rather stay on his side of the penthouse than talk face to face.
The only person I’ve actually talked to during this time is Grayson, and that’s only when he delivers my meals. But even those interactions are brief. Based on the regret in Grayson’s eyes, I’m guessing Wolfe gave him some sort of directive about what’s appropriate.
Honestly, as much as it frustrates me—meals are meant to be shared, for Christ’s sake—it makes me feel sorry for a fucking billionaire. I had no idea how close to the truth I was with that cage thing.
Whatever the reason, this is fucking miserable.
After yet another brief, appropriate interaction with Grayson, I decide I’ve had enough with this interminable isolation and pull up the messaging app.
Portelli, Joseph:You know, there’s this thing called actual human contact. You should try it sometime.
Portelli, Joseph:Unless you’re a robot.
Wolfe Jr., Randolf:Does not compute.
I laugh, then stare at the screen, confused.
Portelli, Joseph:Was that a joke?
Portelli, Joseph:Who is this, and where is the smug billionaire who’s been ignoring me?
Wolfe Jr., Randolf:It was a joke. I apologize.
Portelli, Joseph:No apologies necessary. It was a pretty good joke. I lol’d. For real.
Wolfe Jr., Randolf:No, I apologize for not making you feel more welcome. I’m not sure of the protocol in a situation like this.
Who the fuck is this guy?
Portelli, Joseph:I’m pretty sure the protocol would include busting out that VR system and giving it a whirl. Would be rude to ignore Sherry’s thoughtfulness.
Wolfe Jr., Randolf:You know, I think you might be right.
Portelli, Joseph:Meet you in the living room?
He doesn’t respond immediately, and I wonder if I haven’t scared him back into whatever shell he’s been hiding in.
Wolfe Jr., Randolf:Yes.
Well, okay then.
I pull on a clean T-shirt from the pile of clothes that Rand lent to me and check my hair in the mirror before walking out into the main area and crossing the kitchen into the living room.
He’s standing in the middle of his own space, shifting on his feet as he fidgets with the box of VR equipment. I lock down the urge to give him a hug and meet him in the middle.
“Oh, look. A real, live boy,” I say, cracking a smile.
He takes a breath as though he was anticipating something meaner. Squaring his shoulders, he sends me a Very Serious nod. He seems to be at war with himself, like maybe he wants to relax, but there’s an inner drill sergeant spit-yelling at him to stand up straight and act like a man.
“Hey,” I say, lightly smacking his arm. “Protocol says that when you’re greeted with a friendly joke, you throw it back. Or at least crack a smile.”
He adjusts a shoulder, then nods to himself. “Hello. Also, no one’s called me real—or a boy—in a long time.”
I laugh, not sure if he’s being intentionally funny or not. “The self-own. That’s a bold move.”
