Page 76 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
RAND
I’m not sure why,but giving up my sexual power to Joe for a few brief moments has given me power—real power—everywhere else. For instance, it’s the day after he railed and defiled me in the boardroom, and I’m once again standing up to my father.
We’ve taken a break, but Father has cornered me, his cool disapproval evident.
“We had a specific marketing strategy in place, which you’ve destroyed with this amateur-hour social media post.” Scanning my attire, he shakes his head. “And you look like you’re about to take a run in the park, not manage a crisis of your own making.”
I wonder if the man has ever been wrong about anything in his whole damned life.
It was a good post. The first picture was simple. Me looking straight into the camera, no cheesy corporate smile, no fancy suit, no alpha mask to make me feel superior. Joe took the picture, and I…I just looked happy. Determined.
The second picture really tells the tale though. It’s Joe and me sitting across from each other. Sherry took that one, capturing a moment before the second meeting with the board.
Joe had been passionately explaining the critical needs of our employees, and in the picture, he’s pointing at something on the paper in front of us. I’m leaning forward, listening intently. There’s something interesting about this picture. It isn’t staged—Joe actually looks a little frustrated—but it shows our mutual respect.
I love this picture of us.
I refocus on my father and smile. “Your strategy was bullshit. And this outfit is from our clothing line. We’re an athletics company. We should look athletic.”
“Are you saying our marketing department can’t do their job?” he asks, ignoring my very good point about the clothes to ask an actual question.
“No. The opposite, in fact. I’m saying that you and the board have hamstrung the marketing team, and they are doing their level best with the bullshit you’ve given them. Our post freed them to make better decisions.”
“Our post? Are you actually buying into what this Portelli guy is saying?”
I nod. “I am. He’s a good man, and he’s right. You should listen to him.”
“He’s a mobster, Rand. He’ll always be a mobster.”
And thank God for that, I mutter under my breath, remembering our night together in vivid detail. A warm hand lands on my shoulder, and I glance up to see Joe. He looks proud of me, and I feel it in my toes. I nuzzle my cheek against his hand, and he winks at me.
My father looks between us, and he shakes his head like he’s never been so disappointed in his whole life.
Joe turns to my father. “You’re right, of course. I was born into a mob family, and some of that shit is innate. I just redirect what I learned and focus on the good.”
My father gives Joe an up-down that would intimidate a lesser man. “I understand my son thinks you saved his life. You and I both know that all I had to do was arrange for a sizable transfer of cash into your father’s bank account, and all of this drama could have been avoided.”
Joe’s smile is sad. “My father would’ve taken your money and sent Rand back in a body bag. He wouldn’t go after you, or your mistresses that you think nobody knows about, or your wife. No. With the future of Wolfe Athletics in his hands, he’d have simply killed your son and taken your one true love—your business—to its knees.”
For the first time ever, my father seems nervous. He adjusts his collar. “If he had done that, I would have paid another family to wipe out every last one of you.”
Joe grabs my hand, kissing the back of it. “And that, Mr. Wolfe, is why I saved your son’s life.”
There’s a moment of quiet as my father absorbs Joe’s simple truth.
“I never wanted any part of the mob life. I wanted a fancy job in Manhattan. Wish I’d realized sooner that you corporate guys are more gangster than we ever could be.”
The meeting is about to reconvene, and my father pulls himself back together. “However true that may be, I still hold the purse strings. If we cannot come to some sort of accord, a simple meeting of the board will swing the entire decision my way.”
“I think it’s funny that you keep bringing up the board,” Joe says, crossing his arms. “If you could use them against me, you would have already. You would’ve called a vote, had me fired, had Rand stripped of his title, and taken over as CEO. But you haven’t done any of that.”
My father’s face goes to stone.
I hold up my hand, shaking my head. “That’s not true though, is it? You did hold a vote. Yesterday. You held a vote, and you lost.”
His eyes flash rage, then go cold as if it never happened. But I saw what I saw.
“We are not finished talking about this,” he grits out.
