Since yesterday, it seems I no longer have any filters and I have no problem putting people in their place. I don’t know what kind of beef Payne has with Phoenix, but I didn’t come this far to let this asshole jeopardize everything. I don’t make it a habit to lie, but desperate times call for desperate measures.
“I admire your lady balls,” Payne says.
“I’m quite attached to them.” Sarcasm drips from my words.
“Consider me yourconsiglierenow,” Payne says with a respectful bow.
“My what?”
“It’s a nod to theGodfathermovie,” Phoenix says.
“Exactly,” Payne says. “Which means, I can’t publish tomorrow’s article on King König and his queen without photos.”
I flatten my lips. “Don’t bother taking photos if it’s to ridicule us again.”
“As yourconsigliere, I’m now your ally,” he says.
This guy is so flighty.
It’s scary to think how many people he influences every day. However, the show must go on.
I meet Phoenix’s gaze. “Is it okay with you, my love?”
He cocks an eyebrow, visibly impressed. “As long as it’s okay with you, sweetheart.”
I nod.
Payne snaps away.
“Well, I’ll be out of your hair,” the content creator says after snapping what seems like a hundred photos. “Too much gossip, too little time.”
With that, he’s gone.
Unbelievable.
My eyes meet Phoenix’s.
It’s not like I can ask him questions since everyone in the restaurant is staring at us, including the blonde who insists on giving me the evil eye.
“Well, that was interesting,” I say, before gulping down the rest of my champagne.
A single quirk of one corner of Phoenix’s mouth suggests he approves of my performance. “You’re full of surprises.”
I lean into the table. “We’re a team.”
I’m mesmerized as he reaches for my hand and lifts it up to his lips before dropping a soft kiss against it. The delicious sensation is so unexpected, I hitch a breath.
“We’re a team,” he says.
Chapter 15
Phoenix
The ride from Santa Monica at this time in the evening is a breeze. There’s so much to say, but Michaela and I spend most of the journey soaking up Los Angeles at night. Even though my driver is paid for his discretion, I didn’t want to chance it.
With little traffic to contend with, the Bentley closes in on the Manhattan Beach neighborhood where Michaela’s friend lives in record time. After passing the security checkpoint, the chauffeur crawls through the gated community until we stop in front of Rhys Hartford’s impressive mansion. I get out and round the hood to her side of the car. I open Michaela’s door and extend my hand. She accepts it and I help her out of the vehicle.
“Thank you,” she says, stepping onto the pavement.
