Page 48 of Corrupted Queen

I chew the bite of food in my mouth with extra ferocity, glaring at Gabriel as the two intruders set up the camera. He looks back calmly, as though completely unaffected.

I will stay, I decide. And I will play along, but only because I’m going to rip Gabriel a new one later and he will owe me big time after this. Plus, the idea of sabotaging Gabriel feels ... weird. Uncomfortable. Like putting on a wet pair of jeans. Despite everything, I want to help him for some reason.

I lift my mouth into a gentle smile. “This is delicious,” I say. “What do you think, Harry?”

Gabriel lifts a chunk of food to Harry’s mouth and he gobbles it down, giggling when he hears his name. “Yummy!”

Gabriel’s expression relaxes a little, as though relieved. I wonder if he weighed the odds in his head and knew it was entirely possible that I would storm out the second the reporters arrived. He knows me too well.

We spend the rest of our lunch as a perfect family unit while the camera rolls. Afterward, the reporter sits us down on the couch for a brief interview.

The questions are pure fluff—how did we meet, what’s Gabriel like as a father, are there wedding bells in the future—and Gabriel provides equally fluffy answers.

He tells the story of how we met like it’s a fairy tale. “I spotted her in the crowd in one of my clubs. She was wearing this shimmering silver dress, and I couldn’t take my eyes off of her. We spent the whole night together but got separated before I could ask for her number.”

Got separated before he could ask for my number? I try not to roll my eyes at that one. He fucked me in a VIP booth and then told me to hit the road. The way he tells it, I ran out of there without leaving so much as a glass slipper behind.

Gabriel squeezes my hand, gazing at me lovingly. “Then she marched into my office two years later, demanding an interview.”

My heart melts. I try to remind myself that this is an act, that he’s putting it on for the camera, but it’s hard when those chocolate eyes are gazing deep into mine, and his left cheek is dimpled, and there’s a stray lock of black hair dipping over his eyes.

As for what he’s like as a father and if there are wedding bells in the future? I field those ones.Well of course he’s doting and sweetand—giggle—I don’t know, maybe.

I think about marrying Gabriel for real and I decide it is the most ridiculous suggestion I’ve ever heard.

18

Gabriel

“I’m putting Harry down for a nap,” Alexis announces as we get out of the car. It is the first thing she has said to me since we left the penthouse. “After that, we need to talk.”

“I’ll help,” I say.

“You’ll help?” Alexis spins her head dramatically from left to right, as though searching for something. “Why? I don’t see any cameras. Unless you’ve just hidden them well.”

She storms into the mansion without giving me a chance to reply, and I have half a mind to demand she stop so I can deal with her disrespect. It would be better if Harry wasn’t around for the oncoming confrontation though, so I let her go.

The guards on the portico smile a little as Alexis passes, having obviously found her comment amusing. When they see me looking at them, their smiles drop and they stand a little straighter.

I shake my head and walk into the house, heading for my office, where I check a few emails while I wait for Alexis to appear for my scheduled haranguing.

Several minutes later, she knocks on my door with three sharp taps and I call her in.

Alexis is still wearing the tasteful yet somehow still delicious little burgundy number she wore to lunch. The dress is tailored around her exquisite curves, highlighting the flare of her hips and her ample chest. She stomps into the room, heels clicking against the wood floor, and slams the door behind her.

“That was not okay,” she growls. Her eyes are burning lakes of crystal blue. “You used me.”

I shrug. “If I’d asked, you would have said no.”

She stands in front of my desk, arms folded, and her lip twists into a scowl. “You don’t know that.”

“Please.” I indulge in an uncharacteristic eye roll. “Your favorite thing to do is tell me no. Of course, you wouldn’t have agreed.”

“So you manipulated me? Lied to me? Threw me into a situation I was woefully underprepared for?” Her expression tugs down a notch, the fury flickering with sadness. “That was low.”

Guilt gnaws at my belly. I used to feel it so infrequently that it took some time before I was able to recognize what exactly that unpleasant ache represented. With Alexis in my life, guilt has become a familiar feeling.

As I always do, however, I ignore it. I am the boss. I do not have room for guilt, because it impedes me from making the impartial decisions I need to in order to run both the mob and my business effectively.

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