Page 28 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
Rock, meet hard place.
Taking another deep breath, I draw myself up. No more pity parties. “What’s next?”
Wolfe’s eyebrows go up, and I bite my tongue, waiting for him to respond. “I was going to inquire as to what you wanted for dinner. I can order in, or Grayson has a few lovely recipes up his sleeve.”
Pushing myself up from the couch, I shake my head. “I’ve got to do something with my hands, or I’ll go crazy.”
Wolfe steps back again, and I roll my eyes. “I’m not taking you out. I just risked everything to get your coddled, overprivileged ass out of there.” I scratch the back of my head. “Maybe I can do a simple primavera with some egg noodles. What kinda vegetables you got?”
Grayson pops up outta nowhere. “We have flour and eggs, along with a nice assortment of vegetables, including some cherry tomatoes from my window garden.”
“Cherry tomatoes sound amazing. If you’ve got some fresh basil, I’ll be all set.”
“I’ll have the concierge bring up the basil. Shouldn’t take but a few minutes.”
I’d complain about the utter ridiculousness of needing a concierge to bring me basil, but it’s not like I can just run to the corner market in this neighborhood.
“All right, Grayson. Show me to your kitchen, and then, all due respect, get the fuck outta my way.”
Grayson’s answering grin is subtle in the extreme, and it feels like a small gift. “Yes, sir.”
Having breezed past the kitchen before, I’m impressed by how cozy it feels, despite the modern conveniences. Hell, this place looks like my nonna’s dream kitchen, another way in which this Wolfe asshole is playing against type.
It’s a bright u-shaped space with dark-gray cabinetry, warm butcher block countertops, and a huge island with plenty of room to spread out. Just past the island is a big rustic dining table, set off by tall green plants and a panoramic view of the city.
A Viking oven gleams under the carefully arranged lighting, reminding me that I wanted to buy one for my nonna with my big, important job. Just as I’m beginning to wonder where the refrigerator is, Grayson opens a pair of cabinet doors to an enormous refrigerator that could almost be a walk-in. He also points me to the pantry, which is fully stocked. It’s crazy to me the number of options that Wolfe has at all times. Many of these things won’t last more than a week, and I seriously doubt he gets to all of this produce.
“I take it you and yours eat well from the excesses of this pantry.”
“We do, Mr. Portelli. I live with my mother. She’s getting older, but she appreciates it when Mr. Wolfe is too busy to eat his pineapple.”
I laugh, feeling some sort of small victory that I’ve broken through Grayson’s kind but professional exterior.
“Grayson, can you do me a favor?”
“Name it.”
“Can you call me Joe? All of this Mr. Portelli stuff makes me feel like I’m not a real person.”
“Sir, I can. However, in the presence of Mr. Wolfe and company, I must revert to the more appropriate greeting.”
“I’ll take it.” Smiling, I ask, “How long have you been working for this asshole?”
Grayson’s happy expression shutters. “Sir, you have been through something today that I cannot begin to imagine. But I am, first and foremost, loyal to Mr. Wolfe. I’ve known him since he was a very young boy, and I know that you don’t get to see the best of him but believe me when I tell you that he is, at his core, a very good man.”
“Then what is it with all of that alpha-wolf bullshit?”
Grayson opens his mouth, then closes it.
I rake my hands through my hair, frustrated. “I’m sorry, Grayson. Of course I’m putting you in an awkward spot, asking you things that are none of my business. I appreciate what you’re saying. It’s just hard to see him as a good man when I see the results of some of his decisions.”
Grayson nods before stepping back. “I would urge you to consider that the CEO of a large corporation with an iron fist of a board has rather less control over the decisions than you might imagine. The things he had to give up just to shut down that slave labor factory…”
“Tell me.”
Grayson shakes his head. “I keep Mr. Wolfe’s confidences, of course, but I can tell you that he’s had to give up pieces of himself for every bit of forward progress he’s achieved.”
“Okay, okay.” I shake my head. “I’m just gonna get to work here, get out of my head, you know?”
“Of course, Joe. I’ll be right back with the tomatoes.”
“Thank you, Grayson.”
I open cabinets until I find a bowl and a sifter, and I hope to hell I made the right decision today.
