Once again, she rolled her eyes. “That I’ve had sex before? I’m sure they do considering I was married once. But they’re old-fashioned and since I’m supposed to stay here, I thought it’d be easier if you did too. And that means separate bedrooms. Maybe that was a bad move.”
You think? Earlier that morning, when he suggested she make reservations at his favorite NYC hotel, she had been adamant about staying at her parents’. “No. I’m good with this arrangement.”
She worried her bottom lip, and wrung her hands. “You’re not a good liar.”
“I’m not a good anything.”
“You’re good…to me,” she said. He sucked in his breath, as if there were a gun pointed at his head. She stood there, lovely in that small room, hands fidgety. “Anyway. I better go freshen up before the boys get here. Think you will survive the Morettis?”
“I’ll survive,” he said, and smiled at the most dangerous one.
Chapter Twelve
Elena glanced down at the glass of red wine in her hands. She had held it for twenty minutes now, but with her stomach in knots, she had forgotten to sip her drink. She watched Devon interact with her brothers and her father. God, her nerves were a tangled mess just thinking about what could go wrong.
What the hell was she thinking? She almost blurted out that she cared for him in his room. Bad, bad move. Seeing good things in Devon was the ticket to Heartbreak Land. The type of relationship he could offer was the one she would never agree to. Not permanently.
She had stayed in a troubled marriage because of that old-fashioned, deep-seated rationale that marriages were supposed to last. She had been wrong. And now, she was too smart to make another mistake of that magnitude.
“You’re okay, honey?” her mother asked behind her.
She almost jumped. “Yes. Just tired.” Elena inhaled the heavenly scent of the bread, a hint of spices tantalizing her sense. Her mother was fixing a beautifully decorated plate, filled with mini bruschetta and mozzarella broiled tomato slices.
“Take these to the guys,” her mother said, giving her the tray.
“The guys,” she repeated, holding both sides of the tray. “You realize this takes us back to pre-war stages whereas dynamics of men and women are concerned, don’t you, Mama?”
Her mother gave her a sweet smile. “Honey, back in the day, everything was simpler.”
Elena sighed. Anything sounded less complicated than wanting a man whose idea of relationship was to bang several women without repercussions. “That I can agree with.”
She walked toward the living room—which she always considered large, especially by New York standards. Yet, as the five men stood next to the mantle and talked, with drinks of choice in hand, the room seemed to shrink in size. And she wanted to shrink with it.
She tucked her hair behind her ear. Why did she bring Devon along? Seemed like a good idea at the time, because she imagined he’d make her feel comfortable. Not to mention prevent any talk about her and Timothy reuniting. Yet, especially after the awkward moment in his room, there was no way she’d ever feel that way. Not when she realized she didn’t have a hold on her emotions. How to stop a flower from blooming?
“Are you guys done drilling my guest?” she asked. The five minutes she had taken to grab a drink in the kitchen shouldn’t have put Devon in hot water, but knowing her family…
“We haven’t even started,” Salvatore, the most playful one, said, with a wink. “Dad hijacked the conversation and started talking about watches.”
Devon gave her a confident smile. Besides the combo of denim, crisp white shirt, and grey suit jacket, he had on a chunky, no doubt expensive watch. Good thing her dad had a thing for watches like women had for shoes.
“So how did you two meet?” Rocco asked, and good thing Devon was the same height as he, otherwise her brother would tower over him. Rocco raised an eyebrow, and even though he held a glass of aged scotch in his hands, all his attention was on Devon.
“I work for him.” She stepped forward. There was no point lying about it, when they’d learn the truth sooner or later. Lifting her chin, she stood next to Devon, and even though an acidy sensation spilled in her stomach, she decided to ignore it.
“You mean you’re the Devon Wilder?” Rocco asked, narrowing his eyes.
“The one from the sex scandal,” Raffaello said, arms folded.
Devon didn’t even blink. “Yup. The one.”
Her blood froze. Well, she could kiss her convenient Catholic Girl image good-bye.
