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“This is rather impressive,”Nico’s dad tells me as the three of us, Emilio, Nico, and myself, stand off to the side, watching as the first truck is loaded with none the wiser of laundered cash. How Emilio makes this all come together, I’ll never fully understand, a mastermind in every sense of the word is what I’d say. The hiring of the armored cars, the security from the company, and the way things are kept so quiet, it astounds me. It looks like your everyday armored cash transport car.
“It’s been busy.” Five days since the opening, and reservations are booked, tourists are in and out of the casino, and the nightclub is packed at night, along with the pool, restaurants, and Celeste’s spa. Wylder’s has every amenity you can think of on one property. That’s another thing I have yet to figure out. Every time I have a spare minute, she’s either with a client or off casino property for the night. It doesn’t matter if I’m here early or late, our days seem to veer off in different directions. That’s going to end tonight.
“Yeah, it has,” Nico states as we watch the last truck roll out for the night. My hand goes to my pocket, feeling for my phone. The vibration is going off, knowing it’s a call that needs to be answered. Respect is more important, though. When it comes to Emilio Donotello, you don’t fuck around and find out.
“I’m out of here. Going to meet the transfer at the warehouse. Nico, come,” Emilio states, snapping his fingers like he always does to make sure people know he means business.
“Later. You might want to go check the security feeds. Saw a glimpse of a certain woman in black scrubs walking through the lobby.” He claps me on my back, a gesture that tells me he feels bad for the shit storm that is sure to follow as soon as I get back to my office.
“Fuck me running,” I respond to Nico. He chuckles then follows his father along with two of his other men, flanking their sides. It’d be a fuck of a lot funnier if he were the one in my shoes.
“Pretty sure she’s not looking to do that, judging by what you’ve told me.” Probably not. Shit, he laughed his ass off when I told him what exactly went down in the garage days before. It’s funny from an outsider’s point of view. For me, not so much. I grab my phone out of my pocket, looking at the notification that’s on the screen. It’s Terry again, letting me know that shift change is complete, he’s off for tonight, and that Manny is available if I need anything. If I have my way, I won’t be staying tonight either, and maybe I’ll have a certain raven-haired beauty who wouldn’t mind coming home with me either. That is if I could clear this bullshit matter about her thinking I have a wife. For fuck’s sake, if I thought she’d think Journey was my wife, I would have cleared the air right then and there.
Jesus, like I’d ever be the type of person to attempt to stake a claim on Celeste if I had someone else in my corner. After backing out of the text message Terry sent me, I go to the app to check the security feed, my head down, and looking for the woman who has my dick tied in knots. The moment I secure her on the feed, I make quick work to get to her spa. It’s late. Celeste should be gone for the day, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. In fact, with the way her head is tipped down in the surveillance feed, she looks as if something has upset her.
“Shit.” My voice is louder than I wanted. The clerks at the desk in the lobby look at me like I’ve lost my mind. Technically, they aren’t wrong. What got me was that Celeste was in her spa, the cameras giving me a view of the front desk where she’s sitting, staring into the open space with a look of disappointment. I pocket my phone, nod at a couple of employees, then make my way to the spa. Celeste may have a passcode that works for her, but she doesn’t know that I do, too. And the second I get to her, I’ll be using it.
FIFTEEN
Celeste
The beepingof the door knocks me out of my stupor I’m currently in. I shouldn’t be; it’s not me who’s going through the turmoil as my best friend dropped her son off with his dad for the next three nights. It’s Tyra, and try as I might, she didn’t want me there for her. It sucked, God, it sucked so bad. My only hope is that Mace reneges on the deal they made and has to all of a sudden work.
“Jesus, what are you doing here, and why are you walking through my door?” I ask. It was either mope at home, worrying about Tyra and Von, or sit here and do it. What I’d love is to get lost in something other than misery. The feeling of being helpless sucks. It was heart wrenching to know Tyra was holding back tears while on the phone with me, and Von, I can’t even imagine how his night is going. Hopefully, Mace will take him to his parents’ house if nothing else fails.
“Me? Why are you sitting here in the dark? Fuck, Celeste, what’s wrong?” Wylde closes the door, locks it, and walks closer to me until he’s rounding the check-out counter. He is like the devil, only he’s in a tailored three-piece suit, Italian loafers, hair slicked back, and he looks about as upset as I feel.
