Page 9 of Vows of a Mobster
“If he’d just waited-” I cut myself off. There was no sense in any regrets. Waste of time and energy.
My phone beeped signaling a text message. I grabbed my phone out of my pocket and saw a message from my mistress Angelica. I considered her my mistress because I certainly didn’t dogirlfriendsor dating. I opened the message and damn if that didn’t sour my mood even worse. There were ten text messages in the span of the last ten minutes.
First message was asking me if I was coming over.*I’m waiting for you all horny. Where are you?*
I completely forgot about her and never told her my trip back to Boston got delayed.
*Mateo, call me. I need you.*
*Where are you?*
*Asshole.*
*You are cheating on me, aren’t you? Asshole.*
I stopped reading the messages. She would have to go. That relationship, if it can even be called that, has run its course. God, how long was that? Three weeks, barely. I was upfront from the moment I invited her to my bed. No expectations, no demands, no theatrics. My business always came first. I gave her my word I’d be faithful and expected the same from her. I wasn’t in the habit of breaking my promises. But apparently, she couldn’t even follow those simple rules… although I couldn’t say I was surprised.
It was always the same with every woman. Jealousy, fits, screaming, tears, accusations. Even my own mother did it.
I had no patience for it and would not endure it like my father.
Four
Brianna
Daphne was so right. Marcus was a man whore. An exhausting, persistent manwhore. I couldn’t have been clearer when I told him there was no chance in hell I would ever get together with him. He wasn’t my type nor would he ever be my type. Unfortunately, he took it as a personal challenge to convince me otherwise.
Talk about a huge turn off. I observed him leaning against his chair, watching me like I was the best toy he had ever seen. He wasn’t bad looking, but unfortunately, he was nothing I cared for. From his attitude, his habit of chasing skirts, to his tendency to get out of any and all responsibilities.
He was tall, about six foot, and muscular. His brown eyes twinkled mischievously, like now, when he tried to play the role of an irresistible bad boy. Except, to me he was completely resistible. If he wasn’t trying so hard to get into my pants, I would even like him as a friend. But he made it his life mission to make me fall for him.
Hell will freeze over before I fall for him.
His brown hair casually fell across his forehead and it made him look younger than his thirty-five years. It was probably the reason why women for the most part fell all over themselves for him. But he did nothing for me. He should really grow up and learn that rejection was healthy.
“Come sit here next to me, Brianna,” he suggested. “That way you can show me which parts I should pay attention to.”
“I’m good here,” I retorted wryly. “Pay attention to sections five, eight, and twelve.”
There was no chance in hell I’d give him any opportunity toaccidentallybrush against me or any bullshit like that. After four weeks working for Marcus, I’d learned all his tricks. I couldn’t believe that women actually fell for stuff like that.
“Have I told you how much I appreciate you handling all my correspondence and research?” Marcus’ gaze was on me, lazily drifting down my body. I didn’t care if he looked, as long as he tried nothing more. Although, his persistence would be admirable… if it only wasn’t zeroed in on me.
“Thank you,” I told him, keeping my tone neutral. “By the way, I have to leave earlier today. Would that be alright? I came in at eight today and could come in at eight tomorrow.”
“You don’t have to come in early,” he replied, smiling charmingly. “You put in enough work. Doing anything fun?”
I knew he would try to fish for information. He kept trying to find out if I had a boyfriend, or was dating or seeing anyone. So far, I had avoided his questions successfully.
“No, just have a doctor’s appointment,” I told him curtly.
He frowned, concern flashed in his eyes. “Are you okay?”
“Yes,” I replied quickly. “Just a routine exam.”
Nobody knew about Emma’s leukemia relapse except Marissa and Daphne. I intended to keep it that way. Not that there were many people aware last time. My grandmother had passed during the first week of her treatments, and we’d told Marissa’s brother, Giovanni. And of course, Emma’s father, not that he helped.
I was supposed to find out today if I was a good match for Emma’s bone marrow transplant. Dr. Guzman had high hopes that I’d be the best match for it. Things were moving too slow and too fast; I couldn’t quite make up my mind on which. On one hand, I wanted it all to be over and done with, but on the other, I dreaded for the treatments to start. I didn’t want to see Emma go through the pain. She should be experiencing nothing but joy and happiness, not pain. She was too young to even understand what was happening.
