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“I did. Two of my dad’s men came with me. One got taken out. The other...” Theo swears as I finish dabbing at the injury. “The other got away, but we were separated on the way out. He took a round in the arm; I just hope he made it back to Emmerico turf.”
“Shit,” I breathe, rummaging in the first aid kit and beginning to pack the wound with gauze. With the constant pressure, the bleeding has slowed down, but I’m still worried... and by now I’m almost as covered in blood as he is. “I really need to stop complaining about my own problems.”
“Don’t say that,” Theo tells me, his eyes meeting mine. “You’ve dealt with your fair share of bullshit these past couple months.
I sigh and shake my head. “It seems like this alliance has done nothing but create problems.”
“Our families are playing the long game, kid,” Theo says, shaking his head. “There’s no way around it. We have to work on our side of things too. These are just growing pains.”
“Awfully strong growing pains,” I mutter.
Theo grins at me through his pain. “The worst,” he agrees, and we fall silent.
As I patch him up with unsteady hands, my brow furrowed in concentration, I’m overwhelmed with an emotion that I can’t describe. And seeing him here like this, bleeding from a gunshot wound that could have easily killed him, makes two things extremely clear for me.
The first is that this is the reality of Theo Emmerico’s world, a reality that I’ve been sheltered from for longer than I’d like to admit. The second is that, despite all my best efforts, I think I’m falling in love with him.
ChapterEleven
“Vivian,” Craig says, poking his head out of his office, “get in here. I need to talk to you.”
I blink, feeling like a deer in the headlights as I drag my attention away from the abstract painting I’ve been staring at for the last half hour. Trying to write a description for the upcoming auction catalogue is no small feat, especially when I can’t decide if I want to focus more on the artist or the painting itself. And Craig’s instructions were as unclear as ever.
But that’s just an excuse, and I know it.
“Sir?”
“Are you deaf?” my boss demands. “My office. Now. You can do that later.”
I shuffle after him. The lump in my throat that’s been there since this morning has grown, and I feel like I’m going to cry—even more than I did a few hours ago. Horrible scenarios are already playing out in my mind: Have I been slacking? Did I fuck up one of the purchases? Or, worst of all, does he know I’ve been feeding information to my father about the mafia buyers?
It doesn’t bear thinking about, and as I slump into the chair across from Sterling, I can only pray I’m not about to lose my job. That would really be the cherry on top of a shit morning.
Craig stares at me for a long moment before he finally asks, “What’s going on, Vivian?”
I clear my throat. “Sir?”
“For god’s sake, how many times do I have to tell you? It’s not—”
“Sorry, sorry,” I rush to reply. “I meant Mr. Sterling.”
“That’s better.” Craig sniffs and folds his hands on the desk. “I’m not going to beat around the bush, Vivian. You’ve been off your game all day today.”
I swallow. “I’m sorry, Mr. Sterling,” I reply carefully. “I just... didn’t get much sleep last night. That’s all.”
Craig massages his temples. “Vivian, you’ve been here for a month now. You think I don’t know what you’re like when you’re tired?” He scoffs. “This is something else. You’ve never been this distracted before. What’s going on?”
“Nothing, Mr. Sterling,” I reply automatically. It’s a bald-faced lie, but it’s still easier than the truth, a truth I’ve been fighting to forget ever since that single, damning text arrived from Lucas this morning:
Coming home tonight. Be at the apartment when I arrive.
I shouldn’t be surprised; did I really think he was going to be off doing his enforcer shit forever? But somehow, I stillam, and the thought of him coming home, of taking Theo’s place at my side, is enough to make me nauseous. In the weeks since Theo was shot, all I can think is how much I’ve come to need him around, how much I’ve come to depend on him to stay sane, and how strong my feelings for him have become.
“You don’t pay me to bother you with my problems,” I say, staring at the floor. “But I promise, Mr. Sterling, everything’s fine. I’ll get my head together, okay?”
My boss scoffs. “That doesn’t do much to make me feel better, Vivian. I can’t afford to have you distracted right now. I need you at your best.”
“Yes, Mr. Sterling. I understand.”
