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Opportunities like Roman Montesano don’t come every day. I need to sober up and stop wasting time second-guessing his motives.
I walk to the bathroom, splash cold water over my face, and run my wet fingers through my curls so they’re no longer a frizzy mess. Once I look half human, I slip on a silk kimono and walk out to face the two men.
“Could you please call or text Roman and ask him to reschedule? I’m ready to see him now.”
The larger man swaggers over. “Look, Miss. The boss ain’t some lackey you can stand up whenever you feel like it. He’s a busy man who has better things to do than wait around for a lush.”
I flinch, my eyes widening.
Dominic slaps a hand on the man’s chest. “Easy, Tony. The boss says she’s his guest.” He turns to me, his face softening. “Why don’t you go back to your room. The boss said he would try you again tomorrow morning.”
Just as I’m about to object, Sofia appears from down the hallway, pushing a trolley containing several dishes. I inhale the aromas of freshly baked bread and garlic, making my stomach grumble.
Both men pick up plates and start eating, while Sofia pushes open my door and sets the table.
I stand back, watching her lay out garlic bread, gnocchi, and a huge salad along with two full bottles of wine.
“No alcohol for me,” I rasp.
She turns to me and smiles. “I left you one of each so you could make your choice.”
“I said no wine.”
She retreats toward the door. “You don’t have to drink it.”
“Sofia.”
As the older woman slips out into the hallway, I rush to the table, grab both bottles, and follow her. Tony and Dominic move into position with their plates and block my passage.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“The boss says you should eat lunch, seeing as you missed breakfast,” Dominic says.
“When did he tell you that? This morning?”
The corner of Dominic’s mouth lifts into a smirk. When I turn to Tony, he glances to the side, unable to meet my gaze.
Every paranoid thought surges to the surface. Does Roman want to keep me in his mansion? Everything I’ve seen so far indicates he wants me drunk and unable to complete this portrait.
I’m not going to freak.
I’m not going to freak.
I’m not. Going. To. Freak.
“Where’s all that stuff I asked for from my apartment?” I ask.
They exchange glances.
“Did you even go to pick up my drawing materials?”
Tony shovels a forkful of gnocchi into his mouth and chews. Dominic does the same. I take that lack of answer to all my questions as a no.
“Where’s Roman?” I snarl.
“Out,” Tony says, spattering me with sauce.
My jaw tightens. Talking to these lackeys is a waste of time. And for reasons I don’t want to consider, Sofia has doubled the serving of wine to full-sized bottles. I’m not being paranoid. Not when I’m being slapped in the face by so many warning signs.
