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“I’ll have an indoor bike and walker installed.”
“Don’t waste your money. I’m not the walker-biker type.”
He frowns. “You’re pale.”
“I have a pale skin.”
“Paler than usual. Do you feel sick?”
“I’m fine.”
He lets my face go to sweep a hand over my back. “I’ve tired you out. Go to sleep.”
I close my eyes and do exactly that, because I’ve learned something new.
Avoidance doesn’t only come with daydreaming.
The best way to avoid reality is the dreamless state of sleep.
Chapter 20
Maxime
She’s bored, my little flower. Isolating her in a house far removed from a city and the bustle of life isn’t ideal, but the Italian negotiations Alexis so graciously started in my absence is complicated. I’m needed at work now more than ever. I don’t trust my brother, and my father is like a fucking child that needs overseeing all the time. Between keeping Alexis in check and making sure my father doesn’t sate his greed by doing something stupid like over-charging our Italian connection, I’ve got my hands full.
I’ve neglected Zoe. I’ve neglected her needs. She’s shown me she’ll be good. She’s given me trust. I have to reciprocate by giving her leash a little farther reach. I don’t like the idea of my men looking at her, but I’ve agreed to let her outside. She needs the air and the exercise. She’s too pale, too listless. I’m not an idiot. I know what the signs of depression are. I know she’s lonely. She needs human contact. I wasn’t planning on taking her back to my parents’ house, but the lunch on Sunday may be just what she needs.
It’s lunchtime when I push the doors of the club open. The usual mob is already there—uncle Emile, my father, and a few of his men, the muscles and specialists. Me, I’m the brain. Benoit and Gautier flank me.
“You’re late,” my father says, clipping a cigar.
“Traffic.” I adjust my jacket and sit. A topless waitress puts an espresso next to me. I push it away. “Where’s the contract?”
My father shifts it over the table to me. I flip the pages, scanning over the print to make sure nothing new has been slipped in. I wouldn’t put that past my father. I’m at the second-last page when Paolo Zanetti arrives with an entourage of guards. The Italian is short and stocky with shrewd eyes. Thank God the man’s daughters take after their mother.
I stand. “Mr. Zanetti.”
He shakes my father’s hand, then mine.
Taking the pen, I turn to the last page of the contract, but Zanetti grabs my arm before I can sign. He nods at one of his men who puts a ledger on top of the contract.
I eye the gleeful man, addressing him in Italian. “What’s this?”
“The new contract.”
My father pushes to his feet. “We’ve negotiated terms.”
“The terms have changed,” Zanetti says. “I want ten percent extra on everything you move through my territory plus free rights to the Riviera.”
“What?” My father pushes his palms on the table.
“We’ll take it,” I say.
That’s a better deal than what I was hoping for. I’ve been bidding low, knowing Zanetti would come with a counteroffer. I’ve done my homework. There’s nothing Zanetti loves better than winning, not even money, and I’ve just made him feel like we’re the biggest fucking losers on the planet. I’ve got him by the balls, and he doesn’t even know it.
My father clenches his fingers on the edge of the table. He can’t challenge me in front of everyone. We have to appear united. Raphael Belshaw’s sincere anger only makes Zanetti smugger, playing right into my hand.
Opening the ledger, I read through the contract, and then sign on the dotted line.
“Wonderful,” Zanetti says, snatching up his copy. “I can’t wait to take the tour.”
“After lunch.” I indicate the seat next to me. “I’ll show you around. How long are you staying in town?”
“We’re leaving tomorrow.”
Good. We have a family lunch tomorrow. Inviting Zanetti would’ve been obligatory.
It’s not the kind of trouble I need right now.
Chapter 21
Zoe
The house where Maxime parks is not as big as his parents’ place, but it’s just as imposing. A table with champagne is set out in the foyer. Maxime hangs my coat in the closet next to an array of expensive labels before handing me a glass. I drink it all. I’m nervous about being here, especially after how the last visit with his family went.
He places a palm on my back and lowers his head to whisper in my ear, “We’re going to get separated. Men in the lounge, women in the kitchen. Yell if you need me.”
I stare up at his face. There’s a spark of humor in his gray eyes, an easiness that’s unusual for him.
“You look happy with yourself.”
“I signed off on a deal. It was a trying negotiation.”
“In gemstones?”
He smiles. “No.”
“What then?”
He takes my empty glass and puts it back on the table. “Come.”
