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I blurted out a soft curse, more than a little vexed that I was spending my coffee break thinking about him. It was no real surprise, though. Not when I’d spent hours immersing myself in, and working on, amafiaromance novel.
Yeah. A mafia romance novel. It was like some higher power was having a joke at my expense. And I wasn’t seeing the humor in it.
Still, I hadn’t even considered turning down the author’s request to edit it. I was nothing if not professional. I didn’t let people down that way.
I had a long list of authors that I regularly worked with. Freelance editing was more profitable these days than it used to be due to the surge in self-published writers. But I was also often hired by publishing companies, so I got the best of both worlds really.
As a developmental editor, my purpose was not only to aid the author but to represent the readers—spotting grammatical mistakes, fixing errors, altering sentences to improve their flow, and making suggestions that would improve the characters, plot, structure, and pacing.
Having an undying love for books, I treasured my job. I didn’t find the pressure of deadlines off-putting. Which was a good thing, since I had plenty of them.
I considered myself lucky every day that I had a job I loved. Not a lot of people could boast that. The world sucked that way.
Teresa didn’t understand why I wished to work when I could either live off the trust fund I’d been gifted or marry a man who could financially support me. It could be said that we didn’t share the same outlook on this element of life.
While she liked to brag to others that I had a college degree, she wasn’t truly proud of me. She didn’t see much value in my profession. Nor did she understand my passion for reading—she thought of it as a frivolous hobby. Yeah, well, I thought that the shocking amount of cash she weekly blew on designer clothes was frivolous, but to each their own.
A heavy knock came at the front door. Ah, Inaya was here, then. She’d texted me earlier to say that she’d stop by and drop off a batch of lemon treats that her delightful grandmother had baked. God bless Judy.
Over the past three weeks, I’d seen a lot of my friends. They’d visited me, I’d visited them, and we’d gone out for meals or drinks. Despite my assurances that my heart wasn’t broken, they were determined to ‘keep an eye’ on me. I loved them for it, even if I did sometimes find my eyelid twitching from all the fussing.
Taking my coffee with me, I walked to the front door and pulled it open. My body went still. Not Inaya.
Caught completely off-guard, I merely stared at my brother. He very rarely came to see me. In fact, I could count on one hand the number of times he’d been here.
“Julian,” I finally greeted, my stomach sinking. It wasn’t hard to guess why he was here. He’d evidently heard that Danton and I weren’t an item anymore—not that we ever truly had been—and he was here to ask if the rumor was true.Crap.
He glanced over my shoulder and into the apartment. “You alone?”
“Yes.” I opened the door wider, and he strode inside as if he owned the place. “What brings you here?” I asked, going for clueless.
He shook his head at me. “What the hell are you doing, Cat?”
Closing the door, I felt my brows flit together. “Excuse me?”
“This thing you’ve got going on with Quintero is a clusterfuck waiting to happen. You’re playing a dangerous game here, and you damn well know better.”
Huh. So hehadn’tyet discovered that it was ‘over.’ I saw absolutely no reason to enlighten him. “I’m not playing any game.”
Julian let out a derisive snort. “You’re flipping Dad the finger. Look, I get that you don’t like the things he asks of you. I get that you resent he has no time for you.”
I didn’t resent the latter, Ilovedit.
“Getting cozy with a guy who always point blank refused to do business with Dad might seem like a fun way to non-verbally tell him to go fuck himself, but it is not the road you should have gone down. It ain’tsmart, Cat. Not even a little.”
“My interest in Danton isn’t about Jorge.”
Another snort. “Of course it is. Just as Quintero’s interest in you is about Dad.”
I folded my arms. “Not everything is about our father, Julian.”
“Oh, so you think it’s a coincidence that the woman Danton decides to claim just happens to be Jorge’s daughter? You think that Quintero cares about you?”
Cares? Ha. Not even a little. But I wasn’t going to tell Julian that. “I’m guessing by your tone that you don’t.”
“Neither should you. Jesus, Cat, don’t be so goddamn naïve. You’re a tool to him. A tool he believes that he owns and controls. He thinks having a hold over you means he has a hold over Dad.”
If I’d been a mere tool to Danton, he would have used me in some way. But he never had.
