The weight across my back and hip and leg seems to get heavier.
My brain is still surfacing from sleep, but I recognize the feeling of Dominic sprawled across me.
Not sure if he’s awake, I stay as still as possible to act like I’m still asleep.
I can’t believe I let myself do that last night.
What was I thinking?
The weight shifts again, and something long and hard presses against my ass, followed by a deep masculine groan.
I’m turned away from Dom and his side of the bed, so I let my teeth sink into my bottom lip.
I don’t like this.
I’m a fucking liar.
I crack my eyes, wanting to see if the sun is rising, but all I see is Dom’s big hand in front of my face. His arm is draped all the way over me.
His chest expands against my back as he takes a deep inhale, and my hair ruffles when he lets it out.
Just get up already! I scream inside my head. I have to pee, but I need him to get up first and leave because I need to have at least an hour of self-loathing before I face him today.
Dominic’s hand slides out of view, and then he finally lifts himself off me. Mostly.
I start to question what he’s going to do when something presses against the back of my head. “Morning, Angel.”
I’m too stunned to react, thinking he’s caught me awake. But then he climbs off the bed, and a moment later, the bathroom door shuts.
Did he do that thinking I was still asleep?
Why?
“Shit,” I say to no one as I open one cupboard, then another, before I finally find the mugs.
Grabbing one, I’m surprised at the weight, but I don’t have time to think about the black ceramic as I rush to fill it with coffee—that was thankfully already made and waiting on the warmer for me.
When Dominic got up, I snuck down the hall to a bathroom I’d spotted earlier to relieve myself. But not wanting to talk to him, I rushed back to bed and pretended to still be asleep until I heard him leave the condo.
I have no idea where he is. Maybe the mafia has an office somewhere. But my cowardice threw me behind schedule, so I’ve been rushing to get myself ready for the web call I have in—I check my phone—two minutes.
Careful not to spill, I cross the great room to the large dining table between the living room and stairs and set my coffee next to my laptop.
The sky is bright blue above the Chicago skyline, and even though I’m flustered and running late, I can’t complain about the view.
I click on the link to the meeting and connect just as the clock flips over.
Five people are on the call, including Bri, the woman whose bachelorette party I blew off so I could get drugged and subsequently married to Dominic. Then there are the two people who make up our marketing team and one other designer—like myself. Our boss was supposed to be on this call, but he emailed saying he couldn’t make it.
I’m not sad he’s missing it. This call full of women is much preferable.
“Morning,” I greet everyone, as I’m the last to join.
“Damn, Val!” Bri whistles and leans closer to her screen. “Is that your new place?”
I could kick myself for not remembering to blur my background. But it’s too late now because everyone is leaning toward their screens to get a better look, even the marketing people I hardly know.
I can’t even blame them. From my spot at the dining table, the camera shows off the massive ceilings, the high-end, stupidly large kitchen, and part of the open stairs leading up to the second level.
It looks exactly like a billionaire’s penthouse.
Before I can think of something to say, Bri continues. “I heard you upped and moved to Chicago, but you didn’t say anything about it over the weekend, so I wasn’t sure if I should believe it.”
Her tone is mostly stunned, but there’s a tiny bit of hurt in there, too. And I decide that the only thing to do is tell the truth.
Well, a partial truth.
“Okay, so…” I take a sip of my coffee as all attention moves to me. “When I last saw you, I didn’t know I was moving.”
“That was Friday.” Bri shakes her head. “It’s Tuesday.”
The other designer, who I’ve met before, laughs.
“Well, to be fair, I decided Saturday night.” I take a bigger sip of coffee. “But that was only after I got married on Friday.”
Bri’s mouth drops open.
“Aw, congrats,” someone from marketing says, but Bri drowns them out.
“Shut up!” she practically shouts. “Please tell me it was to that hot-as-fuck man who picked you up.”
I grin despite myself. “That’s him.”
“You guys don’t even get it,” Bri tells the rest of the people on the call, fanning herself. “This man was… I don’t even know how to describe him. Like movie star meets just got out of prison. And it works.”
The way she says works makes me laugh, but I have to admit the description is pretty good.
“I want to see!” one of the marketing team says.
“Yeah, wedding pics, please.” Bri nods.
I have to work to keep the smile on my face.
I don’t remember anything about the service. Nothing more than slivers of seconds. And before I can think about what I’m saying, I admit, “I don’t know if there are any photos.”
“You don’t…” Bri leans closer again. “Oh my god. Did you get drunk married?”
She’s cackling before I can even respond. But my cheeks are starting to heat, so I put my hands against them to cool them down, and that must be all the answer anyone needs because now everyone is reacting.
Then I remember my damn inked finger and drop my hands out of view.
Thank god everyone was so distracted laughing at me that they didn’t notice the freaking tattoos.
I’ll have to do something to cover them up when I go into the office tomorrow.
