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We stared at each other through our screens. His half smile had me wanting to stroke my fingers over his lips and drag it into a genuine smile. “Would you just—” I didn’t know how to ask for what I wanted, for what I needed.
“Want to keep the line open while you sleep?” he offered.
I was crying again. How had I not drowned in all the tears I’d cried over the last two days? “Would you? Please?”
He pressed his fingers to his lips and then touched the screen. “Of course, Ginevra. Anything you need. Just prop the phone up beside you, and I’ll be right here, okay?”
I nodded, scrubbing my hands over my face, not caring that he saw me at my weakest. Liam wouldn’t hold it against me. I set the phone on my bedside table, leaning it against the book I’d left there when I dashed to Yorkfield almost two weeks before.
“Good girl,” he murmured. “You’re so fucking brave, you know that? I’ll keep an eye on you, I promise.”
This time, when I closed my eyes, I saw his face instead of Yuri’s and drifted off to sleep.
A roundof applause greeted me as I limped into my company’s headquarters the next morning, cane in hand. Skillfully applied make-up hid the cuts and bruises Yuri left on my face and visible limbs, but nothing could hide the news articles and social media posts. My celebrity was a flash in the pan, but it’d been enough that everyone in my company knew what had happened to me.
Blinking back tears, I made my way to my office, greeting employees who seemed genuinely happy to see me.
Speak of the devil. My executive assistant poked her head in after I finally settled behind my desk. “Morning, boss! Welcome back!” She set a coffee and pastry in front of me.
“Thanks, Rasmita. Can you catch me up on everything I missed?” I’d kept track of my email until the moment Yuri snatched me out of the club, but had frankly been quite distracted while I was on the other side of the country. I smashed down the ache that bloomed in my chest when I thought about the causes of those distractions.No. I was done with that life.
“Richard Huntington would like to speak with you first thing this morning,” Rasmita told me, her brown eyes wide with worry.
“What’s going on?”
“His lawyer sent over the highlights by email. I forwarded them to Cheryl for review. She’s waiting for your call.”
An hour later, I was ready to speak with Huntington, that asshole.
“Richard, good morning!” I chirped from my office. “I’ve taken the liberty of adding my company’s general counsel to this call, and I see you’ve done the same.”
“Ginevra, it’s so good to see you home, safe and sound. How are you doing?” I clenched my fists under my desk. How had I not realized how fake he was before this? God.
“Good. It’s good to be home. It’s good to besafe,” I emphasized.
“You had quite a week, I see.”
“I’m glad to be home, though, away from all of that,” I answered.
“I’m going to cut right to the chase, Ginevra, dear. You failed to mention that your father was the head of the Italian mafia in Yorkfield, and that you were marrying Irish criminals, when you signed that contract for fifteen million dollars to produce animation with my studio.”
Asshole. He was going to use a morality clause to pull out because he’d found a better price elsewhere. I knew the deal had been too good to be true. My staff had spent the last several days frantically pulling in subcontractors, dragging folks back from vacation, and spinning up for this very large last minute contract. I was going to have to eat hundreds of thousands of dollars in immediate costs, not to mention the long-term hit to my reputation.
“You’ll need to settle the bills for costs we’ve already incurred,” I answered, pulling up the spreadsheet Rasmita had spent the morning putting together for me. “We can cancel the subcontracts, of course, but we’ve already paid options for leased space to secure an office.”
Huntington narrowed his eyes, and I raised my hand to cut him off before he could say something he’d regret. “I never hid my origins. Don’t blame me because you didn’t do your due diligence.”
He laughed. “Marrying Rian O’Conner has nothing to do with your origins, darling.”
I shrugged. Hollywood had been in bed with the mob since its earliest days. I was just taking it literally. “What’s this really about, Richard?”
His lawyer interrupted him. “The morality clause, Ms. Russo. We are ending the contract based on your marriage to a known and convicted criminal.”
“I’m sorry, Ginevra,” Richard said sadly, before we ended the call.
That fucker.
Half a dozen similar inquiries came in over the course of the morning. Hiring my company cost a lot because we were the best, and I refused to allow these assholes to use my marriage to renegotiate and save a few pennies.
