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“Just because she’s got the right name doesn’t mean she’d be able to blend in—on paper or otherwise,” Boone said.
Not about to put up with his snark any longer, I replied, “I have an MBA, as well as degrees in finance, political science, and pre-law. It’s widely known I’ve negotiated my own modeling contracts since I was nineteen, and I play with the stock market for fun from time to time. I can also pass your shooting, self-defense, and physical tests that are required for any position in this company, including yours.” I couldn’t resist the taunt. “If you want to act like a child, feel free. But until you’re willing to act like an adult, I will treat you accordingly, meaning you need to sit there and shut up while the rest of us have a worthwhile conversation.”
Boone flushed bright red but kept his mouth shut as I turned back to Harry, who studiously ignored our by-play.
“As discussed,” Gideon spoke to our uncle, still not taking his gaze from Brody’s, “we have several positions that could fit that résumé. The individual has to do the job created to keep that cover in place for the other employees, as well as take on whatever classes we at Accardi Tactical deem necessary for all class levels, not just the back-door operatives for your specific organization. Essentially,” he finally turned his attention to me, his dark blue eyes pinning me in place, “you would work for us, not your organization, and would be required to act accordingly.”
For a moment, I felt like I was making a deal with the devil, but I reminded myself that it was Gideon, and he knew me well enough to know I wouldn’t meekly fall into line like one of his soldiers. I smirked, folding my arms and leaning back against my chair. “Of course,” I agreed.
“Yeah,” he said, almost to himself. “That’s what I thought.” Louder, he said to Brody, “You sure you’re up to keeping her in line?”
Brody smirked. “I can only promise to do my best.”
Gideon sighed, looking back over at Harry. “Then I guess we better do a two-for-one and take both of them off your hands.”
Chapter 30
Alessia
Iwokewithastart the next morning, a hand gripping the Glock under my pillow and the knowledge I wasn’t alone. Before I could pull my weapon, the realization that Brody was next to me had me relaxing back against the bedding. Although I’d told Brody at the airport that I’d be going home alone, he trudged into my house with me as if it were a foregone conclusion he’d be welcome. I was too tired to argue, ignoring him as I performed my usual sweep of my house before collapsing on my mattress. I hadn’t even felt him get into bed beside me.
“Sorry,” he whispered as he rolled off the mattress. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
I groaned, my face buried in my pillow. “Is it morning?”
My muffled words must’ve been recognizable because Brody answered, “Afternoon, actually. You’re due for your antibiotic. Do you want me to make you something to eat with it? I asked Keene to drop off groceries a while ago. He should have food here by now.”
Turning my head, I cracked one eye. “I guess feeding me is the least you can do, seeing as I distinctly remember telling you that you werenotwelcome to spend the night.”
He looked unperturbed. “What kind of boyfriend would I be if I weren’t here to take care of you after your ordeal? Besides, we might as well get used to living together.”
That had me sitting upright. “And why would that be?” I asked, drawing the sheet up to cover myself when I realized I was naked. I definitely did not remember pulling my clothes off last night.
Brody stretched his arms to the ceiling, his shirt riding up to reveal his happy trail and the bottom of his six-pack. “The next step in this relationship is moving in together. And your house is way better than my apartment. The gym you have out back is awesome, by the way. I hope you don’t mind that I went exploring after I woke up this morning. I got a decent workout in before coming back for a nap.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I just agreed to the start of a relationship yesterday. Why the hell would you think I’m anywhere near ready to allow you to move in?”
He gave me a winsome smile, the innocent expression and sparkle in his eye making him look like a mischievous boy. “How can I ask you to marry me if we aren’t living together?”
I bolted out of bed. “Hell no.” I dragged the sheet off with me, whirling to face him. “I’m not going to marry you—you didn’t even know who I was a week ago.”
Unconcerned, he shrugged. “Is there an official length of time we’re supposed to date or live together before we can decide to get married?”
“First,” I stomped over to him, jamming a finger from my uninjured hand into his chest, “we won’t ‘decide’ to get married. You will ask me properly, after talking to Daddy and my brothers, down on one knee and with the appropriate ring. Second, you haven’t even taken me out on an official date. I’m not about to let you move in until we’ve been dating for at least a few months. And everyone knows that getting engaged before you’ve been living together for less than six months is crazy.”
His sexy smile grew as I spoke, and he ignored the finger I was poking him with to emphasize my words. “Well,” his smooth drawl was thick and slow, “I guess I can agree to that. Seeing as I only plan on doing this once, I might as well do it right. Your family will do their best to put me through the wringer, but you’re worth it, sweetheart.”
That drew me up short. “What?”When have I lost control of this conversation?I wondered. That was why I really shouldn’t argue before I was properly caffeinated and ate a decent meal.
Nodding as if he had the world figured out, he headed to the closet door, turning the light on to peer at the contents. “Do you wear everything in here, or are some of these just in here to maintain your image? ’Cause, babe, there is a shit-ton of clothes in here.”
I brushed past him, dropping the sheet in favor of a bra, panties, yoga pants, and a tank top. I only wore a tiny fraction of the garments—the closet itself was large enough to be another bedroom, but until I regained control of the conversation, I wasn’t about to volunteer anything. “Of course, I have a diverse wardrobe,” I said as I drew the shirt over my head. “I’m a woman and a model.”
“I guess I can throw my stuff in a dresser. There’s enough room for one in here,” he commented from the doorway, staring at the lone, mostly empty wall, where a painting from Gia hung proudly on display.
I stared at him in amazement. “You’re not moving in here.” The beginning of a headache brewing, I padded barefoot out of the room, pulling my hair up and into a messy bun on the top of my head. “Does Keene know you’re certifiably crazy?” Not waiting for him to reply, I continued down the hall in search of coffee.
I turned the corner into the kitchen, stopping short when I saw it was occupied. Keene was sitting at my kitchen counter, a plate of what looked like half-eaten scrambled eggs and toast in front of him. Gideon was on a chair at the head of the dining room table, an empty plate with a few crumbs pushed off to the side in front of him, a tablet in his hand. Boone sat across from him, a mug of coffee steaming by his elbow. Royce was at my stove. None of us except Gideon were especially handy in the kitchen, and eggs were his go-to when it was his turn to cook a meal. A glance told me no one looked especially hostile, so I continued, reaching for a mug in my cabinet. I needed coffee in the worst way possible.
