Page 118 of Salvatore

“No you won’t.” I drag her into my arms, squishing her with a hug. “You love me too much.”

“I loved you a hell of a lot more before I had sordid visions of Salvatore forced into my frontal lobe.” She slumps her shoulders, begrudgingly taking my affection. “Oh my god, you should’ve seen the look on his face. There’s no way that man isn’t infatuated with you.”

“He thinks I’m a challenge.”

“From my vantage point, you didn’t seem all that challenging.” She wiggles from my grip. “But I did appreciate the fact he was dishing out the goods and not just expecting to receive them.”

I nod. “He’s actually quite selfless in that regard.”

“I didnotneed to know that.” She fakes a gag. “I have to go floss my brain with barbed wire and get a stiff drink.”

“That’s probably for the best.”

“Thanks for the impending nightmares.” She walks away from me, continuing down the hall toward Remy who moves into the living room archway scrutinizing her approach.

“Don’t ask,” she says as he opens his mouth. “I need wine.”

I chuckle on my way back to my room, needing to freshen up and reclaim my sanity, but the blonde model-esque stylist is still there, going through the rack of expensive clothes she’s wheeled in.

From the short glimpses I’ve seen, the garments are stunning, their labels bearing names like Burberry, Altuzarra, and The Row.

“There you are.” She glances up from her perusal of the rack and beams at me, pulling an olive-green floral midi dress from her stash. “Why don’t we start with this? The coloring will complement your skin tone perfectly.”

It’s a cute dress, the dark base color contrasting with bright yellow and white flowers. She holds it out to me, the statement piece undoubtedly worth more than my car.

I allow myself one touch of the incredibly soft material—a brief glimpse into the world of grotesque wealth—before letting my hand fall to my side. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I’m actually going to have to ask you to leave.”

Her ruby-painted lips part in shock. “Why? Did I do something wrong?”

“No. Not at all. I’m sure you’ve done exactly as Salvatore requested, but this is an extravagant gesture I can’t accept.”

She stammers, her mouth working with no actual words coming out.

“I’m so sorry.” I wince.

“I don’t understand.” She glances at the clothes then back at me, her gaze then diverting to the door over my left shoulder. “Sir, you already paid for my time.”

I tense at Salvatore’s intrusion.

“She doesn’t want to be indebted to me,” he states, all confident and composed while I’m still literally sodden and disheveled from the rec room festivities. “She thinks I’ll use the leverage against her.”

I stand taller, the hair on the back of my neck tingling from his presence while the stylist glances between us.

“She can trust me with her life,” he drawls. “But it seems she can’t when it comes to matters of finance. Isn’t that right,mi reina?”

I clear my throat, preferring when we were at opposite sides of the mansion. “I don’t require clothes that cost ten grand a pop.”

“Oh, no.” The stylist’s eyes brighten with optimism as she shakes her head. “None of these pieces are more than five thousand dollars. The entire collection is only ninety grand.”

I cough to smother what might potentially be a heart attack.

“Leave the clothes.” Salvatore enters the room, thankfully maintaining a few feet of space. “I’ll transfer the payment?—”

“No.” I gape. “I’m serious, I don’t want this?—

“Gift,” he cuts me off, his expression pure authority. “It isn’t a debt or leverage. The clothes hold no meaning and come with no financial implication. So either accept them or don’t, but the clothes remain.” He pulls a cell from inside his suit jacket and taps at the screen.

Seconds later a phone vibration sounds from the stylist’s vicinity, followed by her sharp intake of breath.

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