Page 4 of Taking His Diva

“Are you slut-shaming me right now?” I swear the guy’s eyes widen three sizes, and I’m sure his dick is shrinking just as much in response to the all-out rage boiling under Lacy’s skin. “It doesn’t matter if I spent the night with the entirety of the New York Yankees lineup sucking their baseball-loving cocks. That doesn’t make it okay for you to keep me from my apartment.”

The man’s jaw is on the floor, and I have to cover my mouth with my fist to keep from laughing at this exchange. I swear I haven’t laughed this much in years.

“As I said ma’am, it is not I who is keeping you from the apartment. The FBI said to not permit you to go to the floor.” This guy’s tone is way too fucking snooty for someone who literally signs for packages all day. I don’t like the way he’s peering down his nose at Lacy and briefly contemplate what his huge nose would look like with blood spurting out of it. The doorman reaches under his desk and pulls out a couple pieces ofpaper. “Here is the lead agent’s card, and perhaps, you should read today’s newspaper.”

“Eww, and get all that ink on my fingers? No thank you.” The words still linger on her lips when she glances down at the offending edition of the New York Times. She sucks in a breath and leans closer.

Curiosity and a protectiveness I don’t understand spur me forward, and I step up next to her to see what she’s reading.

New York Billionaire Flees Country Night before Arrest

It appears famous billionaire Frank Falluci has managed to escape the long arm of the law the eve before his impending arrest. Agents with several federal agencies including the FBI, IRS, and DEA had planned to raid Falluci’s numerous city properties simultaneously to ensure they captured the wanted man.

However, authorities say it was discovered upon investigation that he had boarded his private jet mere hours before the planned takedown. His current whereabouts are unknown, though a source close to the investigation says several foreign organizations have been brought in to assist in tracking him down.

The charges filed against Falluci include accessory to trafficking, tax evasion, fraud, and other lesser charges. According to court documents, Falluci could face up to life in prison for his various nefarious acts.

The sniffling beside me interrupts my reading. Before I can react to the possibility of Lacy crying, she straightens her spine and shoots a glare capable of shriveling the testicles of the hardest of criminals into raisins. “This is trash. Obviously, none of this is true. My father would never be involved in human trafficking. That is just…disgusting.”

Holy fucking shit, this girl’s dad is Frank Falluci? I knew she was rich, but there is rich, and then there is the Falluci fortune.Even I can’t come close to her dad’s net worth. On the tail of that realization is another, darker one. Her dad left Lacy high and dry alone in the city while he fled the country.

“I demand to be let into my apartment.” The tone of her voice is increasing in pitch and emotion. Her chin wobbles, though she does her best to keep up the attitude and hide what is right under the surface.

“As I have explained, Ms. Falluci, that is not possible. Call the number on the card I gave you. I believe they want to speak with you anyway.” The doorman raises his chin even higher, and I swear, before long, these two are going to be bent over backward just to prove who can get their chins higher in the air.

Lacy plants both her hands on the desk and starts to climb over, which is quite the sight in the black dress shirt belted with a scarf I planned to give my great aunt Martha for her birthday. I don’t know what her plans are, but I can’t let her assault the guy. Not with her Dad making headlines already.

“Okay, here we go.” I band my arm around her waist and pull her back. She swipes out one manicured hand to try and scratch the doorman.

“I want my clothes. And my shoes. You can’t keep me from them.” She screeches at the top of her lungs, and people loitering near the elevators turn to stare.

Spinning around to block her from the audience we seem to be gathering, I set her on her feet but keep her back pressed tight against my chest. “Okay, beauty, take a deep breath. That guy isn’t worth getting your face splashed across the papers tomorrow for assault.”

This seems to calm her down, and she takes several shaky breathes, just like I told her. Her hands clutch at my forearms, and I expect her to pry them away from her, but she holds me tighter.

“What am I going to do?” It’s said in a whisper, and for the first time, this feisty girl I’ve somehow found in my arms sounds weak, unsure. Not her. I don’t even know Lacy, but I know this isn’t her. Or maybe it is. Maybe this is the Lacy she hides from the world.

I can’t make this right. I can’t get her apartment back. Can’t make her Dad not be a fucking scumbag helping the lowest of the low perform horrific criminal acts. Can’t take away the fear she must still feel after her attack the night before. Not having the tools to fix this for her is scratching at my brain. I need to make it better. If she’ll let me. Lacy has made it abundantly clear that she isn’t impressed with anything having to do with me. For some reason, that thought leaves a hollow space in my stomach.

I’ll just have to change her mind.

Chapter Three

Lacy

My brain spins the entire cab ride back to Scott’s apartment. How could my Dad be involved in any of this? It’s not that I hold him to some higher standard than other people. I don’t idolize him or anything like that. We’re not even that close.

I had nannies and chauffeurs to take care of me growing up. Then boarding school and college. We saw each other on holidays and vacations. But even then, he was always busy. Hell, so was I. I’ve always had a busy social life. Hanging out with my Dad was never a priority. Though, at one time in my life, I may have wanted more than the absolute bare minimum from him.

But human trafficking?

That’s, like, literally lower than low. That’s worse than assholes making knockoff Chanel bags with child labor in third-world countries. I can’t picture my image-obsessed Dad stooping to something so despicable.

“We’re here, Lacy.” That deep, growly voice which always sounds half a second from pissed off interrupts my thoughts. Looking around, I see we are indeed back in front of his place. The brick box of a building not giving even a hint that someone lives inside.

“Why would you want to live in an old warehouse? Do you even have a landlord? I mean who owns a place like this? Therent must be reasonable at least. Do you pay rent?” I spin back to face him, a thought so horrifically embarrassing I can’t believe it hasn’t occurred to me before now. “Oh god, are you a squatter?”

Scott’s lip quirks up a little, but he schools it back into his default expression of almost-scowl. “Not a squatter. The rent’s a steal. Landlord’s an asshole.” He swings the door open and surprises me by reaching in and delicately taking my hand to help me from the car.

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