Page 89 of Extradition (Mobsters + Billionaires 1)
I open my mouth to protest, but he puts up a hand. “You are the one thing I cannot buy, Joe. And because I know you will never take advantage of my wealth, it makes me want to be generous with it. So please, shush, and let me do nice things for you.”
It’s my turn to blush, but I try for a stern expression anyway. “Okay, but…don’t overdo it. And for some reason, you talking about how much money your money makes over the course of a sentence makes me want to put you on your knees.”
He checks his wrist, telling time on a watch worth more than most make in a year. “I think we’ve got time for a quick blowjob,” he says, his crooked smile making my chest warm.
“No, you don’t,” Grayson says, walking out onto the balcony. “I don’t have any spare suits if things get messy. So keep it in your pants until later tonight.”
I chuck Grayson’s shoulder. “Man, I thought we were friends, and here you are, cockblocking me.”
“I am doing no such thing, Joe. I’m keeping things running on time and on schedule. You two can whip your cocks out later.”
Rand’s surprised gasp makes Grayson and I laugh hard. He’s right, of course. The elevator doors open just as we make our way inside, and in walks the night’s security team.
Edgerton takes us through the security protocol for the evening. At Rand’s insistence, the organizers have increased their security protocols and beefed-up general security.
“Beyond all that, I’ll be on the periphery with a backup team, should there be a need.”
I assume that means he’ll be set up in a van with a bank of computers and listening devices, waiting to take out any bad guys. The thought amuses me, but I hide my smile and nod along in all the right places. I finger the folded-up speech in my pocket, trying not to sweat in yet another ridiculously expensive suit.
Finally, we make our way downstairs and into the car. Before I know it, Rand’s usual security guy, James, is holding open the car door for me, and I’m stepping out onto an actual red carpet. The American Museum of Natural History has been transformed into a gorgeous, star-studded event space.
Rand is already out of the car and trips a little on the edge of the carpet. I steady him with a neutral hand on his shoulder, but it’s all I can do not to grip his hip and make damn sure he’s solid.
“You okay?” I ask out of the corner of my mouth.
“Yep. Apparently not finished making an ass of myself.”
“Psh, nothing compares to the alpha-wolf speech you gave. You could go sprawling out on this red carpet right now, and that speech would still have you beat.”
The tips of his ears redden beautifully, but I know to back off.
“Sorry, wasn’t trying to make you blush on the red carpet. Promise.”
“Suuuure,” he whispers back, his private smile telling me he didn’t mind it one bit.
Flashing lights refocus us, and we stand next to each other, trying to look like allies, business partners, never mind the fact that every nerve inside of me hums and sings with his nearness.
Paparazzi are everywhere, flashing lights, calling our names. It’s a bit of a shock when one of the business journalists yells out, “Mr. Wolfe! You and Mr. Portelli seem to be getting along. Have you developed a friendship?”
I stiffen, not sure how he’ll take that kind of a question. But his posture, still relaxed, never changes. He smiles at the reporter then looks at me before nodding thoughtfully, looking like the consummate professional.
“I once heard that if you don’t bring a diversity of thought into your executive spaces, you will die from the shot you don’t see coming. And it’s not easy when somebody points that out to you. It usually involves a pretty large ego check. Mr. Portelli could have been the kind of person to gloat about being right. But he’s not. Wolfe Athletics was dying a slow death, and we didn’t know it. He saved us from that. So, are we friendly? Absolutely.”
I try to remember my poker face, and when he sticks out his hand, I don’t pull him toward me and fuck him on this very nice carpet. I simply shake it and give him a bland smile. And hope that the recording equipment doesn’t pick up the cha-cha in my chest.
We finally make our way past the gaggle of reporters and into the entry rotunda, where the gala is being held among soaring dinosaur fossils. If I thought the red carpet was the hard part, I was wrong. While Rand was right—there are fewer people here than at the company meeting—this is a different atmosphere entirely. Fancy, big-name people are everywhere: oligarchs, actors, sports heroes. My eyes nearly bug out of my head.
“Is that Eanes?”
Rand follows my line of sight, putting his hand on my shoulder. “Weston? Yeah. Wanna meet him?”
I turned to look at him, wide-eyed. “Do I want to meet Weston Eanes? Uh, yeah.”
“Looks like he’s talking with his manager now, but we can circle back around when he’s not as busy.”
I nod, my head still on swivel.
His hand still on my shoulder, he asks, “Are you okay? Still nervous?”
