Page 52 of Knot Your Business

“Denver, right?” Sam asks.

Faedra nods and leans her head against mine.

“Yep.” She pops the “p” in the way she does when she’s tired of the conversation. Sam seems to notice it, too. His cheeks grow pink and he tilts the dolly back into his hands.

“Well, I don’t think I’m scheduled for your move on Saturday. I hope it goes well.”

My best friend leans against the counter and smiles, offering a warm thanks.

I glance out the door as Sam leaves. Rylan and Jasper lean against the hallway just outside the dorm, mirror images of each other in their dark jeans and light shirts, their hands shoved into their pockets and their jaws clenched. Despite them being nearly identical, Jasper seems merely broody while Rylan feels like leashed violence.

Hell, the differences between designations are so subtle sometimes.

“Think it’s still okay for me to go with you?” Faedra whispers, her eyes trained on Rylan. She fidgets with one of her orbital piercings. I grab her hand and lead her out of the apartment, stopping in front of the guys.

Rylan notices her anxiety right away, even with her so suppressed, and relaxes his shoulders, letting a small smile curve his lips.

“You girls want to stop for some lunch first or head straight out to the house?” he asks, his voice low and smooth. It shouldn’t send a thrill down my spine, but I can’t quite manage to keep from shivering. Faedra relaxes beside me. Jasper takes my hand and kisses the crown of my head, and I relax into him.

“I’m up for either,” I say. “What do you want to do, Fae?”

She shrugs and messes with her piercing again. “Could we get something delivered to the house? That way we don’t have to try to manage both.”

Rylan nods, and Jasper pulls out his phone. “Any preferences?”

When we answer in the negative, he nods. One of the movers approaches, standing back a few feet, his eyes wary as he takes in the four of us. It feels a little over-the-top, but then I hear Rylan’s low growl, and I take a deep breath. Sidestepping, I lean into Rylan.

“We’re just about finished, sir,” the man says, clearing his throat. “Last load is heading down now. We’ll stop for our lunch break and then be on our way to the address given. Anything else you need from us here?”

I shake my head. “Thank you,” I murmur.

He nods once before following the other men down the hall and toward the truck.

Jasper tucks his phone into his pocket. “Bianca’s on her way to the house, and she’s bringing food, so we should get headed over there. And it sounds like Liz and Huntley want to stop by, too. You all right with that?”

Faedra shrugs, and I nod. “Sounds good to me.”

“Holy shit,” Faedra breathes, her hand clenched around mine.

We’re tucked deep into Brentwood, high enough on the cliffs that I’d bet money there’s at least partial ocean views from the backyard of the house. Though, honestly, house is too blasé of a word. Estate works better. I refuse to use mansion, though it fits, too. Mansion just reminds me too much of my mother, and her hands are already too involved in this whole damn mess as it is.

“I didn’t realize the philharmonic paid this well,” Faedra says.

Jasper laughs behind us, wrapping an arm around my waist and kissing the crown of my head.

“It doesn’t,” Rylan says, voice dry, as he gets out of the car. “This is all Dominic.”

My stomach clenches.

Italian mafia.

I don’t say the words out loud, Jasper’s rushed warning of discretion a couple days ago still ringing in my ears.

It feels a bit anticlimactic, honestly. I’d expected a gate and subtle security and maybe even a valet of some kind. Not quite like the books always make it sound—coming from money tempers expectations a bit—but certainly more opulent than this.

The house is huge, yes, and clearly worth a metric fuck ton. But it’s understated, modern rather than traditional with its square lines and large walls of glass. The landscaping leans on the natural vegetation of the cliff sides rather than forcing a manicured lawn. There’s small pathways built throughout the yard and a small set of garden boxes that don’t seem to be in use set off to the side of the house, positioned perfectly to see both the cliffs and the ocean when working in them.

It’s nothing like my parents’ place, and for that I mumble a small prayer of thanks to whatever god might be listening. A woman with olive skin and long black hair curled and pinned back walks down the front steps. Her simple jewel purple wrap dress is as understated as the house, though the large diamond ring and coordinating necklace belie her wealth.

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