Chapter 13
Matteo
Iarrive at Holston PR early enough to see most of the employees filter in.
Holston’s assistant escorts me into a glass-walled conference room with a nervous smile. I check my prosthetic in my phone’s reflection, adjusting it slightly until the gray matches my good eye perfectly.
There, now I’ll just wait.
Beyond the glass, the office buzzes with anxious energy and productivity. I catch fragments of whispers, employees pretending they’re not watching me.
I flick my lighter open, then closed. The familiar weight grounds me. When I’d found it missing that night, the rage hadbeen a living thing, clawing up my throat. Now it’s back where it belongs.
Footsteps approach—too heavy to be my Little Thief. The door swings open, and Holston enters, sweat already beading along his hairline despite the aggressive air conditioning. His eyes flicker between my face and the floor.
“Matteo,” he greets, extending a damp hand I pretend not to see. “You’re early.”
“I’m exactly on time,” I correct him. “For my schedule, not yours.”
He laughs too loudly, tugging at his tie like it’s slowly strangling him. “Of course, of course. Can I offer you something to drink while we wait? Coffee? Water?”
“Silence,” I growl, my tone making it clear it’s not a suggestion. He nods rapidly, taking the chair farthest from me. Smart move.
Over the years, I’ve helped Holston with several favors, and he’s always been good at making it worth my while. When I showed up at the Parkview, the night I met Raven, it was to remove the corporate spy a competitor sent.
Before that, I saved his son from prison after a drunk driving incident that would have put the boy away for a decade.
“I want to thank you for—”
“No need,” I interrupt.
“But I—”
Sighing, I steeple my fingers together. “I’m not a charity, Nathan,” I say, pointedly using his first name. “I didn’t help you because I’m suddenly a humanitarian. You owe me.”
He nods jerkily. “Of course.”
“Is she coming?” I ask, staring directly at him until he fidgets.
“Yes, she’s just…” He checks his watch, swallows. “She’ll be here.”
Though he continues to try engaging me in small talk, I refuse. I’m content sitting here and letting the minutes stretch on until she gets here.
“Maybe I should call her,” Holston murmurs.
“Don’t,” I order. “We’ll wait.”
Right on cue, the door opens again and Raven enters with her shoulders squared, chin lifted in defiance that doesn’t quite mask the wariness in her eyes.
“Am I late?” she squeaks.
I stand slowly, deliberately. “Ms. Carter,” I say, my voice dropping to a register that makes Holston blink rapidly. “Thank you for joining us. I do hope you stay until the end this time.”
Her eyes narrow almost imperceptibly. “Mr. Russo. Hard to refuse such a compelling invitation.”
I gesture to the chair beside me—not across, beside. The one that puts her in my space. “Please.”
She hesitates, just long enough to make a point, before sliding into the seat. The scent of her perfume hits me—something citrusy and sharp. Nothing like the night I kicked her door down. She smelled of fear and arousal then. A heady cocktail that still makes my cock throb.
