by Lexy Timms
“Why don’t you ask your cousin?”
Saks was rapidly getting annoyed with this ass. “I’ve got a lot of cousins.”
“The detective,” Pez spat.
“I’ve just got one word for you, Pez. Ffangul. Do you know what that means?”
“Yeah,” he said sourly. “I know what it means.”
“Good, now move your boot from my door or you’ll be making a trip to the hospital with a broken foot.”
“Try to help someone,” Pez muttered. But he moved his foot and Saks slammed the door shut. A loud bang resounded from the outside, which Saks took as Pez hitting the door with his hand.
“Good, hope you broke your hand, stunad!” But yelling at the little cockroach didn’t make Saks feel any better. In fact, now he was worried. It wasn’t usual for him to pepper his language with Italian insults. Saks had given that up when he struck out to build a life apart from his family. It was just a measure of how upset he was that he fell into old childhood habits.
He grabbed his bag of ice and hobbled to his bed. He let his jeans fall to the floor and laid on his bed, the cold bag resting between his legs. Saks didn’t know what was worse, the ice or the ache, but he knew all he wanted to do was go to sleep and forget tonight ever happened. He’d deal with the fallout tomorrow.
But he couldn’t sleep. Pez’s words replayed in his head, and Sheldon’s last words to him did, too. Fuck. He was twenty-eight fucking years old and, despite his best efforts, his family was still screwing with him.
He briefly reviewed the Florida option, but the truth was he hated Florida. It was too hot, and these days too damned crowded with the older set to be any fun. Plus, he would miss his club and his friends. And though he didn’t want to admit it, he’d miss a certain golden-haired goddess who claimed too many of his thoughts recently.
Saks picked up his phone and briefly considered calling his cousin Luigi, who went by the name of Louis. His finger hovered over the contact information in his phone as he debated if it was too late to call him. A cramp hit him then and his finger struck the face of the phone. But it wasn’t Anglotti’s number he called. Chrissy’s name displayed at the top of the phone, and he swore. He moved his finger to disconnect, but he wasn’t fast enough.
“Hello,” an out of breath Chrissy greeted. He wondered what that was about, but he wasn’t going to hang up now.
“Um, hi. How are you doing?”
“You call me after midnight to ask how I’m doing?”
“Excuse me. I thought I’d apologize for getting all handsy, but I can see it was a wasted call.”
“Sorry, Saks. It’s been a rough night.”
“Yeah, I know something about that. And I’m sorry for my part in it.”
“We’re both pretty sorry, aren’t we?”
“I guess.”
“How are you feeling?” she asked quietly. “I didn’t mean to—to do that.”
“Fine,” he said, ignoring the throbbing in his balls.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“What? Clipping me in the family jewels? Nah. There’s only one way you can hurt me.”
She hesitated. “How’s that?”
“If you turn me down for dinner tomorrow night.”
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
“You did WHAT?”
She’d never seen such displeasure on her father’s face.
She and Gloria had been called to her father’s house in the middle of the night, supposedly after Marcus gave his report. Chrissy was absolutely miserable. But she refused to bend under the weight of her father’s disapproving stare. The whole plan to marry her off to a Rocco man was crazy. She leveled her chin and looked straight into her father’s eyes.
“She didn’t know,” Gloria said.
Chrissy had no idea what Gloria meant. “Look, I’m sorry I disappointed you. But—”
“No buts, young lady,” her father said sternly. He scoffed. “Now we have to offer apologies to the Roccos. Who knows if this whole thing is blown to hell. We’ll be lucky if we don’t go to war.”
“Papa, I hardly think—”
“I told you to be quiet!” he snapped.
“Papa,” Gloria said, “she really didn’t know.”
Vincenzo Serafina glared at Gloria. “What are you talking about?”
“Well, Papa” Gloria started, obviously tongue-tied, “you see, Chrissy arrived after Marcus and I did, and when I didn’t see her car I told Marcus to wait outside for her—”
“Get to the point!” their father rumbled ominously.
