Page 13 of It Shouldn't Be You
“My father was a piece of scum, and his opinions are invalid. As proven when I sliced that fuckers throat and emptied my gun in him for good measure. Now, if none of you have anything worthwhile to say, I have shit to do. It’s called cleaning up his messes and crafting a better future for all of us. And as the fucking Boss of this shit show, I do not have to answer to any of you!” I spit as I slam my fist on the table, levelling them all with a glare.
“What do you think about this, Peter? Surely as one of us and as his second, you feel the sting of being left in the dark.” Adam jeers from his place opposite Peter and I tense for the fallout.
“While I do wish he would have at least consulted me, I have to agree he’s just trying to clean up house. And there’s so much mess to sort out thanks to Angus that it’s no wonder this may have...slipped his mind to mention.” With a pointed look Peter makes it clear he’s trying to offer me an out.
A scapegoat that’s mine to take unless I want to hang myself with a noose of my own making.
As tempting as it is to stand my ground, now is not the time. There will be time to show these fuckers what I think of them and their tendency to dig their noses where they don’t belong. For now, letting this lay and moving forward is the best thing I can do, so with a tilt of my head I let them take that as they may before excusing myself.
I have a date to organise and get ready for after all.
This mess can be kept for another day, my wife on the other hand shouldn’t be made to wait another second.
Chapter 10
“Ineed your help. It’s life or death,” I plead as soon as the facetime call connects. There’s no time for pleasantries. I’ve spent the last few hours showering, pampering and painting my face. Now I’m standing in my new room, in my best black bra and panty set, hair in rollers as I pace back and forth.
“Babe, take a breath. What’s wrong?” Cora asks as she nurses April in one corner of my phone screen. A pang of longing makes me ache. She is the most adorable baby I have ever seen, even if she’s oblivious to anything that isn’t milk or sleep.
“You look hot as shit girl. What’s going on?” Lily chimes in from her dorm room, looking every inch the frazzled student.
“Logan, my new mafia bosshusband, has decided he’s taking me on a dinner date in less than an hour and I have nothing to wear!” I throw my arms up in dismay as I survey the mess that is my room. It honestly looks like a hurricane has whipped through here and left a scattered mess of satin and lace in its wake.
“Okay, that’s a boldface lie, and you know it. What about the black silk maxi dress you got the other week?”
“Or how about the red mini dress if you want to heat things up?” Lily tosses out.
“Lily, you might just be a genius. I knew there was a reason I corrupted you,” I exclaim, pointing at her before finding the dress she’s talking about. I get a round of encouragement from them as I wiggle it on.
It's short without being too short, and the shade of red works brilliantly with my hair. The diamond cutout under my breasts is small enough not to be considered risqué but is instead enticing. With a final spin and a round of "yeses" from my friends, I say my goodbyes, blow them a kiss, and slip on a pair of black heels. Shaking out my curls, I grab a matching black bag and head down to meet Logan, only to nearly fall flat on my face as I spot him at the bottom of the stairs, clutching a bouquet of pink lilies and wearing an indescribable expression.
At this point, I've seen him in a suit for our wedding and in light jeans with a tight T-shirt earlier today, but seeing him now in dark jeans, biker boots, and a black silk shirt—with the top few buttons undone and sleeves rolled up to showcase his tantalizing arm veins and tattoos—makes me bite back a whimper.
“You look...stunning,” he growls as I get to the bottom, extending his free hand to help me with the last step before placing said hand on my hip and tugging me close to him.
Our faces are so close I can feel his breath on my face, and my pulse skips a beat. It should be illegal for a man to be this hot.
Before I can get lost in his eyes, he clears his throat and holds the bouquet out to me.
“How did you know lilies are my favourite?” I ask him, inhaling the sweet floral scent.
“I have my sources.” That husky tone makes me meet his gaze again and fight the blush that wants to give me away.
“Well, whoever they are deserves a raise. These are stunning, thank you,” I mummer.
With a tip of his head, he helps me put the flowers in a vase, then slides his arm around my waist and leads me out to where a car is waiting. He opens the passenger door for me, helps me in, and then heads to the driver's side.
“I have to say, you pull off this whole Viking look.” I tell him as he puts the car in gear and pulls away from the house. The breeze from his rolled down window messes his shoulder-length hair in a way that has me dying to dig my hands into it as he makes me see stars.
“Glad you think so. If I had known you were going to pull out all the stops, however, I would have levelled the look up for you,” he retorts with a smirk as we clear the gates.
“Now, you’ll have me dying to know what that would entail.”
The drive passes in a comfortable, if heated, silence, and before long, we’re pulling up in front of a fancy Italian restaurant. Before I have a chance to get out of the car, Logan is already there holding the door open for me, placing his hand on my waist, and guiding me into the restaurant.
“Good evening, Mr Graham, if you’ll follow me, your usual table is ready for you,” the middle-aged hostess says with a pleasant smile as she leads us through the busy restaurant. As we pass the tables, heading towards an isolated table tucked into the back corner, it becomes glaringly obvious this place is full of rich businessmen either on dates or business meetings—considering the thousand-pound bottles of champagne, dimmed lighting, and blacked out windows creating a private bubble.Don’t get me started on how they know Logan by name, and he apparently has a usual table.
I never expected to be impressed by wealth or power but something about the whole situation is incredibly stimulating to me and as he pulls my chair out for me; it’s all I can do not to melt in a puddle at his feet. Taking his seat, he fixes his searing gaze on me before commenting, “Not to sound cliché, but red is your colour.”
