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“In the mood to thank you? What does that mean?”
“It seems only fair.” He leaned closer, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. He grasped my arm hard enough that I knew tomorrow I’d have bruises. “You owe me, Pia.”
“I owe you? What am I, a whore whose wine you’ve pimped to your customers?”
He tightened his grasp. “You’re making far too much of this, amore mio.”
Even if we hadn’t been the only people in the elevator, I still would’ve done the same thing. I raised my hand and slapped him.
“Was that necessary?” He rubbed his cheek.
I wrenched my arm from his grip. “I’m going to give you the benefit of the doubt, Paolo, since you’ve never behaved this way with me before, and assume you are drunk.” The elevator door opened, and I stepped out, baring his exit. “Goodnight, Paolo. If you want to remain my friend, tomorrow I’ll expect an apology, after which we’ll never speak of this again.” When the doors started to close, I took a step back, not hearing whatever he said in response.
I stalked to my room, fuming at what a disaster the night had been. I was disappointed beyond belief that what should have been the end of a nice evening, had turned so unpleasant.
I’d just stepped from the shower when I heard a knock at the door. “This is ridiculous,” I muttered, donning the white terry-cloth robe the hotel provided.
I pulled the door open in anger, prepared to tear into the man who was quickly becoming my former friend. “I’m in no mood for this, Paolo—”
“Lover’s spat?” Mylos smirked and rested one arm on the door jamb. “You should know, he left the hotel only moments ago with a very tall, very beautiful blonde.”
“Thank you for delivering that information to me personally; however, what Mr. Viticcio does in his free time is of no interest to me.”
Mylos pushed past me.
“Mi scusi, I did not invite you in.”
“I thought maybe since you and Mr. Viticcio have such an open relationship, I’d keep you company in his absence.”
“This is getting old,” I muttered under my breath as I stalked over to him and raised my hand to slap his face like I had Paolo’s. Mylos, though, was too quick for me. He leaned forward, close enough to kiss me, and stared into my eyes.
I wrenched my arm away and rubbed my wrist. “Why are you here, Mylos?”
“I can’t believe you’re with him. What happened to his wife? Are you the reason they divorced? Are you a homewrecker, Pia?”
“It’s time for you to leave.” I walked over to the door and held it open for him.
“I just have one question—”
I slammed the door closed. “What?”
“I mean that little to you, Pia?”
I shook my head. “You mean that little to me? I am nothing to you. Nothing! I am the pretty Italian girl you bump into every couple of years, have a quick fuck, and then I never hear from you again.”
“That’s rich, coming from you.”
I scrunched my eyes. “What does that mean?”
“Whenever we’re together, you can’t get back to Italy fast enough.”
“It’s where I live, Mylos.” I walked over and poured a shot of whatever brown liquor was in the decanter. Holding my breath, I downed it. My throat burned and I coughed.
“Jesus,” he said, stalking over to me. He pulled the glass from my hand, reached into the bar refrigerator, and put a few ice cubes in it before pouring more of the liquor.
“No, thank you,” I said when he tried to hand it to me. He drank it himself. “Don’t you think you’ve already had enough?”
“Are you suggesting I’m drunk?”
