Page 4 of Savage Mafia King

"Of course."

There's a smirk on his face. I want to wipe it off, more than anything, but if we're going to be working together, then I'm going to need to get used to it.

"I'll be in touch once I have an invitation to the fundraiser for you," I tell him. "Other than that, don't contact me unless it's important."

He shrugs. "I'll see what I can do."

I hate the way he seems to brush me off, everything I say just an annoyance to him, as though I'm nothing more than a pain in his ass. I wish I had the nerve to call him out on the way he's talking to me, but I get the feeling he would renege on our deal just as quickly as he made it. Much as I'm pissed that I've been put in this position, it's better to just go along with it for now. And if later I find a way to change all of this and approach it with a little more clarity, I'll do it.

"Good."

I turn on my heel and march down the stairs, back out to my car. The chilly air bites at my skin, but I can hardly pay attention to it. I just want to get home, to my penthouse, and hide out there for the rest of the night, relax somewhere far from the sorority house so I don't have to deal with my girls asking me where I've been or who I've been with.

Because if they knew... if they knew that I was even entertaining a proposal from a man like Marcus, it would ruin me. At least it would at this stage. I'm going to have to find a way to make it work, a way to convince people that he's not the man he so obviously seems to be: the head of an underground boxing club, the kind of man who would involve himself with that kind of violence and danger, the kind of man who can't be trusted, who needs to be held at arm's length at every opportunity.

I'll polish him up into something I can be seen with, and I'll take it from there.

I drive myself home, past the beautiful building where most of my girls live. I cast a glance toward it, that old place that's been here practically as long as the university has, that speaks to a history and depth that I'm a part of, a history thatconnects me to my mother and so many other women who came before her.

And a history, I'm quite sure, I'm throwing away for the sake of protecting my brother.

How could the head of a sorority date someone like Marcus? I'm going to have to work overtime to convince people I haven't lost my mind. Aside from a couple of flings over in Italy with handsome Italian men, I haven't made any effort to date on campus. As soon as I make myself attainable to the men here, I lose some part of my power, and I refuse to allow that to happen.

When I reach the penthouse, I make my way up the stairs, a sudden exhaustion coursing through my system. I have little idea of what will happen next, but I know I just want this to be over already. I don't want to have to deal with him, I don't want to have to spend time with him, and I certainly don't want to have to hold his hand and pretend like Ilovehim.

As I reach the top of the stairs, my mind flashes with the image of the two of us making out once more. His hands on me, his strong arms wrapped around me, pulling me against him, insistent, his mouth on mine, the sharpness of his stubble against my skin...

Fuck it.

I push the thought aside quickly. Yes, okay, he's handsome, but that's all there is to it. There are plenty of good-looking men out there, and I refuse to let myself get caught up in whatever brief flutter of attraction might be getting the better of me right now. I just know how smug he would be if he knew I was even thinking this about him, and I refuse to give him the satisfaction of knowing what's going through my head right now.

I pause as I reach the door. There's something different. It takes me a moment to work out what it is, but I glance downward, and my eyes widen when I see what's waiting for me.

A note.

I lean down to grab it and flip it over in my hand to be greeted with a scrawl of handwriting I don't recognize.

Stay away from Marcus.

The words are short, sharp, and cruel. I glance around, suddenly feeling as though I'm being watched. Is there someone here? Is someone keeping an eye on me? No, I must be paranoid, there can be nothing more to it.

But who could have left this here? Who knew that I was going to meet with Marcus at all, and what exactly do they know about how our conversation went?

I slip my key into the lock and hurry inside, almost not wanting to know the answer. As though this day hasn't been confusing enough as it is.

I pull the door shut behind me and head to the kitchen to pour myself another glass of wine. A large one. I know there's no way I'm going to be able to sleep tonight, and I have planning to do. The fundraiser is in about a week or so, and I want to be ready when it comes to introduce the world to the man who is going to be posing as my new boyfriend.

Damn it, Blake, what have you gotten me into?

Chapter Three—Marcus

"This is a bad idea."

Giovanni leans in the doorway to my bedroom as he watches me straighten my tie and pull a brush through my hair. I ignore him. He's had the same shit to say since I told him what I'm doing here, and I'm not going to let him convince me of anything else now that the plan is in motion.

"I'm not that bad a dancer," I shoot back, and he cocks an eyebrow at me.

"You know that's not what I'm talking about."

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