“When Chrissy came in, they had a fight in the bar—”
“Minga!” Vincenzo erupted, “What fight? Who?!” He glared at Marcus, who shifted uncomfortably on his feet.
“I’m sorry, Mr. S, but he was bothering Chrissy.”
“He was arguing with Chrissy after she slapped him,” Gloria added unhelpfully.
“WHAT!” their father roared. A string of Italian invectives fell from his mouth. “Why, by all that’s holy, did you strike the man? How does that look in front of the Roccos?” Now his gaze turned to Chrissy, full of the fires of hell, and Chrissy knew that she was not going to come out of this conversation unscathed.
“He was being awful to her, Papa,” Gloria pleaded, “saying hateful things.”
“Stay out of this,” Chrissy hissed. She was a smart woman, but she was becoming increasingly confused. She didn’t understand why her father was upset she’d struck Saks. What did that have to do with the whole issue? Was he all that concerned with appearances in front of the Roccos? Perhaps so. It wasn’t ladylike to strike a man, even if he was too damn cocky for his own good.
And then the memory of Saks fingering her in the back room caused a blush to creep up her face. No. She wasn’t ladylike at all.
She shook her head. She’d grown past ancient familial expectations for her behavior. No. She agreed to go along with the crazy charade for Gloria’s sake.
“Papa, why are you so upset? Look, I didn’t mean to knee him in the balls. It wasn’t my most graceful moment—”
Her father grew red in the face. “Maronna mia!” he spouted, and then rattled off so many words in Italian she couldn’t follow him.
“Papa,” Gloria implored. “Please calm down. Remember your heart.”
“Heart?” Chrissy asked. “What about Papa’s heart?”
“He needs some stents put in,” Gloria said.
“Gloria!” Vincenzo scolded.
This information landed on Chrissy with the explosive force of a mortar shell. “Why wasn’t I told?”
Her father waved his hand dismissively. “It’s nothing,” he said. “The doctors are just looking to make a quick buck.”
“No, they’re not!” Gloria said emphatically. “Look, Papa. Marcus will go talk to the Roccos, okay? And make it right.”
“Gloria,” Marcus said warningly.
“No, Marcus. Gloria’s right. You go to the Roccos and offer our apologies, and this time,” he said, glowering at Chrissy, shaking his finger at her, “you act like a proper lady. You will meet the Rocco man, and no violence. You got me?”
Chrissy swallowed hard. She didn’t know her father was sick and needed surgery. And she certainly wasn’t going to do anything to make him more upset, no matter how crazy his plans were. One thing was for sure: She and Gloria were going to have a serious talk about keeping secrets. “Okay, Papa. I’m sorry I upset you.”
Vincenzo Serafina walked from behind his desk to his eldest daughter, and patted her on the cheek. “That’s my good girl,” he said. “You’ll make it right.”
The French doors opened to the study, and Chrissy’s mother stood there in her bathrobe. “What is all this at this time of night?” she said sternly.
“Nothing, nothing,” Vincenzo soothed, walking toward his wife and waving her away. “Go back to bed.”
“You’re the one who needs to be in bed. Get back there now, or I’ll call the doctor and tell him you’re ig
noring his orders.”
Vincenzo grumbled but moved toward the door. He turned, though, and shook his finger at Chrissy, Gloria, and Marcus. “No more screw-ups.”
When their parents had left, Chrissy turned to Gloria. “How could you keep something like this from me!”
“I’ve barely seen you,” Gloria said defensively.
“In the past few months? Bullshit!”
“Papa didn’t want you to know. He was afraid you’d turn it into a reason not to get married. ‘Oh, my father’s sick and I just can’t bear to contemplate my own happiness.’”
“That’s horse shit.”
“That’s Papa.”
“How sick is he?”
“He’s supposed to stay in bed until the surgery.”
“Oh, fucking great.”
“What are you girls still doing here?” their mother asked. “It’s nearly midnight. Go home! You should be in your own beds.”
