Page 18 of Indigo Deception
Throughout dinner, Angelo barely acknowledges me. He speaks when I speak to him and answers my direct questions but otherwise acts as if I'm barely there.
Each time our eyes meet across the table, he looks away first, his jaw tightening imperceptibly. I tell myself this is what I wanted—distance, professionalism—but the ache in my chest says otherwise.
After dinner, Angelo's sister Olivia corners me in the kitchen as I refill my water glass.
"So," she says, leaning against the marble counter. "You're the one."
"Excuse me?" I keep my voice neutral while my mind races. What does she know?
Olivia smiles, but I can see the wheels turning in her head. Harvard Law didn't just give her a degree; it gave her the ability to dissect people with her eyes.
"I see how you look at my brother. And how he looks at you when he thinks no one's watching." She tilts her head. "Something happened between you two, didn't it?"
My silence is answer enough.
"Be careful with him," she continues. "Not because he'll hurt you. He won't. Angelo isn't like my father or my older brothers. He doesn't believe in violence. His revenge philosophy is more... comprehensive. He makes people live with their mistakes. Forever."
Her eyes bore into mine.
"If you're hiding anything from him, and we all have something to hide, make sure it's worth the cost."
She glides away, leaving me frozen, glass clutched in my hand. My pulse hammers in my throat. Could she know? Have I slipped up somehow?
I excused myself to find the bathroom, needing a moment to collect myself. I can hear the voices from the garden as I walk down the hallway right beside the kitchen and push open the door at the end of the corridor.
Only it's not the bathroom. It's a study, dimly lit and smelling of leather and whiskey. And Angelo stands by the window, silhouetted against the garden lights.
"Looking for something?" he asks without turning.
When did he get here?
"I'm sorry. I thought this was the bathroom." I step back, reaching for the door handle, desperate to escape the tension that fills the room.
"Down the hall to the left," he says, then adds, "Wait."
I freeze, my heart pounding against my ribs. Being alone with him is exactly what I've been avoiding.
He turns, and the dim light catches the angles of his face. There's something pained in his expression that he quickly masks. "Are we going to keep pretending that kiss didn't happen?"
"I'm your employee," I say stiffly, though my traitorous mind replays the moment his lips met mine. The heat. A sensation of hunger. The way the world fell away until there was only Angelo and the feel of his hands on my skin.
"Consultant," he corrects, moving closer. "And I'm tired of this game. You avoid rooms when I enter. Making excuses to leave meetings early. Looking everywhere but at me."
"It was unprofessional. A mistake." The words feel hollow even as I say them.
"Bullshit." His voice is low, dangerous. "You want me to be the villain in this story, don't you? It's easier than admitting you feel something."
"What I feel doesn't matter." And it doesn't. It can't. Not when I'm here to destroy everything he's built.
"It matters to me." He's close now, too close. I can smell his cologne, see the pulse jumping in his throat. His eyes soften, and for a moment, I see the man who's been haunting my dreams. Not the distant figure he's become since our kiss, but the man who looked at me like I was the only woman in the world.
"Tell me there's nothing between us, and I'll never mention it again."
I should say it. Three or four words to put distance between us again. To protect my cover. To remember why I'm here.
But the lie sticks in my throat.
His hand comes up to trace my jawline. His fingers are warm, slightly calloused at the fingertips. I should pull away, but I don't.
