Page 6 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
“Of course, sir.”
He accompanies me on the elevator, pulling out his phone to send a quick text. By the time we hit the basement, we’re greeted by two additional members of security provided by the building.
When we had these buildings built, we added a private passageway between the two. With as much as I’ve been using it these days, I suppose it makes sense, but it feels like walking through a tomb, a macabre parade of suits leading the way.
On the positive side, we reach the offices less than five minutes later, and Edgerton dismisses the two additional security guys as we head up the elevator. I glance over, curious about Edgerton’s take on the matter or if he’s even aware of what the stock market is doing.
I wouldn’t want to play poker with him.
When we arrive at the executive suite, Edgerton insists on doing a sweep of the area first. That feels excessive, but everything about this feels overblown and excessive.
Satisfied that there aren’t any bogeys waiting for me under my desk, he accompanies me through the luxe executive lobby into my big corner office. I’m told it’s twice the size of the average Manhattan apartment. A fact that used to make me feel proud. Now it makes me wonder about the people who live in apartments half the size of my office.
Sherry, my executive assistant, is waiting for me in the overabundant space. She looks nervous, which is as unusual as it is worrisome. I hired her because she’s a near-retirement battle-ax who cannot be intimidated by me. And yes, I may be an egomaniac, well aware of my strengths, but I do need someone to say no to me every once in a while.
The fact that she’s fidgeting with a hangnail is…well, it’s not good. Even Edgerton looks put off by her demeanor. Silently, she hands me the Times.
Front page, above the fold, is my smug, smiling face under the headline: The Out of Touch Billionaire.
Excellent.
“Give me your take on things.”
“That one comment is going to hurt us. Badly.”
“Was this corporate espionage?”
Sherry shakes her head. “I can’t say that for sure, but I’ve worked with him on several occasions. I genuinely believe he’s just an employee. A good one until yesterday.”
I’m curious about the kind of work they’ve done together, but now is not the time. “Pull up the video. I need to see this comment that is giving me so much trouble.”
I check myself in the reflection of the floor-to-ceiling windows. I look sharp, clear, good. Strong, dominating. Just like the alpha I am.
Yeah, right.
That I still automatically default to that position after everything I read last night makes me queasy.
Meanwhile, Sherry brings up the video, and I’m able to see the details I missed from the stage. Portelli looks slightly rumpled, yes, but that doesn’t pull focus from his strong jaw and dark, Italian features. His eyes are a deep brown, set off by thick eyebrows and an enviable fringe of black lashes. His hair and beard are unkempt but rich against his pretty tan skin.
I curse under my breath. I’m describing him like he’s some kind of luxury vehicle when there is nothing luxurious about him. He’s all rough edges and provocative art. Goddammit, he’s gay. If he was sexy enough to spark last night’s solo efforts in the abstract, seeing him in high definition only adds rocket fuel to my humiliating, wayward desires.
Swallowing thickly, I return my focus to the screen.
“You’ve worked with him before?”
Sherry nods and flicks her fingers across the screen to pause the video and zoom in on him. “What is he wearing?”
“Is that not his usual style?”
Shaking her head, she purses her lip. “For one, his clothes usually fit. And I’ve never seen him come to work looking less than put together. Those don’t look like his clothes at all.”
Edgerton tilts his head, scratching his chin. “They might not be. His social media is a bit thin on the ground, but what he has indicates he’s gay and single. Maybe he hooked up the night before and borrowed his lover’s clothes.”
Edgerton, it seems, did some of the same reconnaissance I did last night. Only, this is his job, and I was just being a creeper. Examining the frozen image, this is exactly the kind of unkempt look one might achieve after fucking someone and maybe borrowing their clothes. I ignore the heat building low in my belly.
Sherry zooms back out, and we watch the rest of the video together. He’s careful as he makes his way to the aisle, but when he starts to talk, passion blazes across his face, the tendons and muscles in his forearms flexing as his hands become fists.
He looks like American determination. I could capture that square jaw of his in a marketing piece and sell a million more cross-trainers.
