Fuck, the things I would do to soothe him.
“Why areyouembarrassed? You weren’t the one who was arrested.”
He looks up, devastated. “You saw that?”
“The gossip sites couldn’t get enough.”
“Wait—you read the gossip sites?”
“Shut it,” I throw back, lightly knocking his shoulder. “It’s how I keep up with the latest hair trends.”
He sends me a disbelieving look, sucking at his pouty lower lip.
“That’s great. Just…great.”
“Your family’s been paparazzi bait for years, man. You know the score. Rich? Check. Devastatingly gorgeous, every single one of you? Check. More altruistic than any family in history? Double check.”
That much was true. The Bashes worked closely with a group of New York trillionaires to fund the most critical areas of need in this country. They’d all but rid vulnerable communities of childhood diseases, and that was only one of their success stories. They were the blueprint for thoughtful oligarchs worldwide.
“Okay, fine, but did you see the headlines this morning?” He sketches an arching gesture through the air. “The Wildlings Ride Again. You’d think I’d been the one who got arrested.”
Bringing his hands to his face, Rami folds inward. Unable to let him sit in his despair, I run my hand up and down his back, taking deep breaths, then letting them out slowly. It’s incredibly satisfying when he patterns his breathing after mine, the muscles in his back relaxing under my palm.
Confession: I know I turn him on as much as he turns me on, and I like it a lot more than I should. More accurately, I’mpossessive of this version of him that only I get to see. It’s why I’ve never asked him to participate in the before-and-after videos I post on social media.
It’s also no accident that I book him when my other stylists are gone. I want the privacy to watch his chest rise and fall whenever I add a hint of bass to my voice. I don’t even have to get that bossy to make his eyes wide with want, and I feel like a king when he shivers at my touch.
No one gets to see this pretty flush on his cheeks except me.
“Don’t let it get to you, Rahm. Screw the headlines—everyone knows that the Whitakers are corrupt as fuck,” I say, finally turning on the water. “Besides, I know for a fact that you did all the work.
“I don’t know.” His admission is soft, as though he doesn’t want to own up to the doubt. “Brant ran on a platform against fraud and corruption. There’s no way he would…”
I keep silent as Rami struggles with the truth, while not acknowledging any of his hard work.
Finally, he gives a listless gesture. “I grew up with him.”
“Yeah, but Brantley Whitaker also grew up with hisfather. You remember who that asshole is, don’t you?” I ask lightly as I lean him back.
“Yes, I know who his dad is,” Rami responds with a huff. “Learned about him in history class and in government. But he’s never been arrested.”
I bark out a laugh as I wash his thick hair. “That’s right. If somebody hasn’t been put in jail, then they didn’t do it,” I tease, loving the disgruntled wrinkle of his perfect, never-broken nose. “They’re completely innocent.”
“Oh shut up. I just… Whatever.”
I hold up my hands. “I’m sorry. I’m not trying to dismiss you.” Returning my fingers to his scalp, I work the conditioning mask through his wet strands, shifting my hips back. Standing over him like this, seeing more of his arrogance dissolve intovulnerability beneath my fingertips is way too fucking tempting. “It sounds like you really thought y’all were friends.”
“Well yeah.”
“Then—and I don’t want to be the asshole bringing this up—a bust that visible is sending a message, as is the judge denying bond. It’s not a subtle message either. They’ve either got an airtight case, or he’s got cause to sue the hell out of them, and I don’t see the DA sticking her neck out like that.”
Rami deflates a little more as I massage his head. Poor guy.
Poor sexy guy with down-turned eyes the color of the Caribbean.
Lock box, Valentine. Lock. Box.
“I’m just trying to figure out why he would embezzle money. His family’s way richer than we are.”
