“And you have the contacts?” I nod. “To take regular large shipments.”
“Yes,” I confirm. “Ready as soon as you are.”
“The woman,” he says, his eyes dancing with mischief. “Is she the reason you’re turning against your father?”
My blood pumps faster, whooshing in my ears. “My secretary, you mean?” I say firmly. “She’s here so my father didn’t get suspicious.”
He seems to accept it, pushing to stand. “We’ll discuss it this evening. Bring her to the rooftop for dinner.”
We shake hands, and I head out with Anthony falling into step beside me.
“Well?”
“He wants to discuss it later over dinner.”
Anthony shrugs, “That’s a good sign. At least he’s willing to discuss.”
“Or he’s luring me to my death,” I mutter, ducking into the car.
He gets in and starts the engine. “I guess we’ll find out.”
“He asked me to bring Leoni too.”
His head whips in my direction. “Why?”
I shrug. “I told him she was my secretary. That she came to keep my father from asking questions.”
“Shit,” he mutters.
“He’s not stupid enough to talk business in front of her,” I add, already feeling the tension knotting in my stomach. “But it’s her I’m worried about. If she starts asking questions…”
Chapter Fourteen
LEONI
Warren drives us a short distance from the villa into town.
It’s nothing like London. The streets are narrower, sun-bleached, almost romantic, like someone carved them straight out of a film set. We park near a small square, and I slide out of the car, taking in the jumble of pastel buildings and hanging flowerpots.
He’s been quiet. Too quiet. Ever since he got back from his meeting an hour ago.
He woke me in his usual way, with slow kisses, dreamy sex that blurred my thoughts, followed by round two in the shower. But when he finally spoke, he only told me to dress for lunch.
And now here we are.
He guides me into a small restaurant bursting with locals, their voices filling the air in quick, musical Italian. A few lookour way, curious but not lingering, and it’s oddly refreshing to see Warren just blending in. No whispers or stares. No London intensity.
We’re seated by a window overlooking the square, and before I’ve even opened the menu, Warren orders two steaks and a bottle of red.
Then we sit. Both staring out the window, locked in our separate thoughts. Eventually, I clear my throat. Warren flicks his eyes to me.
“How was your meeting?” I ask.
“Good.”
I wait for more. Nothing comes.
“Do you have more meetings today?”
