Page 39 of The Deal

“No. In my world, good behaviour is rarely left unrecognised. When you do the right thing, you not only earn respect, but you’re also rewarded in ways that matter.”

“And in what world is that?” she asks, bitterness lacing her words.

“Have you ever heard of theCosa Nostra?”

Her eyes widen, but she doesn’t answer my question. Both her mother and paternal grandmother are Sicilian, so I have no doubt she understands exactly what I’m saying.

I don’t usually lean on my family’s Mafia ties or ruthless reputation to get what I want, but maybe a little fear will serve me well this time. Planting doubt in this temptress might be the push I need to make her fall in line.

I slip her medication back into the pocket of my suit jacket and stand. I’m taking control of this. Not just to make sure she gets her regular dosage, but to prevent her from overdosing. Nothing would surprise me with this woman. She seems to hate me enough that I wouldn’t put it past her to try anything to escape this situation.

I move across the room and sit in the chair by the window. Once again, her eyes follow my every move.

“What are you doing?” she asks, her voice laced with suspicion.

“Supervising you,” I reply coolly. “Until you can learn how to behave, consider me your constant shadow.”

This time, I don’t hide the smile that curves my lips when she rolls over with a huff, giving me her back.

Chapter 14

Chloe

When Alexander claimed he would be my shadow for the foreseeable future, he wasn’t kidding. Short of following me into the bathroom, he’s been stuck to me like glue.

It’s a strange mix of annoying and, oddly enough, comforting. It’s been a long time since anyone’s looked after me. I’m usually the one playing the caregiver.

It’s been four long days since my short-lived escape, and I’ve yet to get any concrete evidence that my father is okay. I only have Alexander’s word, which I’m unsure I can trust.

He forced me to stay in bed the entire first day after my return—his bed—and I’m not sure if it was the medication the doctor gave me, the fact that he watched over me as I slept, or a combination of both, but I managed to get some well-earned rest. I’ve been sleep-deprived for years, so by day two, I felt refreshed, like I’d caught up on everything I’d been missing.

I’ve never spent the night with a man before, so waking up wrapped in his arms each morning takes some getting used to. And that giant,harddick of his that’s usually digging into my lower back makes me feel things Ishouldn’t be feeling. I still hate him for everything he’s done.

Today, I was forced to follow him to work again … under duress, of course. I’ve now become the voyeur, forced to sit and watch as he goes about his day, each passing moment a bitter reminder of just how little control I have over my own life.

When he ends his second video call, he leans back in his chair and scrubs his hand over his handsome face.

Ugh.

I hate that I think that. I’m constantly reminding myself that his looks are a facade. What lies underneath is far from appealing.

“If you’re going to force me to follow you around all day, can you at least give me something to do?” I snap. “Sitting here is boring, and I’d rather be looking at something—anything—other than you.”

That smug grin of his is back. It’s like the sick bastard gets off on my insults.

“Nobody’smakingyou look at me, Chloe,” he replies, his tone dripping with amusement. “There are four perfectly good walls in this room. You’re welcome to study them if my face isn’t doing it for you.”

My nostrils flare as I leap to my feet and begin to pace back and forth.

He leans back in his chair, folding his hands behind his head as he observes me.

“What are you doing?” he asks.

“What’s it look like? I’m pacing.”

“Why?”

“Because I’m going to end up with deep-vein thrombosis if I keep sitting all day.” He barks out a laugh, and I narrow my eyes for the umpteenth time. I swear, I will end up with wrinkles just from being around this man. “There’snothing funny about blood clots,” I growl, irritation creeping into my voice.

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