Page 16 of Captive Mafia Wife

Everyone was at the club last night, singing karaoke or trying out their VR or indoor glow-in-the-dark mini-golf, but all drinking too much. We have sore heads and our tails tucked between our legs, so the morning is quiet.

At noon, I order lunch from the deli on the corner to be delivered to my desk: two Diet Cokes and a tuna on rye. I pick at the sandwich but eat the crisps.

Women think I’m thin because I don’t eat, but it’s not true. My friends know I eat plenty. Only just what I want. Do you know how many calories are in a full dinner? Please, I’d rather have dessert.

I didn’t eat Fiona’s beef stew at dinner the other night, but I downed about half a loaf of the warm bread she had baked, slathered in the butter she had brought in from Bayne cows.

I pop two more headache tablets and wash them back with the soda. The hazy memory of the man at the bar warningme last night comes back to me. As does my run-in with Callum this morning.

I’m dreading our talk tonight.

Callum’s words from this morning have me questioning my choices but everyone at the firm seems as enamored with Jack as I was.

I mean, not enamored per say. That’s not why I took his case. My minge doesn’t rule my brain.

Further evidence to prove my point I let him who we do not speak of do what we do not speak of to me. I dove into the pleasure, reveled in it, then told him that was all there would be between us. And forgot all about him.

Mostly.

Pressing my thighs together, I ignore the heat between my legs just like I push away the memory of Fredrick’s tongue between my thighs…what feels like every five minutes for the past week.

Five o’clock on the dot, June breezes by my desk. She wears a red trench coat belted around her waist, a sleek black Chanel bag over her shoulder, clearly leaving for the day. “Girl, you were on fire last night! The host didn’t want to take the microphone back. You brought the house down.”

“We did!” I laugh. “Couldn’t have done it without my backup dancers.”

“Speaking of last night, what did that guy want?” she asks.

“What guy?”

“The one with the weird blue eyes.” Her nose scrunches. “They were, like, abnormally light.”

“Oh, him.” The prickles return to the back of my neck. “Dunno.”

Already bored with the man, she shrugs, changing the subject. “Madyson and I still have insane headaches from last night, and there’s only one cure for an afternoon hangover.”

“Hair of the dog!” we say in unison.

Madyson shows up, perching the curve of her cute ass on the edge of my desk. “What’s a Hera the dog?” she asks.

“Thehairof the dog, which is short for ‘the hair of the dog that bit you,’” I inform. “And the nickname of the first drink you have the next day to cure your hangover.”

Madyson says, “So you’ll join us? June and I are headed to the pub for a drink.”

I can taste the sweet relief of an ice-cold bright-pink Manhattan on the tip of my tongue. Callum’s stern green eyes butt into my daydream, reminding me of my promise to him.

I close down my computer for the day. “I can’t. I’ve got this family thing.”

June’s eyes light up. “Invite Fiona! Everyone loves your sister-in-law.”

“Please do,” Madyson adds. “I swear, I haven’t seen her in ages.”

I roll my eyes, confessing, “My brother keeps that girl on lockdown. Fiona can hold her own, but she seems perfectly happy being stuck at the house feeding him. No—it’s something with Callum anyway.”

June’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “That Viking of a man could lock me up to anything, anytime.”

“Och! Gross, June!” I shake my head at her. “That’s my flesh and blood.”

“And some damn fine-looking flesh, too. Those eyes, that hair, those legs?—”

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