Page 62 of Royal Desire

She narrows her eyes. “Approve of your change in attitude or your couture products?”

“All of the above. Did you order room service?”

“Of course I did. No one has to twist my arm to order food. Who do you think I am?”

Some things haven’t changed, and I like it.

We’re almost toe-to-toe. Her eyes flare when she doesn’t miss the fact I have to adjust my dick. “I have enough time for you to eat before I take you home. You’re back in The Speakeasy tonight?”

“I am. And I’m going to need a nap. You kept me up talking and drinking way too late.” She licks her lips and hesitates a few beats. “So, your client, the one who works for Enzo ... do I need to be worried about him? Because I’m beyond worried about Enzo knowing where I am, but I have Grandma and Blake to think about. I can’t go home if there’s a chance he’ll follow me there. His threats were scary enough in New York. I can’t put my family in danger.”

“I’ll take care of Ansel Reid. He was still here this morning. It’s a long story, but I have a good reason why you won’t need to worry about him while he’s here. And unless you want to continue this conversation dripping wet while wearing only a towel, I suggest you get dressed. We have more to talk about. We’ll do that while you eat.”

She yanks the bag from my grip and takes a step back. “I’m only staying for the food and fancy coffee.”

My smile spreads wide. “Whatever you have to do to convince yourself of that. I have a contact who might be the only motivating factor to keep Enzo Caruso from stepping foot anywhere near the West Coast. And if shit goes south, you’ll need a defense attorney. My guess is I’m the only one you can afford.”

“If I end up needing a defense attorney, I’m fucked.”

I shake my head. “I’m afraid you already are. Enzo Caruso knows where you are. You gained the attention of the wrong guy, Ruby. You’re lucky to have me.”

When she starts to question that, I wonder if she does want to continue this conversation in a towel, but there’s a knock on the door.

“That’s probably your room service. Get dressed. I need to concentrate, and I can’t do that with you almost naked.”

“I don’t know why you want anything to do with me, let alone help me.”

There’s another knock at the door, this one more insistent than the first. We need to move onto other things before we get to the issue of us. “That’s a conversation for later. The New York Mafia has a way of taking precedence.”

I’m not sure if she agrees or gives in. I let room service do their thing, and five minutes later, the woman who’s taken over my brain and my dick waltzes out of my bedroom. She’s wearing a pair of loose jeans that sit low on her hips and a plain T-shirt. Her wet hair is tied high on her head, and her feet are still bare.

I take a bite of a melon and talk around it. “You weren’t shy when ordering food.”

She grabs a plate and starts to dish up Eggs Benedict, hashbrowns, and fresh fruit. “I figured I’d take some home to Blake and Grandma.”

“Better than a box of donuts to avoid another diabetic disaster.” I pull out a chair and sit catty-corner from her. “Full disclosure, I hired a private investigator to go to New York to look into Enzo Caruso.”

She stops midchew to take that in before she swallows. “You can’t do that. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. They’re dangerous, Payne.”

I pick up a fork and nab a strawberry off her plate. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with. I have my own contacts—the same ones who told me Ansel Reid works for the Carusos. Only my contacts control the West Coast and have assured me the Carusos are not welcome here.”

She drops her fork like I just dropped a bombshell and gapes. “You’re involved with the Mafia?”

“Involved in the sense you’re asking? No. But I know people who are connected, and from what I’ve learned about the Carusos over the last day, my people are nothing like your people.”

“I don’t have people, Payne. I have Grandma and Blake—that’s it. I was minding my own business when Enzo stepped in and ruined my life as I knew it. And you’re either tied to the Mafia or you’re not. You really are fooling the world by saving kittens and throwing extravagant weekends for your clients with your dirty money.”

I want to laugh in her face. Instead, I lean forward and temper my tone just enough so she doesn’t storm out of here and I have to chase after her in front of my clients and all of Winslet. “In case you didn’t read the headlines or Alice didn’t keep you in the loop like every other blue-haired woman in town does, let me catch you up on what’s been going on since you ran away from me—the dirty money ended when my father went to prison. I’m here because I did what I had to do, but do not ever accuse me of swimming in dirty money. My shit is clean.”

She brings her napkin to her lips and pushes her half-eaten plate away before she changes the subject. When she does, she softens her tone. “You can’t get involved.”

“Why? So you can handle it yourself? Because you’re really doing a bang-up job of that right now. Your idea of hiding away in your hometown and putting yourself out there publicly to sing is probably not the right way to hide from the Mafia.”

She tosses her napkin to the table. “I don’t have a trust fund or a gated house to hide away in. I still have rent to pay until my lease is up, and Grandma has sacrificed enough for Blake and me. I might be back in the same room I grew up in, but I’m not going to suck her dry when she lives month-to-month on Social Security—I have to work. You can’t get involved. I won’t allow it.”

“It’s too late for that. I involved myself the moment I kissed you last night.”

She rests her elbows on the table, and I lose her blue eyes when her face falls into her hands. She knows she has no argument.