Chapter Fifty-One Enzo
Chapter Fifty-One
Enzo
“So why are you so hot on making Tom breakfast?” Achilles asked on the plane, on our way back to New York. “Is it because he can’t afford it himself?”
Tiernan snorted, eyes still glued to his phone as he was typing.
“Can’t you see I’m journaling, motherfucker?
” I looked up from the notebook in my lap, holding my pen up as evidence.
I’d been journaling every day straight for a month.
It had been helping me a lot. Only a few weeks in, and already my psoriasis was almost completely gone, with no flare-ups in sight.
“And to answer your question, no, it’s not because he can’t afford food.
Just because he is not making 400k a month doesn’t mean he is poor.
Your sense of wealth is completely askew. ”
“He’s not making anything a month these days.” Tiernan grinned devilishly, swinging his menacing gaze to me. “And that’s a shit number, not a skewed sense of wealth.”
“What are you talking about?” I scowled.
“He got fired,” Luca said tiredly, probably to make us stop talking.
“What?” I growled.
“How did you not know your man is unemployed, Bridget Jones?” Achilles chuckled, flicking the notepad in my lap.
“Where the hell did you hear that?”
“Grapevine,” Luca said. “Word on the street is Rothwell’s on indefinite leave from the FBI. Retained a top-notch lawyer, too. Doesn’t look too good for him.” My stomach twisted into tight knots, and I breathed through my nose to stop myself from vomiting.
How had he not told me this?
How had he kept quiet about his career being in shambles?
Because he didn’t want you to feel guilty or rush to his aid. He put you first, like he always does.
I was heaving with lovesickness and angst. He’d done so much for me…had given up on so much…and all this time he’d needed me but didn’t want to ask so I could focus on myself…
“Achilles,” I strangled out.
“Forget it.” My brother was waving at me, but staring at his phone. “We’re not giving him a job unless he takes a blood oath. I don’t care how good he sucks dick.”
I flung my phone at him. It hit his head. Good.
“Ow. Motherfucker!”
“As I was about to ask—take my phone and don’t hand it to me until we land.”
“Why the fuck?” He rubbed his temple but pocketed it nonetheless.
“I don’t want to text him about it, and I have no self-control.”
I needed a grand gesture. Something beautiful and big to really bring the point home.
It was time for Tom to be courted.
To be celebrated.
To be loved.