“What scandal?” Her father asked, scratching his head in a typical Antonio Moretti fashion.
“I know how you are all dying to dissect this subject, but we’re not going to. This weekend is about Emilio and Tiffany,” she said, and felt like she was tapping at a microphone that hadn’t been turned on.
Too late. Raffaello’s nostrils flared. “Listen, if you think you can treat my sister like some—”
Devon didn’t flinch at the finger pointed at him. He sighed. “My relationship with Elena doesn’t concern you. I understand you must be worried because of what has been said about me. But I guarantee you that my dating your sister is nothing like my previous relationship.”
Of course not. She and Devon didn’t even have a relationship. Well, not for long anyway. Once the truth about who was stealing from the company was revealed, and either he or Matthew got the CEO job, she would be out of his life.
Her stomach clenched. Why was the naked truth about their fling so nauseating?
She was about to part her lips and speak, when her mother materialized in front of them, her hand gestures keeping up with her mouth. “Enough. This man is our guest and I’m sure Elena has good reason to have brought him.”
Yes. He’s easing me back to the dating pool before he leaves me as per agreed upon. “Thanks, Mom.” And protecting me from my well-meaning family of busybodies who’d love to hook me up with my abusive ex-husband again—she didn’t dare reveal that tidbit.
She yearned to massage her temples, but if she showed any sign of stress the whole day would go down the toilet. According to her mother, Tiffany, Emilio’s fiancée, and a few friends were supposed to come over for drinks and appetizers.
***
Elena smiled at Devon when she opened her bedroom door. “Sorry.” She had used the excuse of needing to go to the restroom to retreat to her bedroom, even for a few minutes, while Devon talked to her mother.
“Hey. Listen, I don’t wanna make anyone feel uncomfortable. I can stay at a hotel. In fact, this whole family thing is new to me too.”
She closed the door behind him. “No. You shouldn’t leave just because my brothers are overbearing idiots.”
Devon paced in the room in slow but completely confused movements. Besides her bed and a couple of chaise lounges, there wasn’t a seating area. Her parents bought the townhouse after her brothers started to make all the money with the olive oil business, and never left the place. Not that it was a bad house. Nope. Just not big enough for that amount of testosterone that currently had invaded its space. “C’mon. They want what’s best for you.”
She plopped down on the bed. “As per usual, since I was an infant. However, I don’t think they know what’s best for me.”
He scanned her shelves. “That’s why you moved away?”
Caressing the embroidered pattern on the bedspread, she sighed. “I love my family. I do. After my divorce, I couldn’t hang out with them anymore. I needed some space.”
“Please don’t tell me you feel guilty for that creep abusing you.”
She smiled. Was it wrong to wonder if, at times, he cared for her? Other than just sexually? Heat crept up her neck. “I don’t. I’ve done my homework, remember?” Where would she be without Dr. Hodge’s sessions?
“You don’t need to take crap from anyone, Elena.”
Nervous, she stood. Should she be insulted or encouraged by his statement? “Thanks. You are turning out to bequite the travel compan
ion. Stirring up a little bit of trouble with a hint of psychobabble on the side,” she said in a playful tone. Then, she raised her eyes to his. Gosh, what wouldn’t she give to forget the family-meets-boyfriend-who’s-not-a-real-boyfriend fiasco? “Although it’s the trouble part that interests me.” She stood on her tiptoes to kiss him, but he withdrew. “What?”
“I can’t have sex with you here. My condoms are in my room, and I wouldn’t want to break that bed.” He pointed at her bed, and she had to agree the curvy carvings and swirls on the frame didn’t scream sturdiness. Her stomach dropped to the floor. Especially good old pounding.
“Who needs a bed?” She winked at him, and cocked her head in the direction of the lavender round rug.
His jaw clenched. His eyes followed hers, as if for a second he entertained the idea. Little currents of anticipation traveled through her.