“Of course, Mama,” Gloria said. “We’re going now.”
Chrissy rolled her eyes but then gave her mother a kiss on the cheek. “Sorry for waking you, Mama. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”
The three of them filed out of the house and to their cars.
“I’ll talk to you,” Chrissy said ominously to Gloria, “when you get home.”
Gloria flicked her hand at her. “You’ll be waiting then, because I’m spending the night at Marcus’. Ciao!” Gloria waved and slung herself into Marcus’s SUV, leaving Chrissy to stew about the night’s events.
As they pulled away, Chrissy thought uncharitably that it was a good thing that Gloria was getting out of her line of fire. Though she’d agreed to help her sister, these things went far beyond what Gloria should be doing. This entire family were idiots. So were her bosses. She wrenched her car door open and got in. Pulling onto the main road, she glared at the street in front of her. Everybody apparently seemed to know what was best for her, and yet no one would let her make up her own mind.
And what the hell about tonight? Gloria going on as if she knew something about Saks that Chrissy didn’t. Damn it!
She fumbled for her phone inside her purse one-handed, and pulled it out. “Siri, call Gloria.”
The phone connected and her sister picked up on the third ring.
“What!” Gloria spat. She was breathing hard.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake! Can’t you keep a lid on it for five minutes?” Wasn’t Marcus driving?
“It’s Chrissy, babe. Give me a minute.” Gloria giggled and Chrissy rolled her eyes. “What do you want?”
“What do you know about Saks?”
Gloria laughed cockily. “Funny how things turn out.”
“What’re you talking about? What’s going on?”
“You didn’t give anyone a chance to tell you anything. You just came out swinging. And then kneed the poor guy in the balls.” She started laughing again and didn’t seem to be able to control it.
“What the h—”
But Gloria didn’t give her a chance to finish. “Gotta go,” she choked out. The line clicked off and when Chrissy hit her steering wheel in frustration, her phone fell out of her hand into the dark interior of her vehicle.
“Fuck!” she screamed at the car and empty road.
The clock in her car informed her it was after midnight by the time she pulled into her parking place in her apartment complex. She sighed with relief. It was a long and aggravating day, and all she wanted to do was crawl into bed and sleep until Monday morning.
Monday, though, was going to be another difficult day. What was she going to do? Show up at work as if nothing happened at Drummond’s place, especially after she announced that she had another job offer? What kind of fallout would that mean? It’s not like she could stay at her job now.
Could she pretend she was working out a two-week notice as she looked for something else? Would they allow her to? Many companies would walk someone out the door if they knew an employee had something else lined up. Mentally, Chrissy ran through her financial assets. She had some money socked away in the bank that would get her through a few months. If she had to, she could cash in her 401K, but that was a last resort. Maybe she could file for unemployment. Drummond did draw her to his house under false pretenses and made a move on her. That had to count for something, a hostile work environment, right? She didn’t know, and she sighed when she realized she’d have to consult a lawyer to find out. Right now, all of it was too much to process.
She switched on the overhead light in the car and searched for her missing phone. The problem was that in a big car like a Cadillac there were a million places for a small thing like a phone to hide. Chrissy checked the sides of the seats and between them. It was only when her phone rang that she discovered it at her feet under the seat. She panicked, thinking the worst had happened, and her father had a heart attack from the night’s stress. She swore as she fished around and finally closed her hand around the device.
“Hello!” she said breathlessly.
“Um, hi. How are you doing?”
Oh hell. Saks. What was he doing calling her now? “You call me after midnight to ask how I’m doing?”
“Excuse me,” he said, sounding put-off. “I thought I’d apologize for getting all handsy, but I can see it was a wasted call.”
“Sorry, Saks. It’s been a rough night.”
“Yeah, I know something about that. And I’m sorry for my part in it.”
He was apologizing? She was the one who’d caused him grievous injury and he was sorry? She didn’t deserve this. “We’re both pretty sorry, aren’t we?”
