Page 44 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
“Psst, billionaire,” Joe says, crooking his finger at me. I lean in, nervous. “Calling anyone ‘the help’ is dehumanizing and marks you as an out-of-touch one-percenter who deserves to be eaten.” He emphasizes this by chomping his sexy teeth together.
Teeth are not sexy, dammit.
More to his point, a now-familiar sense of wrongness lances through me. Before all of this happened, it was so easy—too easy—for me to get away with saying things that are outdated and plain wrong. Even with Sherry, I wonder how often she doesn’t say something because she simply has to pick her battles. “Noted,” I say sincerely.
Joe smiles and pats my arm, which makes my nipples hard. “Anyway, at least that’s one employee you pay well. Considering he’s able to stay in the same building.”
“I’ll have you know that his apartment is part of his compensation package. And, of course, he’s well paid. It gives me angina to think about how, in fifteen years, he’ll be retired. I can’t even begin to imagine it.”
“You could retire early. Live a life of luxury.”
I pause, looking over at Joe. “Is that really what you think of me? That I would simply luxuriate in my wealth?”
“Well, somebody should. If you’re gonna hoard all this coin, at least spend some of it for fuck’s sake.”
“Believe me, with all of my investments, I’ve been spending money.”
“Whatever, Corporate Ken doll.”
He says it like a dig, but his tone is too fond.
Fucking fond.What alternative universe am I living in?
We’ve already been walking for a while, but Joe stops in his tracks, taking in the surroundings.
“What?” I say, looking around, immediately questioning the wisdom of sneaking past my security.
“Shit, this is Central Park, right?”
“Duh,” I say as if it’s the most obvious thing in the world…because it is. Despite teasing him, I have to admit that the wonder on his face is kind of lovely, actually.
Pushing his shoulder, I tease, “Wait. You’ve lived in Brooklyn all your life, and you’ve never been to Central Park? What kind of New Yorker are you?”
He shrugs as though his truth is equally obvious. “When I was younger, I only ever went to the city to take my nonna to her favorite Broadway shows.”
“But you’ve worked here for a while now. The park is right outside the window.”
“It’s right outside your window, Corner Office. Besides, my boss is what my nonna would call a real stronzo. A real asshole,” he says, grinning broadly.
I shoot him the finger, which cracks him up. He pokes my chest. “See, you’ve got a little Brooklyn in you too.”
I’d like to have a lot of Brooklyn in me, thank you very much.
Needing to get my mind on something else, I grasp at something he just said. “My mother enjoys Broadway shows too. What does your nonna like? The big productions or the small, artsy shows?”
There it is again. That fond smile.
“Big productions all the way. And she liked to see them over and over again. What about your mom?”
“I think she secretly loves the big productions and sneaks off to see them as often as possible. But she tells everyone she likes the highbrow stuff.”
“So, like mother like son.”
“Excuse me. Evangeline is little more than a sentient mani-pedi. I am nothing like her.”
Joe’s lip curls up. “You really gonna talk about your mom like that, Mr. I Like Shoot ‘em Up Games?”
“Look, not to talk down to you, but you have no idea how these high-society families function. My mother is everything she’s supposed to be—pretty and sweet, just like spun sugar, only with more Botox. Her one duty is to photograph beautifully on my father’s arm, and she’s a pro. Believe me when I tell you that there aren’t any hidden depths.”