Inhaling deeply, he shook his head. “Nope. Sex isn’t happening. I’m not old-fashioned, but your parents are. If they wanted us to sleep in different rooms, well, that’s a rule hard to ignore.”
“How gentlemanly of you,” she teased him. If the gossip sites knew just the Devon she was getting to know, she wondered if they would be more into him or disappointed.
“No. I’m still a dirty son of a bitch. I just don’t want to stir up more trouble with your folks.”
“We better get ready for dinner then.”
“Can hardly wait,” he said, and was that a hint of sarcasm she detected in his voice?
Can you blame him? Nope. Not a single bit.
***
“Doesn’t look like Toby cooked the books,” Lew, the specialist that Devon hired, said on the other end of the line. “I checked his accounts, portfolio, and even had access to his ex-wife’s bank information.”
“How did you do all that?” Devon said into the phone. Hacker would be a more fitting job description for Lew. He had avoided contacting him at first, but as Elena suggested the idea that the accountant himself could be up to something, he decided to forgo the rules and take a risk. Why was Imani so adamant about keeping the cyber theft a secret?
Lew had been hired because he guaranteed discretion. So Imani’s desire for secrecy had been maintained.
“You know that’s what I do,” Lew said. “The less you know, the better.”
No shit. Devon rolled his eyes, and rubbed his eyebrows. While a few friends arrived for hors d’oeuvres, he decided to take the call in the foyer, away from the small crowd. “You’re sure the amounts were transferred from the building, you said?”
Lew sighed. “Yes. Same IPO address. It was blocked, but I found a way to hack it. Whoever did this didn’t even bother to go back home and steal. They really thought they would get away with it.”
His blood rushed through his veins, pounding hot and heavy. Someone thought they could get away with it. The image of his brother, with his smug smile on his brown face, formed in his mind. “Why can’t we trace the IPO address?”
“Whoever did this used an untraceable account.”
Of course. He paced the floor. What if Matthew had been the one stealing all along? Maybe he thought he wouldn’t get caught—maybe even wanted to use Elena as bait to implicate Devon. That would mean he’d get rid of two birds with one stone. He’d get the CEO position and the shares, and get Devon out of the race, and even out of the office. Why did he need the dough? To pay for the shares. “And can we have access to my brother’s accounts?”
Silence.
“I’ll try. That will take a bit, but I’m on it. Anyone else you want me to check while I’m at it?”
Devon sucked in his breath. Palming the phone, he looked at it even though all he saw was the glint in her eyes earlier, when she accused him of being a gentleman.
He was no gentleman. He was a man who wanted something, and he was damn close to getting it. If he found out the thief, that would seal the deal regarding the CEO position. He’d be redeemed for the sex scandal involving Regina that had been plaguing Wilder & Co. in the last few months.
Protecting Elena from his suspicions entailed jeopardizing his work. And that he wasn’t willing to do. “My assistant. Elena Moretti. Check her accounts.”
“Got it.”
Devon hung up the phone and slid it into his pocket. Swallowing the lump in his throat, he strode back to the living area, where about a dozen guests mingled.
This whole thing was far too intimate. The suspicions of Elena having her eyes on his brother—and using him so she would get over her sexual hang-ups—weakened after the way she had looked at him earlier. Like she wanted him—and only him. She couldn’t be that great of an actress, could she?
Can I be that great of an actor? Devon rubbed his forehead. Honesty had been his thing from the beginning. Never had he said he wanted the white picket fence. Or two labs. He shook his head. Where did the stupid two dogs imagery come from? Maybe one day he could adopt a pit bull to take him on his morning runs. Labs were billboards for family pets.
Entering the living area, he avoided looking at her brothers, who were chatting about something with a couple of women. Of course they hated him. He represented the worst kind of boyfriend material. Who would want their little sister to be with a guy who had been pegged by the nation as a player? And why the hell did that matter? Smoothing his hand over his long-sleeved shirt, he cleared his throat. Maybe there was something in the water that just brought out his worst vulnerabilities—ones until today, he never even wasted time musing over.
