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“No can do, Miss London. You’re a guest.” Javier smiles at her while placing the two boxes of pastries on the counter. “Sit and enjoy yourself.”
“But, I can—”
“Hey.” Turning her face to mine, I tip it up with my finger and lay my forehead on hers. Ignore everyone’s looks while keeping my voice low so only she can hear. “Are you okay? If you want them gone, say the word and it’s done.”
Because even a murderer like me has family issues. Boring and mundane ones. Ones that make a member look like an asshole, but in the end it’s swept under the rug because it comes from a good place. We’ll never be angels, but we do care.
You fight and make up because you love them. Forgive and forget because those closest to you will do the same when you fuck up. Kill those that have done wrong toward them, and then come home to a mid-afternoon brunch or a late dinner with all the fixings.
This is my normal, the side of me I want her to see the most of.
Because money and blood take up a substantial portion, but they’re not the entire pie. A life with me will be insane, dangerous, but will have moments like these to fill the void of normalcy even the most depraved need.
Even if Dad’s behavior came at the worst time, I know it’s not malicious. Not that I’m going to let this go. He has some explaining to do, but for now I’m shifting my focus back to her.
“It’s fine. Promise.”
“Swear it.”
“Scout’s honor.” She holds a pinky up for me, those sweet lips curling up at the corner. Lips that I can’t help but nip.
“Fine,” I grunt against their plumpness, “but they get one hour before I kick them out regardless. Today is about me and you. You’re not working this weekend…” or ever again “…Liam agrees that you need some time off and you will be paid by me.”
“But,” she splutters, not knowing how to answer.
“But nothing.” Another bite. “Agree with me, Twirl. You know you want to.”
“You’re so stubborn.”
“And?”
“Fine. One hour.”
“One.” Nodding, I pull back and direct her toward the seat next to mine. “Sit down, babe.”
And just like that, it’s back to normal. The late lunch my parents had catered is set on the table, chairs are brought close together, and everyone digs in. No one cares about the mini showdown or how much more comfortable we would be in the dining room.
We eat. Talk. And I enjoy the softness of her upper thigh underneath the table.
“Your family is not what I expected, but I like it…them,” she says later in the evening, head on my thigh while we watch some poorly made horror flick. The kind that goes straight to DVD and only a sub-culture of people like. Everything is bad, mind numbingly so, but she loves it. Finds some of the “morbid” scenes funny. “Especially Javier. He’s hilarious.”
“He’s a trip when we’re together like that. At work he’s a different person, so please don’t get offended if he’s ever short or serious. It’s not personal. He just has to be as the head of my security.”
“Is that his official title on paper?”
“It is.”
“Hmmm.” Twirl nods, mulling things over. “And what is it that you do, Mr. Asher?” Those big doe eyes watch me, lip caught between her teeth. She’s looking for a lie that isn’t going to come.
“I am the owner and CEO of Asher Holdings Bank here in Chicago. We’re the second largest bank worldwide, with the one at The Loop being our home base. We have financial centers all across the United States, Europe, and Asia who deal within four business groups: commercial, investment, wealth management, and private global banking.”
“Wow.”
I laugh. “It’s boring, really.”
“Sure, it is. Boring…” she rolls her eyes at me, reaching up to flick my lip “…my brother just loves to associate himself with the most monotonous people—those that have never so much as gotten a parking ticket are his peeps.”
“You are something else, Twirl.”
