Page 32 of His to Love
At least he had some manners. I wanted to argue with him, but knew it would be pointless. “I look forward to seeing you,” I said through a fake smile.
I regretted the words as soon as they left my mouth. Then I wished I could tell my mom and dad to take a hike and that there was no way in hell was I helping them further their empire. But I couldn’t bear to see my mother’s expression without giving her request a chance, even if it held the same odds as a snowball surviving in hell.
“Don’t be late,” he said in a clipped tone, and then he was gone.
So much for manners. I frowned at my phone.
I flipped through my contacts until I found Tyson’s number in my phone, smiling when I saw the name Blackbird, and hit the green call button. It rang four times before I heard his rich voice in his voicemail greeting, telling me he couldn’t come to the phone and he’d return any messages as promptly as possible. He was formal on the phone, and my smile grew as he continued speaking, but I hung up without leaving a message.
“There’s that smile I love,” Claude said, walking into the kitchen. “Any particular reason you seem so pleased this afternoon? A gentleman caller perhaps?”
My smile disappeared, and I thought of the gentleman who’d called me versus the one who I’d called. There was no comparison between the two. I was stuck entertaining the one I didn’t want for an entire evening.
I shook my head and looked down at my screen. “No, Claude. Not really.”
“Hmm. A shame, really. I always imagined you with a lovely husband, a man who adores you, and a brood of children.”
I laughed softly at his description. “Yeah, well if my parents have their way, I’ll get none of that.”
My head snapped up and my lips pressed together. “I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have said that.”
No one disrespected my father’s wishes, and no one spoke against him. Things I’d forgotten, but in their house, I needed to remember that. Claude was kind, but he was still my father’s employee and therefore would always be more loyal to him than to me and my frustrated ramblings.
“No worries,” Claude said, clearly uncomfortable. “Have a good day.” He walked to me, brushed his lips against my cheek and whispered, “Be careful, bella. Eyes and ears are everywhere.”
“Of course,” I muttered when he pulled back.
My shoulders sagged as he shuffled out of the kitchen, back to do whatever he was supposed to do. I pulled up my text messaging and sent Tyson a message.
Me: So sorry. Won’t be able to see you tonight.
Then I reluctantly slid out of my chair and packed up what I had brought with me to my parents’. On my way up the stairs to say goodbye to my mom for the day, my phone vibrated.
Blackbird: Unfortunately, I have a client who just returned to town so I’ll be busy too.
Disappointment flickered inside me because I wouldn’t have been able to see him anyway. Silly, really, since I was the one that originally said I had plans.
Me: Some other time?
Blackbird: Yes. I can still feel you on my lips.
I swallowed thickly as I read the text, my body heating in all the right places when another text came in.
Blackbird: I want to feel you in other places, too…Tomorrow?
Me: Yes.
I typed the word, the answer, the promise, without thinking, and before I could see his response, already knowing my cheeks were flushed, I silenced my phone, dropped it into my purse, and headed into my mother’s room.
All the while, a smile fought to break through. Because I will get to see Tyson. Tomorrow.
Chapter 8
I stepped into the lobby of my hotel five minutes before Malik was supposed to arrive, properly dressed in a simple but elegant black sheath dress that stopped just above my knees. The dress was conservative, with a wide neck that reached my collarbone and, because it was sleeveless, I had a silver pashmina draped over my elbows and across the back of my waist in case I felt chilly later. On my feet were simple high-heeled nude pumps, also conservative, but they made my already long and toned legs look like they went on forever, though not in an overtly sexual manner.
Dressing for tonight’s dinner was not easy; I wanted to look appropriate and like someone who should be seen on Rilotti’s arm, knowing wherever he planned on taking me, eyes would follow. Yet the last thing I wanted was for him to think he could have more just by exposing skin. I didn’t want there to be any confusion as to why I agreed to meet with him, and I planned to make that clear at dinner. I wouldn’t consider this. I had not agreed to any arrangement, as he so ineloquently put it earlier.
Something heavy swirled in my gut and I pressed my hand to my lower belly. Malik Rilotti was a man accustomed to getting whatever he wanted, and I doubted the way he achieved that was any more moral or ethical than the way my own father did.