“Isn’t that a loaded question. If it’s all the same to you, boss, I’d rather not get into another dispute, at least not on hotel property. Tongues are already wagging lately.” To be honest, that might be stretching the truth. It’s the weird looks some give me. Then there’s Melanie and Layla. I swear those two always have their heads together as if they’re scheming something, acting like high school dingbats, if you ask Tyra.
“It seems we need to clear the air about a lot, including you thinking people are talking about our relationship,” Wylde states. I swivel in my chair. His knees press against mine, and once again, I’m pondering why I’m allowing him to get close to me, especially when he cups my cheek, lifting my face up to look into his eyes.
“Newsflash, we don’t have a relationship. You’re married, remember?” This guy, sure, he’s got it going on, not enough that I’d knowingly touch another woman’s man.
“You’re talking about Journey? Take a good hard look at my eyes, then think about hers. Our facial features. In fact, where’s your phone?” he asks, confusing me further.
“Yes, Captain Obvious, I’m talking about Journey.” I grab my phone, raise it until the facial recognition appears. “Now what?” My attitude is in full force, but really, Wylde is the one to blame.
“Pull up Instalook and type in Journeythefashiongirl, all in one word.” My eyes move to his then back to my phone, fingers typing out what he said, not needing to completely look where I’m typing.
“You’ll get your answer there. We may not know a whole lot about one another, but damn, it sucks that you’d think that way about me.” It all clicks together. My gaze goes from Wylde to Journey’s Instalook page. It’s the eyes, not the color but the shape, the same jawline, and even the hair line is exactly the same. Other than that, you probably couldn’t tell.
“Shit, she’s your sister or your niece?” I ask, because honestly, it could be one of the two.
“Journey’s my sister. Mom was obsessed with the band even years after the seventies and eighties started fizzling out. Dad said it was only fair seeing as he got to pick my name.” His hand is still on my cheek, and while some people might be upset with themselves jumping to conclusions, I am not.
“Well, to be fair, Tyra and I looked through every single one of your posts, which aren’t many, by the way, going as far as every tag, and still couldn’t find a match,” I admit.
“That would be because we made a pact never to use one another in social media to get a leg up. Now that you know Journey’s my sister, how about you give me your mouth, sweetheart?” My core clenches, annoyed that it’s grasping at air and not the feel of Wylde pressed against me. The position he has us in makes that impossible, the same with me giving him my mouth.
“That depends. Technically, I’m still your employee, and you’re still my boss. This could get messy. I’m breaking all the rules and could fall flat on my face. Then where would I be?” I voice my concerns, the ones that have been plaguing me along with Tyra’s stuff, except hers is so bad I’ll be surprised if we don’t have to rearrange her schedule for the remainder of the week.
“It won’t happen. Besides, it was Monica and Pierre’s idea for this to happen all along. I’ll even revise the employee handbook, reprint it to say, ‘I, Wylder Hayes, am the only one allowed to have a standing relationship with Celeste Reyes.’” He doesn’t wait for me to respond, bending his big, muscled body down until our lips are a hairsbreadth away from each other. I can smell him—citrus and clove, dark and heady, going to my senses faster than a supernova. Wylde takes my lips, nipping at my lower lip until I’m moaning, allowing him to gain entrance. Our tongues slide against each other, his more dominant than mine, and when I go to pull away after only a few minutes, needing a breather before I spontaneous combust, Wylde doesn’t tolerate it. His hand fists the hair at the back of my head, his other hand gliding down to my waist, pulling me closer to him while widening my thighs, wedging his body between them.
“Wylde.” I’m breathless, fingers digging into his hard chest, wishing we weren’t at work. Our shirts would be gone, especially his. I want to see and feel all that male hardness beneath, want my lips to taste his skin, finding out what sparks a flame for him.
“Fuck, Celeste. Do you feel what you do to me? I’m completely forgetting where I am. Come with me.” Wylde kisses me one last time, his hand still on my hip, this time guiding me off the chair I’m sitting on. “Go out to dinner with me?”
“Sure. I’m sorry for hiding from you this week. I won’t apologize for jumping to conclusions. You have a sister, so I’m sure you’d understand if this situation happened to her.” I stand my ground while picking up my purse off the counter.
