He’s not.
“What’s the plan?” I demand.
“That depends…”
“On?”
“Are you going to tell Piggy you want to claim her?”
I stare at him for a moment, unsure of where he’s going with this, which at the same time makes me unsure of how I’m going to answer it. Why the fuck would I tell Piggy something that isn’t going to happen?
“Because if you are, then we’ll discuss getting her back, but if you don’t want her…”
I stare at him, blinking and unsure that he’s just said what he has or actually inferred what he’s inferred. When he doesn’t continue or clarify, I decide it’s time for me to ask him exactly what he’s saying… or rather not saying.
“Are you telling me that you’re going to let them keep her? That you’re going to just hand her over to the Front Mob Family?”
His voice is thick when he speaks, almost as if he doesn’t want to say the thing he’s fucking alluding to. But he needs to say the words out loud, because if he can’t say them to me, how in the fuck is he going to explain it to Piggy? How the fuck is he going to tell him that he’s just giving his sister away?
For what?
Money?
A partnership?
What is the actual goddamn reason here?
“If she agrees to the terms, and if we agree to them as well, there’s no reason why we can’t make a deal.”
I feel as if I’m living in an alternate universe. This moment, this conversation, cannot be real. Shaking my head, I clear my throat, and I decide I don’t give a fuck if Bullet is my president or not.
Right now, in this moment, I don’t fucking respect him.
LAINEY
“We’ll meet with Lorenzo tomorrow, but for tonight, you can call this home. I’ll show you to your room.”
The apartment is seriously sexy. I didn’t know apartments could be sexy, but here I am, standing in this sleek place with masculine, expensive furniture, and it is indeed sexy. Black leather sofa, mirrored glass coffee table, white marble countertops, stainless steel appliances.
Everything is perfect. It’s all staged like a photographer is going to appear and start taking pictures for a magazine spread at any given moment. Taking a step forward, I decide to go aheadand slip off my shoes. The floors are a gray wood-style flooring, but the carpets are white. The last thing I want to do is mess something up.
“Is this where you live?” I turn my head to look over at him.
Paul is standing a few feet away, his eyes dancing as he takes me in. Obviously, to him, this is funny or something. I don’t know, but I’m not going to ask either. That seems like it might be embarrassing, and I refuse to be embarrassed any further than I need to be at this juncture.
“Where you live for now, too,” he murmurs.
Interesting. We’re too far away from the bakery for me to make it in the morning. I wonder if I should call Dakota or someone else to at least put a message on the door that I’ve had an emergency or something and won’t be able to open up tomorrow.
“I’ll show you to your room, but first—” He opens his hand, extending it out toward me, his palm facing upward. Shifting my gaze from his, I look down at his waiting palm and wonder if he wants to hold my hand or what the hell he’s waiting for exactly.
“Phone,” he softly demands.
“Phone?”
He jerks his chin in a single nod. “Until we get all this situated, I don’t need you to call anyone and let them know where you are.”
For the first time since deciding to just climb into that car and go off with Paul and his two goons, who are just outside the door in the hallway, I am thinking this may have been a mistake.