Page 29 of Asher Black (The Five Syndicates)
I’m too cute to be bear food. What do bears eat anyway? Fish? Plants? Bugs? Awkward brunettes with a penchant for running away from their problems? I don’t look like any of those. Okay, well, maybe the last one describes me to a T.
He gives me a quick glance before returning his eyes to the road. There’s a rare, dumbfounded look in those blue eyes.
I explain myself, “I’ll stop being petty if you promise we’ll revisit the discussion about my living arrangements after we wake up.”
He nods. “Fine. I can agree to that. We’ll talk about it in the morning, but it won’t matter. You’re living with me, and that’s final.”
My jaw drops. “You’re impossible!”
A hint of a smile ghosts his lips. “I’m not the one who called the cops. You put yourself in this situation.”
I shut up.
We drive a few more minutes in silence before he speaks again. “You’re her replacement.”
“Whose?” I ask, but I suspect I already know the answer to my own question.
“The girl you saw getting a pat down—”
“Manhandled,” I correct.
He rolls his eyes but lets my interjection slide. “That girl you saw that night was supposed to be my fake fiancée, but you ruined that the minute you brought negative attention to her when you called the cops.”
“Oh.” And because I can’t help myself, I ask, “Why was she getting manhandled?”
“She was about to go over the marriage contract with my lawyer. She already signed an NDA, but I didn’t trust her not to have a recording device on her. It was supposed to be a quick and simple pat down. She was being difficult, not letting Bastian do his job. He may have gotten a little rough, but that’s on her.”
I nod. I also suspect that I’ll be seeing an NDA soon. I’m astonished that I haven’t already been forced to sign one, but the whole club ruse seems like it was spontaneous. Like Asher saw an opportunity with both me and those men there, and he seized it.
“Why didn’t you
pat me down?”
“I already did, Lucy.”
“Wh—”
I stop myself as the realization hits. The dance. I thought he was feeling the curves of my body, but he was really patting me down. It’s crazy how someone so book smart can be so stupid. You’d think my life abroad and as a foster child would impart on me more wisdom, but it obviously hasn’t.
I redirect my line of questioning, noting gratefully that he’s actually being pretty open. “Why do you even need a fake fiancée? You have to know how attractive you are.” I don’t even blush when I say this. It’s simply factual. “You could, I don’t know, maybe find yourself a real fiancée? Someone you don’t have to force into this.”
He’s smirking when he says, “I didn’t have to force Nicole into this. She wanted to all on her own. You were the one who ruined that. You led me to this.”
There’s no point in arguing against that, so I say, “A fake fiancée is a pretty drastic solution to anything. You’re going to need to explain this to me if you want me to play along with your charade.”
His face hardens, reminding me that he’s a predator. “You’ll play along, because you have to.” He sighs. “I’m only explaining this because it’s pertinent to your role as my fiancée. I’ve been in the process of leaving the Romano family for a while now.”
Shock eclipses my ire. “What? Nobody just leaves the mafia.”
“I was never actually in it to begin with. I was an independent contractor, someone that was only called in to fix the messes on an as needed basis. I wasn’t involved in the day to day operations.”
Parts of my Google search say otherwise.
“But you own some of the mob businesses.”
“It’s just a small percentage of only some of the companies,” he corrects. “I came in as a business consultant. They gave me a scholarship under a shell corporation that allowed me to afford Wilton’s tuition. In return, I became their business consultant. But only as an independent contractor.”
“And this was all legal?” I ask in disbelief.
