“It’s some commute from Florida.” He grins. “Hope she’s not planning on taking the bus.”
“She’s moving here, obviously.” No need to mention I know she’s already here. “For six months, I think.” I turn my gaze to the wall of glass behind me and the million-quid view over the River Thames and the city beyond, wondering if I’d frightened her onto the next flight back to Tampa. It would probably be the best outcome for both of us because the image of her in front of me, trying so hard to stay on her feet, unbalanced and unraveling but taking it all like a good girl, makes me want to fuel the jet and follow her there myself.
Obviously, I won’t. For all kinds of reasons.
“She’s staying with some dotty old aunt, according to Polly.” At his airy declaration, I swing my chair and attention back to El.
“How do you know that?”
“Apparently, she doesn’t know a soul here.” He doesn’t bother to temper his shit-eating grin. “It behooves us to show her the same hospitality the Valentes showed you all those years ago. Polly’s words, not mine, by the way. She’s going to need friends. Really good ones.” Then the bastard winks.
“Sorrel!” His full name explodes from my mouth, my movement from my desk chair not dissimilar. “What the hell are you talking about?”
“Oh, do fuck off,” he drawls. Unfurling his long frame in the chair, he kicks one ankle over the other. El hates his name, but to be fair, none of us came off great in the naming stakes. Given that we were all named after some plant or other piece of ridiculousness by pseudo-hippie parents, things might’ve been worse.
Hemp, get your feet off the coffee table!Can you imagine?
Steepling my fingers to my desk, I loom over it. “When,” I demand. “When did you have this conversation with Polly?” I’m not sure how El comes into this. I’ve already told her this is a business I’m running, not a charity.
“Your knickers are awfully bunched this morning.” El gives a sly smile.
“I’ll fucking choke you with them if you don’t answer me.”
“That’s more his thing,” he says, hooking a thumb in Brin’s direction.
“Piss off,” he huffs. “I’m not going anywhere near his grundies. For the record, they wereherknickers,” he somehow feels the need to qualify. “My date’s, and it wasn’t my mouth they were in.”
“When,” I grate out. “When did you discuss this withMother dearest.” Why the hell did she speak to him? El has nothing to do with the Valentes unless… The fist around my heart eases a little. This is a strength in numbers thing. Get my brothers on my case to see if they can wear me down.
“You’re asking when did I learn about the lovely Amelia?”
“I thought she was ugly,” Brin mutters, but neither of us pays him any attention.
“When I saw her downstairs in reception this morning.”
“Mum was here?” And she didn’t appear in my office to continue her campaign?
Mischief flickers across El’s face. Somehow, I know what he’s going to say before he even opens his mouth.
“Not Mum. Amelia. She was there getting the welcome to VirTu. If I’d known, I would’ve volunteered for the job because…” He does this weird teeth-kissing thing as he shakes his head slowly.
“So she doesn’t look like a can of squashed dicks?”
“I’d like to squash her full of—”
“Shut the hell up, both of you!” I yell.
My skin goes cold, which is odd because my blood feels like it’s fast approaching its boiling point. Somewhere in the distance, I hear El begin to laugh. A great big belly laugh, like a department store Santa Claus. Fake, annoying, and deserving of a punch. But he gets a reprieve—they both do—at the sharp yet familiar wrap of knuckles against my office door. I lift my head at the intrusion, my personal assistant’s voice precedes her waddling bulk. The woman is the size of a boat these days. She’s got to be a health and safety hazard.
“…and this is the monster’s lair.”
“Jody, we’re in the middle of something.”
“Too bad you didn’t put it on your calendar,” she answers casually, not giving a flying fuck. A manila folder held between her fingertips, she casually flicks her wrist in my direction. “And here would be the monster. And it looks like he’s in acharmingmood today.”
The door slides a little farther open to reveal the five-foot-eight-inches of golden gorgeousness I hoped never to see again. And now I’m lying to myself, as some kind of primeval recognition zips down my spine.Out of all the people in this room, I’m the one who knows how beautiful this woman looks when she comes.The thought curls warmly in my gut, snug and satisfied as my eyes eat up every inch of her.
I watch as her pink-glossed lips quiver uncertainly before a tentative smile breaks free. Jesus Christ, Mimi Valente grew up. Grew up and out inallthe right places. Not that it matters because I made a promise. A promise I haven’t broken yet.
