Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75373 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“Thirty mil? Give or take,” I said.
It was a huge sum of money. Even to us, who were used to doing multi-million-dollar deals.
“And there’s another thirty or so left? Maybe more?” Dante asked, whistling. “You’re dating a rich woman,” he said, shooting me a smile.
As much as I loved the idea that Dasha could see herself sitting on a pile of money, I had a sinking feeling it wasn’t going to be as easy as that.
We closed and secured the unit, took turns changing back into our suits, changed the plates of the truck back, got rid of our clothes from the day, and then all went our separate ways.
I made a quick stop at the grocery store, intent on making Dasha a home-cooked meal, like the one that had gotten ruined the night before.
When Mass texted that his car was done and that Dasha had pretended to fiddle under the hood of her car to get it to work, so she could leave as well, I rushed through the checkout and made my way home to meet her.
I managed to get in and put away the food before she was knocking on the back door.
As soon as I swung it open, she practically fell into me, arms wrapping around me, exhaling a deep breath it seemed like she’d been holding all day.
“You okay?” I asked, running my hand down her hair with one hand while the other held her tight.
“Just a long day, and I’m really, really happy to be home.”
Fuck.
I wasn’t prepared for how good it felt to hear her call my place home. Even if, objectively, I knew she just meant it as a turn of phrase.
If I had it my way, I would be all too happy to have her move in and never leave.
Even if it was maybe a little too early to admit that aloud to her.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Dasha
I hadn’t expected Santo’s brother to engage me immediately upon coming inside.
But he rose from his chair, making his way to the counter. “Excuse me, could you give me progress on my car?” he asked.
“Of course,” I said. I was glad to delay going into the back. “Mr…”
“Grant,” he said. His lips twitched, but I found myself fascinated by his eyes. They were each different colors. One was a honey brown and the other a blue-gray.
Other than that, he looked a lot like Santo. Both were tall with swimmer’s builds, great bone structure, dark hair, and amazing eyelashes.
“Grant,” I repeated. “Of course.”
“I’ll be here all day,” Massimo said, pitching his voice lower. “If anything feels weird when you go back there, just call for me; I’ll be listening.”
“Thank you,” I said, making a show of looking through the paperwork that had already stacked up since the day before.
“Everything’s gonna be alright.” To that, I nodded.
“Do you see anything on my face?”
“Am I supposed to?” he asked, brows knitting.
“Just checking,” I said. Sucking in a deep breath, I slowly released it. “Help yourself to some coffee,” I told him, waving over to the coffee station I’d set up.
“Find reasons to come out here if you’re feeling anxious.”
“I will. Thank you.” I gave him a grateful smile before squaring my shoulders and making my way into the garage.
Some part of me expected it to play out like some music. For all the noise to fade away, for everyone to stop what they were doing and stare at me.
But, well, it was all really anticlimactic.
Everyone kept working.
And if someone looked over at me, I didn’t even really notice.
Still, by the time I got to my desk, my stomach was in knots and my heart was threatening to break out of my chest.
“Okay. Alright. You got through it,” I murmured to myself as I looked around my desk.
My uncle’s paperweight was situated in the wrong spot and I reached immediately to set it to rights before I sat down.
Santo wanted me to bring all my notes home that I’d jotted down about the books. And, if possible, all the actual proof—receipts—from the work that had been done that didn’t make any sense.
So I spent the morning and early afternoon taking what I could or snapping pictures of things I didn’t want to remove from work.
I made four trips out to the waiting room: two times to use the bathroom, two more for coffee.
It was a normal enough number of times that no one seemed to notice anything weird.
As for me, I tried to glance over at them, to see if anyone was watching me, trying to figure out why there were no bruises under my eyes or around my throat.
But everyone ignored me as usual.
Maybe the attack had truly been random?
Or, barring that, from some shady character my uncle had been connected to that I didn’t even know.
Or, I guess, both things could be true.