Scanning the area, he searched for Elena like a dog sniffed the ground for a bone. A tall, blond guy standing against the windowsill was talking to her. She nodded, and though she had a smile on her face, her cheeks had gone white as paper.
He hadn’t minded sharing Regina. And even though he and Elena would part ways after sorting the mess, he didn’t want to think of any guy touching her. His heart skipped a beat as he erased the distance between them with a few powerful strides.
“Hey,” he said to her, ignoring the man in front of her.
Elena blushed, and her throat visibly worked. What the hell was happening? “Devon, this is Timothy. Timothy, meet—
“Timothy? Your ex-husband?” Devon cut her off, and a heat wave of anger built inside him.
“Yes,” she said.
Here was the man who had used her like a freaking semen deposit. And he’d hurt her physically, emotionally, and mentally. Devon’s blood pounded in his temples. His heart beat staccato, and when the man looked at him, as if about to size him up, he punched the motherfucker in the nose. The man fell back against a shelf, and a humming whisper spread around the living room. Everyone was silent, but a couple of guys who rushed to pick the guy up.
“What the fuck?” Raffaello, the one with dark eyes, said.
“What are you doing?” Emilio took off his jacket and rolled up his sleeves. “You think you can just come here, and punch our friends?”
The reason why he clocked Timothy tingled at the tip of his tongue. But damn it, Devon knew if he said anything, he would compromise Elena. Whatever suspicions he may have had of her professionally, on a personal level he couldn’t do that to her. Didn’t want to, even if her family hated him forever. Or, he realized as the four men approached him, circling around him, even if he was about to get an epic beating. He was big and athletic, but taking five men of his size was no easy feat.
Timothy stood, and blood dribbled from his nose. A woman handed him a napkin and he pressed it against his face. His green eyes said nothing, and the way the contours of his face hardened, then softened had Devon thinking the bastard knew he deserved that punch. Sex addict or not, he didn’t have the right to use Elena the way he had. No one did.
“What is going on here?” Elena’s mother stepped in. “What just happened?”
Devon could feel all eyes on him. Nothing new. He was used to stares. Growing up he got them often, especially after he went to live with Imani and Matthew. He had always been the one who didn’t fit
in. The scandal had reminded him of the stares. Didn’t matter if he was a über successful club owner, investor, and a marketing president. At times like this, the truth hit him like a whip.
“Devon meant well. He’s not the bad guy here,” Elena said, her voice surprisingly steady.
“No,” Timothy said, as he lowered the napkin and glanced at the red soaking the paper. “I am. I deserved that and way worse.” He looked Devon straight in the eye.
You bet you do, son of a bitch. Devon curled and uncurled his hands. His palm tingled for one more punch. Why was he getting so involved?
“Can someone explain to me what’s going on?” Elena’s mother asked.
Timothy looked around, and maybe most of those faces were people they all knew, since they probably belonged to the same circle. Was he going to own up to his mistakes like a man, or cower? “I guess I didn’t get help so I would lie about it. When I married Elena, I was a sex addict. I didn’t label it back then, but I put her through hell during our marriage. I’m sorry.”
Emilio shook his head. “What?”
Timothy faced all of them, one by one. Devon almost felt bad for the guy, because his apology seemed genuine. Squaring his shoulders, his gaze slid to Elena. With lips partially open and tears brewing in her eyes, she looked back at him. Shit. Was she going to hate him for outing her ex, and outing the kind of relationship she had tried hard to hide from her family? Even moved away.
Unable to figure out the emotion flickering in her eyes, Devon cleared his throat. This kind of impulsiveness was so not his style. Yet she brought it out of him in different ways. If he were in a sci-fi movie she’d be a sexy robot created to destroy humanity. Or just rip men from their common sense.
“You hurt my sister?” Raffaello raised his voice, but when he motioned to launch at Timothy and probably punch him too, two of the other brothers held him back.
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