Page 23 of Gin & Trouble

Dante winced as if I’d insulted him.

“You pretend to be a superhero to the world, but deep down you’re really Clark Kent.”

His eyes brightened. “See? That’s exactly what I mean. You know me, and I know you.”

Had he stopped with me knowing him, I might have given in and thrown myself into his arms. But once again, he didn’t and I couldn’t. The truth was, he didn’t know me at all.

Dante cupped my cheek. “Julia, I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want to date you, but I’m willing to put that aside for now. I don’t want to lose our friendship.”

If only I could pretend he wasn’t a Marchionni and I wasn’t an Abruzzo. Pretend we were a couple of strangers enjoying late-night chats and marathon gaming sessions, but that was absolutely impossible.

Better to rip off the Band-Aid fast than to torture myself with what-ifs.

I don’t know what he saw in my expression, but he pressed his finger to my lips. “Don’t say it. I get it. You’re scared, but you should know I’m loyal to a fault. I’m not giving up on us.”

I didn’t know whether I wanted to bite him or suck his finger into my mouth.

“Maybe not anytime soon, but some day, I promise you, we’re going to end up together.” He kissed my cheek, stood, and walked away.

Too stunned to speak or move or think, all I could do was stare after him.

Iris peeked into my cubicle and sighed the same dreamy sigh as the women in the bathroom had after seeing Dante dressed as Slave Leia. “That was…” Fanning herself, she whispered, “I think I got knocked-up by osmosis. Did I hear that right? Danny is really Dante?”

“Yes.” I didn’t bother to deny it. She’d likely overheard our entire conversation.

“That’s not a catfish. That’s an anti-catfish. I mean…most people would lie to make themselves more like a Marchionni.”

Dante isn’t most people.

8

Dante

A few daysinto my mission to win Julia over to the Dark Side, I had an idea—not like wearing a bikini to a gaming convention or filling her cubicle with flowers. This idea was brilliant and gave me a legit excuse to be in the same room with her.

All I had to do was show up at the same party and sweep her off of her feet. However, before I could do that, I needed to make sure she was attending said party, convince her to talk to me, eat a few dozen crow and charm the hell out of her.

Easy as hacking into the Pentagon.

Saturday morning, I strolled into Marchionni Corp’s headquarters and went straight to our Special Event Coordinator’s office. White boards with color-coordinated lists and post-its covered the walls. The woman’s organization skills made Marie Kondo look like an amateur.

On a hunch, I walked to the red and green board in hopes of finding a clue of where she kept the employee Christmas party guest list.

“What are you doing in here?” Leo stood in the doorway with his arms folded.

I hitched a shoulder and told a half-truth. “Making sure we’re all set for the party tonight. You?”

“Same shit, different day.” He continued to stare me down, though I had no freaking idea why.

I wasn’t surprised to see him there on a weekend. We’d all worked our asses off to stay afloat since Marco had officially gotten us out of the mob. Leo had struggled, both financially and personally after we’d gone legit. He’d always been annoyingly serious, but after the transition, he’d become an outright asshole.

Leo narrowed his eyes. “You shouldn’t be in here.”

“Chill. It’s not like I’m going through her personal things. I’m looking for tonight’s guest list.” I snagged a candy-cane striped folder from the desk and flipped through the contents.

“Why? You never attend company functions.” He walked farther into the office and inspected the light blue themed board.

“I’m thinking I’ll make an appearance this year.” Skimming the guest list, I noted Julia’s name and her lack of a plus one.

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