Page 154 of Twisted Truth

“Anyway, the pen Ella handed you at the polo match so you could write down a thought? Hatchet’s pen. The hand sanitizer she used at the cricket match? A Gorson product. The blanket the two of you sat on during the garden tour for your picnic lunch? A Chatterly blanket. All of the companies have reported a rise in sales, especially Chatterly. The New York office is buzzing about it. Apparently, they’re now fielding calls from many of our companies who all want a piece of Ella. So, be aware of that.”

I swell with pride over Ella, but I also take Matthew’s advice to heart. I’m okay with Ella doing some things to help sales within our companies, but she is not some product peddling monkey we’re going to exploit. And she’s too nice and too willing to help others. I may have to step in and be the firm line in the sand for her. We’ll see what comes of it all.

“Also, there is a heavy storm circling around New York. So far nothing with the flight is delayed or in question, but there is a possibility that we’ll have to land somewhere else for the evening if the storm gets heavier or doesn’t move as quickly as expected.”

“Anything else?”

“No, I’ll make sure Ella is packed and ready, and we’ll meet you on the plane.”

“Thank you, Matthew.”

I slide into the back of the waiting car, my thoughts still on the sleeping beauty in my bed upstairs. What a week she’s had. A smile tugs at my mouth as I think of Ella yesterday in the board meeting with the executives from Lennox Rose. They gushed over her and her draw since their companies have all experienced the benefit of that draw this week. Any item of clothing or accessory Ella wore had completely sold out. Their online sites had record-smashing traffic and sales. Their stores were flooded with customers. I could practically see the envy in their eyes as they looked at Ella like she was some sort of mythical golden goose. I’ve never been told so many times how lucky of a man I am in such a short period of time.

They offered her the brand ambassador deal eagerly, and with incredible terms for Ella because of it. I swelled with pride watching her sign it. I’m glad she has something of her own, something outside of me and our contract and her job at Langford Holdings. It makes me feel a little more at peace with our situation. No matter what happens between us, Ella now has the clout to take care of herself in a big way. The thought of her needing to take care of herself still chafes at me since I selfishly, pridefully want to take care of her. But the logical part of me knows that her own form of independence and safety net outside of me is important.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I still burned with fucking male pride as I noticed all the men at that table eyeingme with jealousy because Ella is mine. They didn’t need to tell me I’m lucky. I fucking know it.

And I want Ella to know that I know it.

But it’s too soon.

Things are changing between us, and I don’t want to spook her. I don’t want to mess with what we have going on now. But I will make one change. When we get back to New York, she’s moving into my bedroom. Now that I’ve had her in my bed each night, I can’t go back. I only want to go to sleep after fucking her thoroughly, and I want to wake her each morning with my head between her legs, as I have the last six mornings. And I want to sleep as soundly as I have all week, without the dreams and worries that normally plague me at night, because she’s beside me. Grounding me.

I have, as much as I hate to admit it, been with many women. But something with Ella is different. I thought I’d had mind-blowing sex before. It all pales in comparison. If there’s such a thing as a sexual soulmate, Ella is mine. I’ve felt the chemistry between us since day one, but I never realized how powerful of a something that would translate to in the bedroom. This isn’t just the “honeymoon phase” of a relationship. It’s more. It’s a lot fucking more. And it’s blowing my goddamn mind.

I text Matthew to arrange moving Ella’s things with Ms. Graham.

Tonight, I will have her in my bed at home. And I’ll make sure she never wants to leave it.

“Yegor Volkov,”I say, studying the photo in my hand. I’m with Oliver, my European PI, in a tiny cafe in South London.

“Russian mafia,” Oliver says.

Fuck.“How is he involved?”

“Tyrone and I finally connected a dot.” Tyrone is my American PI. I figured out about a decade ago that whoever ordered the hit on my grandfather had ties to Europe and possibly Russia, and Tyrone and Oliver have been investigating on all those fronts since then to piece together the chain of events, and most importantly, find out who the head of the operation is. Whoever it is has covered their tracks well, but I am determined to find them and make them pay.

My father started investigating after my grandfather’s death, but he did so quietly, not wanting to alert the press, because we couldn’t let the world know the truth. That truth would have shown a vulnerability too many others would have wanted to replicate—so the official story of my grandfather’s death is that he died in a car accident.

I had also been in the car during the accident. The men who murdered my grandfather used the accident to try to cover up the murder, and to get rid of me, the only witness. But I miraculously lived. And that fact thrust me into the spotlight even further than I already was at just ten years old. Since no one knew about the murder, I was hailed as the boy who survived the car crash that killed my grandfather. The Langford Patriarch died, but the Langford Heir survived. The press had gone wild with the story.

For thirteen years, my father searched behind the scenes, not alerting the police or FBI of what he suspected because some of his leads pointed to potential alliances within our own government. But unfortunately, all of the leads he found eventually turned to dead ends. So, twelve years ago, I took over since my father’s investigation had taken him in circles. I figured since I had been there that night and had also been taken hostage, that my memories could give me a few new leads to try, and some of those leads have been promising.

I may have been a young boy, but I remember that night in too great of detail.

I wasn’t supposed to be there. Our family had been at dinner, and on a last-minute change of plans, I begged my parents to let me sleep at my grandfather’s house. I’d always been close to my grandfather, and I loved staying at his house.Houseis not quite the word, though. Mansion or small palace would better describe it. He lived on Long Island in a mansion practically straight out ofThe Great Gatsby. Since Langfords are old money, we bought that land and built a mansion on it in the early 1800s. It’s still there, and technically it’s mine since my grandfather left it to me in his will, but I haven’t been able to bring myself to move into it, not with the ghost of his murder in my mind. Plus, it would just be me there. Alone in a vast mansion. I don’t want that, and my penthouse is much more convenient for work, anyway.

“It seems as though our friend Senator Sanders has some ties to Russia. They are covered well, I’ll give him that, but TDC Oil is the tie that binds them all together.”

What?“Fuck.”

The same TDC Oil that is so keen on buying Greenspan.

“We recently discovered that Senator Sanders has been Sergei Antonov’s go-to for cutting red tape and getting imports through.”

Sergei Antonov, the oil tycoon and owner of TDC Oil, deals heavily in Russian oil. He was born and raised in the US, but his father was from Russia. Our families have been friends for three decades, and I briefly dated his daughter Katrina after college at the behest of my parents.

“We can also confirm that the whispers that Sergei’s family has ties to the Russian mafia are indeed true.”