Page 72 of Serving the Mogul

“I may have something,” my half-sister said without preamble.

Still walking, I tightened my hand on the phone. “About the pictures?”

“Yes.” Gianni’s breath came out with a hard burst, a sign of how keyed up she was. “The pictures. The articles. Can we meet?”

Looking back through the doors to where I’d last seen Tina, I hesitated for only a few seconds. “Yes. I’m on my way.”

Twenty-Seven

Tina

“So,how long have you two been a thing?”

Leaning against my car with a cold soda pressed to my forehead, I frowned. Garcia, Tank’s boyfriend and co-owner of the demolition company, was grinning at me with a smile that stretched across his narrow face.

“What? Who?” Tank’s head jerked up.

“James Maximus,” Garcia said with a grin. “It’s obvious there’s something there. Which is good because—hey!” Garcia’s grin had twisted into a scowl after being slapped across the head.

“I swear,” Tank muttered. “How childish can a man be?”

Garcia’s eyes shifted to his. “What did I say?”

I knew what was going on.

“Guys, it’s okay.” While I said those words, my face heated, and it was hard not to look away. “I’m assuming you both read the article.”

Garcia’s hangdog expression grew sad, and Tank’s face went beet red. He shook his head and took my hand, squeezing it gently.

“That was some awful shit there, Tina. Fucked up, you know. Not that you—we mean, if that’s your thing—” Tank stopped mid-sentence and gave Garcia a pained look.

“What my boy here is trying to say—we don’t give a shit about the club or whatever you do in your private time.” A sweet smile softened the seriousness of Garcia’s features, and Tank nodded, happy to have somebody else doing all the talking for him. “But having your privacy violated like that...it’s rough. We’re sorry.”

I couldn’t tell who blushed more, Tank or me. But their kindness meant the world.

“I should have expected it,” I said, forcing a light note into my voice.

“People are assholes.” With disgust apparent in his voice, Tank patted me on the shoulder. “I hope Maximus’s doing something about that stupid article?”

“Ah...” I thought about my brief talk with Gianni and nodded. “I know he’s trying, at least. Whether anything pan out? We’ll have to see.”

“There’s that old saying...money talks.” Garcia gave an easy shrug. “I don’t think money talks for him—it probably sings. That man and his family got some serious pull. If anybody can sort this out, I’d say he can.”

“I hope so.”

* * *

An hour later,as I toweled my hair dry, Garcia’s words came back to me. I knew money sang to James. Not just that. Money, power...women.

All he had to do was look at me a certain way, and I’d sing anything he wanted.

“Or ordered,” I muttered, my face heating as I recalled the hot, erotic hours of last night.

I recalled the rough, gravelly tone in his voice and the touch of his hands, a sensory echo that tightened my nipples until they were painful. Remembering the heat in his eyes as he stared at me wearing nothing but the white dress shirt I had stolen from his closet.

Tossing the towel over the back of the battered armchair tucked by the window, I picked up my brush by the dresser. My phone lay there, the surface blank. I itched to check to see if James had texted or called while I was in the shower.

I made myself finish brushing my hair first.

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