“If that’s what his place looks like, then it’s gotta be the best drunk decision I’ve ever heard of,” the marketing team chimes in. “And if he’s hot on top of it… Jackpot.”
“He’s not bad to look at.” I pick up my coffee with my right hand. “Should we start?” I ask, trying to prompt the point of the call.
“I have more questions,” the other designer says as everyone else nods. “Where does he work? You clearly didn’t meet him at our company. Even Mr. Ritz only lives in a three-bedroom condo.” She refers to our boss, who makes us all call him Mr. Ritz instead of using his first name. “And I only know that because he never shuts the fuck up about it. Like it’s some sort of flex and not him proving he could pay us more.”
Since I started a few years ago, I’ve been working remotely, so I don’t know the boss as well as everyone else, but I’m not surprised that the people who go into the office a lot aren’t fans. The whole Mr. thing is a bit pretentious.
One of the marketing girls snorts. “Yeah, I almost wish he was on this call.”
Her teammate lifts a hand. “Let’s not go crazy.”
“Yeah, fair.” The first girl concedes. “Plus, he’d probably just think he’s paying us too much and not that Val here hooked herself a sugar daddy.” She taps her chin. “Does a sugar daddy have to be older? Is he older?”
I set aside all my twisted feelings around Dom and my situation and figure I might as well try to enjoy this bit of comradery. “He’s forty-one, so a little older.”
“How old are you?” Bri asks.
I roll my lips together before answering. “I’ll be twenty-six this month.”
There’s a snicker. “Yeah, I’d say that counts as a sugar daddy. What does he do? CEO or something?”
“Well, he has his own company. But I don’t know what his title is.” I’m assuming he has to have some sort of company. Mafia shit or not, you can’t just move through society with huge amounts of money and no explanation for it.
I can hear someone typing on their computer. “What’s the company name? I want to look it up.”
“Nosy much?” The other designer laughs.
“Look, Val is over there living my damn dream. Let me ask my questions.”
I take a sip of my coffee. “I don’t know.”
“What’d you say?” Bri asks.
“I don’t know the name of it.” I sigh and set my coffee down. “Remember that whole drunken marriage thing? I didn’t exactly plan this.” I ignore the pang in my chest as I say that. It’s not a lie. I didn’t plan any of this. “We weren’t strangers, but we’re not connected on LinkedIn or anything like that.”
As soon as I say it, I regret it because I know what the next question is going to be.
“What’s his name? I’ll look him up.” The nosy marketing girl is already tapping her keyboard, and I know there’s no way for me to avoid giving them a name.
A good woman can change your life.
Time for me to lean all the way in.
“I married Dominic Gonzalez.”
The other designer has her coffee cup against her lips, taking a drink, and I watch as she jerks, sloshing dark liquid down her shirt.
The girl who was ready to search him on LinkedIn has her hands still hovering over the keyboard, not typing.
And Bri… Bri’s mouth is all the way open.
“So…” I awkwardly break the silence.
“Wait.” The second marketing girl glances around at everyone’s expressions. “Why does everyone know who that is? Is he like a big-time Chicago guy or something? I just moved here.”
Bri clears her throat. “Jesus Christ, I thought he looked familiar.”
I lift my shoulders. “He’s really nice.”
I want to hit myself. He’s really nice. What a dumb thing to say about a crime lord.
Keyboard clicks fill the audio.
“Oh damn, is that him? He is fine,” second marketing girl says to herself. “Oh, here, he’s head of the…” She trails off, and I want to press my hands to my cheeks so badly.
She thought she found his company name, as in head of finance for, but I know what it says because I did a search for him just yesterday.
Dominic Gonzalez, suspected head of the Chicago mafia crime syndicate.
She starts to giggle.
A lot.
“Sorry.” She slaps a hand over her mouth. “Sorry,” she says again, muffled this time.
And then Bri starts to laugh. And nosy marketing girl starts.
And then the other designer, who is wiping her coffee-covered hands onto her already ruined shirt, snorts. “Fuck, Val. Why are you even on this call?”
The smile that had started to form on my face falters. “What do you mean?”
Does she not want to work with me now?
She rolls her eyes. “Do you have any idea how rich that man is?”
Bri gestures toward her computer screen. “Look where she’s sitting. I’m pretty sure she knows.”
I glance around the condo like maybe it’s changed.
I hadn’t really thought about it until this moment. But if I stay with Dominic, then they’re right, I really don’t need this job.
I lift a shoulder. “I like working.”
It’s not a lie. I do like my job. I wouldn’t say I love it, but I’m good at it. And it’s good to feel productive. And I’ve worked since I was fourteen. I don’t know what I’d do with myself all day if I didn’t have a job.
First marketing girl raises her hand. “Well, I don’t like working. So if you’re ever looking to turn your duo into a throuple, just let me know. I’d love a sugar daddy.”
“I don’t share.” The words are out of my mouth before I can stop them.
“Damn.” Bri drags the word out. “Sounding like a member of the family already.”
