Page 51 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
Cautious, he raises his eyes to mine, fixing me with a halfhearted glare. I stand there and let him see me. Let him see that I am the same person in every room. His nose scrunches, then his face smooths again.
“Besides, I won. I’m allowed to celebrate.”
My smile broadens. “That you are.”
We split the rest of our afternoon between VR games and Netflix reruns. He beats me at nearly every game, but I get him to admit that the lead actor in Lucifer is pretty damned hot.
I manage to not pull him onto my lap and fuck him until he begs for mercy.
It isn’t easy.
We finally pause to watch the sunset over the city, after which Rand asks, “Do you want to play Mario Kart again?”
“Actually, I’m starving. Was thinking of putting together something simple for dinner. Maybe a meatloaf and a salad. Sound good to you?”
“Joe—”
I cut him off with an arched brow.
“How many times do I have to explain it? You don’t need to keep cooking for me.”
“And how many times do I have to explain that I enjoy cooking for myself, and everything I cook is easily doubled. I’m not putting myself out for you. I just enjoy my own cooking. Besides, you made a delicious sandwich for lunch, and I’d like to return the favor.”
“Well, you are a very good cook. I just never want you to feel obligated.”
Jeez. I get the feeling that people only ever do things for him because he pays them. I wonder if he’s ever actually felt cared for.
“What’s this look?” he asks, gesturing at my face. “Are you making fun of me?”
I shake my head, letting him see my smile again. “I swear, I’m not making fun of you. Though I have no clue why you think I’d feel obligated to do a damn thing for you. I have exactly zero remorse for the shit show I’ve caused you. I did have to save your life twice, which, to be fair, has caused me a medium amount of remorse,” I say, grinning.
His reaction is to merely roll his eyes at me and put away the gear.
“And I also feel no remorse for how difficult I’m making your job right now. It’s possible—but don’t get excited about this part—it’s possible I’m aware that yesterday sucked ass for both of us and that what happened this morning was intense and scary. And occasionally—again, I’m not saying that’s what’s happening here—occasionally, I like to soothe that shit with food. Now, I can make exactly half a meatloaf and half a salad if that would make you feel better, but that feels ridiculous.”
“What do you put in your meatloaf?”
“Are you allergic to anything?”
“No, but I already had a sandwich this afternoon, and the carbs—”
I cut him off with the gesture. “It’s meatloaf. It doesn’t matter what’s in it. You don’t get to pick at it. You don’t get to ask for special things. You just sit there and be a good boy and eat what I make for you.”
Did I put a little bass in my voice at the end there? Yes. Yes, I did.
Is it possible that I did it to see the pretty flush on his cheeks again? Hm, also yes. I usually go with my better judgment, but not tonight.
It’s surreal how the intensity of these last several days has changed our dynamic. In the beginning, all I saw was this towering asshole willing to throw his weight around to get what he wants. By the next day, I saw a man in deep conflict with himself and his persona. And yesterday, I saw a man who’s been wanting to do good this whole time. Who’s been told that’s somehow not manly enough. Who’s been shutting himself up just to gain his father’s approval.
And maybe I’m the foolish one, maybe he’s just doing this all for the good of his company, trying to stop the bleeding. But I don’t think so. I think he relishes any opportunity to do the right thing. I think he’s been dying to do it.
I don’t feel sorry for him as I stand in his multimillion-dollar penthouse. Not really. But I do understand him a little better than I did before.
I’ve been in the mob since I was born. I never wanted the mob life, but I had to play the game to get high up enough to make my own decisions. I thought I could get away without cost, but this morning reminded me that was a foolish notion.
Maybe I can convince him that the cost of being good to his people is worth the price he’ll have to pay with his father. Sometimes it’s worth standing up for something, even if there are consequences.
Scratching my neck, I bring myself back to the whole meatloaf discussion. “So, are we okay? Or do we need to call Grayson to prepare you something special?”