“I guess.” Saks’ voice trailed off, and she was afraid he was going to come up with a lame goodbye and she wouldn’t hear from him again.
Would that be so bad? she asked herself. A resounding ‘yes’ came from somewhere in her brain. Or was it the region between her legs? She was having a difficult time deciding where her decisions came from lately. “How’re you feeling?”
“Fine,” he said. His voice was lined with pain, and she swore at her clumsiness. She wouldn’t hurt Saks for the world.
“I’m sorry if I hurt you.”
“What? Clipping me in the family jewels? Nah. There’s only one way you can hurt me.”
“How’s that?”
“If you turn me down for dinner tomorrow night.”
Oh, damn.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
SAKS HELD HIS BREATH while he waited for Chrissy’s response. He knew he was crazy, knew he was probably playing the fool, but he couldn’t stop himself. Even though she said they couldn’t, her body told him something different. His situation was complicated right now, but it didn’t have to be. His family wanted him with a girl—he’d find his own damn woman. Except he needed her to want to be with him as well.
“I don’t think it’s a good idea,” she said finally.
Saks tapped the side his phone with his finger, trying to think up a good response. Begging was out. She didn’t seem the type of woman who would like that. Reasoning, likewise, was out. Chrissy certainly wasn’t reasonable tonight. Well, part of that was his fault, coming at her like a wrecking ball in the bar. No. He’d have to do something completely oddball and catch her off guard. What was the strangest thing he could do and still make it seem like he was a good guy? Or, better yet, demonstrate he was a good guy. “You go to church, don’t you?”
“Well, of course, but—”
“Then I’ll pick you up at 8:30 for 9:00 Mass.”
“You go to church?”
“I’m confirmed as a soldier of Christ. Have the commemorative Bible and everything.”
“Uh-huh.” She sounded totally unconvinced.
“And to sweeten the deal, I’ll take you to the best dive diner for breakfast after.”
“What church are we going to?”
Yes! Saks pitched an imaginary ball into the wholly incorporeal basketball hoop on his wall. He shoots! He scores! “We can go to yours.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. “That’s probably not a good idea,” she said.
Uh-oh. Backtrack. Fast. “Then there’s a little chapel we can go.”
“You have a church you go to? Does the priest even know your name?” Chrissy’s disbelief registered forcibly over the phone.
He damn well better know my name for the all money my family’s given the church over the years. Okay, maybe that wasn’t quite the right way to think. The priest knew him. Knew his family. But Saks wasn’t going to take her there. It was probably best to avoid the prying eyes of family, especially when he was going with a woman his family hadn’t lined up for him to marry. “That hurts. Of course he knows my name.”
“I’ll bet you ten bucks he doesn’t.”
“Ten bucks? What kind of bet is that? It’s not a bet unless it hurts when you lose.”
“I assure you, sir, I never bet money unless I’m sure I’m going to win.”
“Well, it’ll cost you fifty to find out,” he replied.
“What is this? Poker? Then I call.”
Saks wanted to say, ‘Show me what you’ve got, baby,’ but he also knew she could turn on a dime and slam the phone down, so he had to take things easy. “Guess we’ll find out in the morning, then.”
“You’d better have your fifty bucks ready,” she said and he could hear the smile in her voice.
“I’ll have more than fifty bucks. Remember breakfast?”
“Ah, breakfast. But dive diner?”
“Okay, I can take you to a diner that serves cocktails. I’ll get you a nice Bloody Mary to go with your Eggs Benedict.”
“Communion and cocktails. You sure know how to show a girl a good time.”
He laughed, feeling hope run through his body. “Baby, I haven’t even gotten started. But if you’re going to be drinking at breakfast, I need to pick you up. How about your address?”
“How do I know you’re not some stalker?”
“You know where I live. You can stalk me back. Or file a restraining order.”
“True. Okay.”
A moment later his phone pinged for a text, and an address popped up.
“Do you need a link to MapQuest?”