Page 25 of Attraction (Mobsters + Billionaires 3)
I hum as we dip into the water. “Thank you for that perspective.”
“One last thing. It sounds like you had a conversation with him about this, no?”
I nod.
“Whatever his reticence, he knows he can talk to you about even the most intimate things. He wants you to know. He trusts you, and that says a lot about your character. That you are concerned about getting it right tells me you will. All you need to do is continue to be patient with him and yourself.”
We start our laps, but his words stick with me long after I’ve gone home.
8
FORD
I’min the Wolfe Athletics building today, where I have a large corner office courtesy of my position on the board and Rand spoiling his friends.
I didn’t have much use for it until I brought on my new apprentice a few months ago.
Luca’s nephew, actually. He approached me with Dylan’s contact information the first night we met and mentioned his nephew had graduated from the London School of Economics. He also said Dylan has some environmental considerations due to being on the autism spectrum. Turns out, Dylan’s biggest environmental need, aside from a quiet office with no overhead lights, is for people not to treat him like shit.
And to not touch him if they can avoid it.
He had a hard time getting a job because he’s a little quiet with strangers and not big on eye contact, but I’m grateful he found his way to me. He’s funny and brilliant and a helluva lot more organized than me.
Luca doesn’t know this yet, but I put Dylan in charge of his financials—his legal financials, that is—and his portfolio is outpacing the stock market. Dylan isn’t a huge fan of Luca’s line of business, which is why him giving me shit over a certain uncle-mobster is both endearing and annoying.
“You have to ask Luca to go with you, Ford. An underground kitchen invite is more exclusive than a ride on a billionaire’s rocket ship at this point. Besides, those rich assholes would never invite him to that dinner. You’re already doing this weird little plus-one with him during the gala season. There’s no reason not to invite him.”
A few months ago, Luca mentioned that he’s always wanted to try out one of the underground kitchens in the city. The kind where the location and chef are unknown until the day of.
The fancy private charity pop-up dinner is such a dinner, and I know he’ll love it.
“Dylan, if I wanted your opinion, I would beat it out of you.”
He rolls his eyes. “You know Fallon will be there, and he is vile. Why would you go be in his presence without your emotional support mobster? Makes no sense.”
Dylan clocked very early on that I hate being around Fallon. He knows none of the particulars, of course, but is good about letting me know when he may show his weaselly face somewhere.
I narrow my eyes. “You’rejust nowtelling me that Fallon will be there? I thought this was theoneevent where I could avoid him. How did we not know this sooner?”
“When the Vanderbilts canceled, that left two seats.”
“And he had to jump on it.” I curse under my breath. “Do you think he knows I’m going?”
“Oh, he knows. His executive assistant is equally as gross, by the way.”
“Ugh,” I scowl. “Did he try to hit on you again?”
Dylan nods. “Though I don’t think he’s going to do it again.”
“Oh really? Why?”
“I told him that even if I enjoyed the company of men, he would be the last man in the world I could ever be prevailed upon to fuck.”
“Holy shit, you went all Jane Austen on him.”
“Bastard choked on his own spit,” he says, grinning. “I knew that English Lit minor would come in handy one of these days.”
We high-five but stop right before our hands meet—because touching—and I consider his words.
