Page 13 of Pulse
“Sounds mighty specific.”
“I’m building an imaginary boyfriend. I might as well get what I want, right?”
“Might as well.” He nods toward my food. “Eat up. I’ll get forks, and we can dig into that cake.”
I nod as he leaves for the kitchen. “Don’t bother my magnets.”
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
I breathe and try to settle the thudding of my heart.
Troy’s smirk blazes through my mind, sending heat waves pulsing through me.
Our exchange this morning left me thrown off all day. I kept thinking I heard his voice in the office. I smelled his colognedown the halls. Every ping of an email or text message had me racing to see if it was him.
It was ridiculous.
It was the reason I ran five freaking miles. I needed to work that shit out of my body and clear my head.
Troy Castelli is my co-worker. Period. End of. He may be the object of my dreams, but he has to stay in my dreams. That’s unfortunate and unreasonable, but it’s also the way things are.
“Here’s a fork,” Burt says, handing me the utensil. “Do I have to wait on you, or can I go ahead and celebrate now?”
I push the cake to him. “Celebrate away.”
“I saw your daddy on the news today,” Burt says, taking a slice and putting it in the top of his takeout container.
“Fantastic.”
“For the record, I think it’s all a bunch of bullshit. Unpopular opinion, I know.”
“You could say that. But I do appreciate you giving him the benefit of the doubt.”
He shoves a forkful of cake into his mouth, watching me warily.
A lump settles at the base of my throat. I stand, ignoring another incoming text, and gaze out the window.
Being the daughter of Joseph Dallo still takes some getting used to. The mere fact of having a father for the last year and a half after not having one for twenty-four years was jarring in and of itself. But it’s more complicated than that. He’s also a conundrum.
To me, he’s been nothing but kind, considerate, and thoughtful. I’ve found him to be wildly intelligent, well-mannered, and respectful. But, to the rest of the world, he’s everything but those things. That can be very confusing.
“I talked to him last night.” I cross my arms protectively over my midsection. “He said he had court this morning but was upbeat about it. He seemed certain things would go his way.”
“This isn’t his first rodeo with the law, sweet pea. He knows what he’s doing. And he has a hell of a good troop of attorneys around him. He’s in good hands.”
I hum, not convinced by Burt’s words. But what do I know? Itismy first rodeo.
“Do you know what bothers me the most about this whole thing?” I ask, facing Burt again.
His forehead wrinkles, but he says nothing.
“I hate that you’re the only one who gives him the benefit of the doubt.” I take my seat again. “It’s probably because I’ve only known him for a year and a half, and I’m not exactly well versed in the recycling business or really understand money laundering. But I believe him when he says he’s innocent.”
My cheeks burn with embarrassment. I’m foolish to admit that out loud because I’ve read the reports in the papers and online. The case against my father for laundering money for the Magne, a rising cartel based in the Upper Midwest, is strong. He looks as guilty as sin. Logic says he’s guilty, too. Maybe it’s because I don’t want to think I’m the child of a man that dirty, but when he tells me he’s innocent, I don’t think he’s lying. Even if I hate admitting that because I know I sound naive. And even though I know liars are really good at pretending they’re not one.
“Then you believe him,” Burt says. “But please be safe. Regardless of whether he’s guilty or not, the man has connections. He has business dealings. His industry isn’t filled with nuns and holy water, you know?”
I give him a half grin.
