17. Chapter 17
Tom Peterson leaned against the upstairs window, scowling into the dim gray of early morning. The faint purr of Naomi’s car echoed down the quiet street, and though he couldn’t see her face clearly, he could tell. She was smiling.
Not at him.
She’d just spent the night with Tony Mancini. That was the obvious explanation for why he’d seen her sneaking out of the brute’s house.
The realization made something ugly twist in his gut. She was giving away something that should belong to him.
He took a gulp of whiskey—yes, at six in the morning, because he sure as hell hadn’t slept—and turned back to the desk where his phone droned on with his lawyer’s voice.
“Tom, this is serious,” the lawyer was saying. “If the allegations about the factory in Malaysia gain traction, your entire brand is at risk. We’re talking class-action lawsuits, shareholder panic, even criminal—”
Tom rolled his eyes, already half-tuned out.
Allegations of slave labor. What a joke.
So the factory cut corners—who didn’t? What did he care if some kid in another country had to work a sixteen-hour shift?
They weren’t Americans. Their laws weren’t his problem.
All that mattered to him was profit margins and image, and as long as his glossy stores stayed stocked with fresh gear, customers didn’t ask questions.
“Handle it,” Tom snarled into the phone, waving a dismissive hand as if the man could see him. “That’s what I pay you for.”
He set the phone on speaker and muted himself, ignoring the continued droning about compliance and optics. His gaze drifted back to the street below.
A few minutes later, Tony’s Land Rover came into view. Naomi wasn’t with him.
Good.
Tom narrowed his eyes, already shifting gears as he continued to ignore the lawyers on the other end of the phone.
He’d been watching Naomi for weeks now. Her sweetness, her innocence—it was a stark contrast to the frigid, manipulative women who usually orbited his world.
He wanted that softness. He wanted her. And the fact that she’d slipped into Tony’s bed instead of his made the desire burn hotter.
She belonged here. With him.
The problem was her damn job. Those bratty boys clung to her like leeches. Always needing attention, always following her around. There was never a moment when Naomi was truly alone.
Unless he created one.
Tom’s lips curved into a thin smile as an idea formed.
Melissa—his ex-wife—was still lurking around, desperate to see the boys.
Maybe, for once, he’d allow it. He could let the boys spend an hour with their mother.
It would be hell for them later, of course when he evicted Melissa from their lives again, but it might buy him exactly what he needed: time alone with Naomi.
And now it was time to finally show her what he could offer.
His gaze hardened as he stared down at the now-empty street. Naomi thought she was safe, tucked into her little world of nanny duties and walks to the park. She thought Tony Mancini could protect her.
But Tom Peterson always got what he wanted.
And he wanted her.