Page 134 of Best In Class
“Let’s go to your office,” he says.
“I thought we were having lunch,” I say, confused.
“It’s dessert first.Remember?” he murmurs, brushing his lips over my cheek.
My knees go weak.
Devon, wherever he is, should be proud of his wingman skills, I think, as Dom eats his dessert in my office with the door locked.
CHAPTER 35
Dom
I’m picking up Lev for racquetball. We haven’t played in a long while. Areallylong while.
So, we’ll probably pretend we’re still twenty-five and not two men who now stretch before a game because we’re smart and not old.
“He’s in?” I ask his assistant.
Mrs. DeVry looks angry as hell. “He is.”
“What’s wrong?”
“His parents are in there with him.”
I sigh and note the loud voices coming from Lev’s office.
“Since when?”
“Fifteen minutes.” She looks at her wristwatch. “If I hear something getting thrown, I’m calling security.”
Mrs. DeVry has been with Lev for over a decade, first as his assistant when he was just another executive at Steele Corporation, and then right by his side when he stepped inas CEO. Her loyalties are crystal clear: Lev walks on water, and everyone else can go straight to hell.
“Maybe we won’t need security.” I flex my muscles.
She rolls her eyes.
“I’m going in, Mrs. DeVry. Wish me luck.”
“You take care of our boy, Dom.”
“Will do.”
I don’t bother knocking. I push the door open and walk in.
Lev’s standing behind his desk, his jaw clenched so tight I can see his muscles twitch.
Jenn is slumped on the leather couch like a fragile swan left too long in the sun, her silk blouse half-buttoned, her heels dangling off her feet.
Nathaniel’s pacing, red-faced and gesturing like he owns the goddamn place, which he most definitely does not.
“You can’t condition payment like that.”
“Sure, I can. It’s my money,” Lev quips. “She goes to rehab, I take care of everything. She doesn’t, you get paid what you earn for the ten percent of your shares and not a cent more.”
“You don’t get to tell me what to do with my wife!” he snarls.
“She’s not your wife.” Lev leans and puts his palms on his desk, as if that act will prevent him from flying off the handle. “She’s your excuse for being pathetic.”
