Chapter 19
Nineteen
Rowen
I threw my one pair of dress shoes into my ratty old suitcase with way more force than was necessary.
Actually, it is necessary.
I wished my target was Giano’s head, because not only had fancy new luggage been magically delivered to my goddamn apartment this morning, but he had his hooks so far into Lowry, she was going along with his schemes.
“I’m confused by your request to be taken off the case, Rowen,” she’d sighed over the phone an hour ago, already sounding like she’d reached her limit for the day. “Mr. Luxford said he called you immediately after yesterday’s press conference and it was your suggestion to fly to Italy together.”
That. Fucking. Asshole.
I’d responded with some bullshit about second thoughts and not wanting to leave the Manhattan field office without my specialized services while I was away, but Lowry had shut that down with a quickness.
“You would be foolish to turn down this opportunity, Rowen,” she’d firmly stated, in no mood to humor me, per usual. “Not to mention, I feel private consulting may be a better fit for you in the long run.”
The subtext being, I’m not a team player.
I bet that’s in my HR file.
Clearly, Lowry had no plans to change her mind, so I’d let it go, forced to acknowledge Giano was craftier than I’d originally given him credit for.
He’d managed to not only cover his tracks with the call log from yesterday, but had anticipated that I’d attempt to step down from the case, and contacted my boss before I could.
I wonder if that all happened before or after he removed the butt plug…
At this point, I couldn’t even find joy in the knowledge he’d still been wearing it when he called me—when he’d discovered his precious little flower painting had gone missing and growled so deliciously in my ear.
What a disappointingly short-lived victory…
I’d been so sure taking the painting would be my “get out of jail free” card—a surefire escape from any corner I was backed into, either by Giano or the FBI.
Unfortunately, Giano hadn’t cared about his painting as much as I’d thought he did.
Instead of begging for it back, or agreeing to make the trade for my freedom from whatever the hell we had going on between us, my polite little billionaire had grown a pair before mentally spanking me into submission.
That was hot.
Shocking and irritating, but… hot.
I glanced at the offending item—Poppy #5, according to the label on the back—which I’d defiantly hung over my bed instead of stashing somewhere safe. There was no point in hiding my prize. It wasn’t officially stolen and I couldn’t see Giano suddenly deciding to turn me in to the authorities.
Not when I’ve got dirt on him as well.
The reminder of our mutual destruction perked me up some, but then my gaze fell on the stack of freshly-delivered T. Anthony bags I was waffling on using at all, on account of being forced to go on this trip against my will.
At least he still doesn’t know where I live.
That was honestly the only silver lining to this entire trainwreck of a situation—aside from the free trip to Italy.
Before letting me go, Lowry had assured me she hadn’t disclosed my personal information to Giano for the luggage delivery, although she had agreed to call the store to provide my address for the unnecessary purchase.
So, thanks to everyone taking it upon themselves to entrap me with generosity and character development, here I fucking was, in my claptrap shithole apartment, with a luxury suitcase, weekender duffel, and garment bag, all monogrammed with “RQ” embossed on the front.
I hate it.
I hate it because I love it.
Sighing heavily, I eyed the stack of bags that probably cost more than my yearly rent, debating what to do. The main issue was that I would need to use the garment bag for my one nice suit, and the idea of traveling with mismatched luggage made my eye twitch.
This really feels personal.
It felt like my defeat outside the aquarium all over again, only in this bizarro alternate universe scenario, the hot—rich—man in a nice suit was insisting on giving me my prize.
So why not just take it, Rowen.
Take. Everything.
The thought of rebelling from behind enemy lines successfully brought me back to baseline, which allowed me to justify moving my clothes into the navy blue canvas carry-on with full-grain leather trim.
All while plotting my revenge.
I’m going to make Giancarlo Luxford regret the day he met me.
While still riding him into the mattress, of course.
As angry as I was at being outsmarted, I had no intention of cutting our business arrangement short—with either the heist or the fucking. After all, why shouldn’t I enjoy everything this temporary partnership had to offer, from luxury luggage to gold-plated billionaire dick?
On that note…
I’d better pack the fancy lube!
I tossed the borrowed bottle into the duffle, but purposefully skipped the condoms, because the number one person on my ever-growing shit list was about to spend the majority of our little work trip covered in my cum, inside and out.
It’s the least he can do, really.
As if knowing I was cursing his name, my phone buzzed with an incoming message from you-know-who.
Moneybags
I would like to send a car to pick you up.
I bet you would.
My apartment may have been a claptrap shithole, but it was my claptrap shithole—my safe space away from the outside world. Giano currently had the upper hand, successfully kidnapping me overseas under the guise of business, but that didn’t mean he got to know anything more about me than I let him.
Not unless he earns it.
No.
I’ll catch a cab to your place when I’m good and ready.
Moneybags
You have one hour to get here.
Wear something pretty for me.
I gaped at my phone like the device itself had slapped me, because who the hell did this man think he was?
He’s Giancarlo Luxford, dummy.
I swallowed thickly, suddenly sick to my stomach and questioning if I had misjudged the entire situation. Not with us fucking—the lust was clearly mutual—but with how he was now behaving like every other asshole born with silver spoon in their mouth.
Or with a chip on his shoulder, like me…
No.
We are nothing alike.
As much as Mean Giano turned me on—if only for the visions of punishment he deserved—I couldn’t help wondering if the way he’d behaved around me up until now had just been an act to disguise the cold-hearted billionaire beneath.
I hate it.
Like… actually hate it.
There was no way in hell I was humoring why I disliked this particular turn of events, so I tamped it all the way down and focused on repacking as quickly as possible.
It wasn’t that I cared about meeting Giano’s arbitrary deadline, but the last thing I wanted was to give him a reason to strong-arm Lowry into spilling my home address if I didn’t arrive on time.
I also didn’t give two shits about “looking pretty,” for him, so when my cab pulled up in front of his building I was dressed in black joggers with a long-sleeved T-shirt that said EAT THE RICH.
Along with my stupid, perfect luggage.
To my surprise, Giano was waiting outside, leaning against the side of his building like a sexy supermodel while laughing with an older doorman I hadn’t seen before.
Enjoy your good mood while it lasts, Moneybags.
“Hello, Rowen,” he said after my cab drove off, his calm tone enraging me more than anything. “Come here. Robert would like to meet you.”
What?
Why exactly one of Giano’s countless minions wanted to meet me was beyond comprehension, but it would be fairly hypocritical of me to be rude to the working class just because the enemy controlled their paycheck.
“So this is the Rowen Quincy I’ve heard so much about,” Robert chuckled as he shook my hand. “You’ll take good care of Mr. Luxford for me while you’re away?”
I couldn’t stop from openly scoffing. “Giancarlo’s a big boy with bottomless pockets. He can take care of himself.”
Just like I take care of myself, thank you very much.
By the amused twinkle in Robert’s eye, it was safe to assume Giano had told him all about my attitude as well. “I’ve known Giancarlo since he was a child, and while he is self-sufficient, that’s on account of his mother leaving him no choice.”
Ohhhh?
“Robert…” Giano warned, although he seemed more fond than angry. “Don’t speak ill of the dead.”
The doorman held up his hands in mock surrender. “I mean no disrespect, but both you and Anastasia were forced to act like miniature adults at far too young an age—”
“Oh, your fiancée grew up in this palace also?” I interrupted, crossing my arms and staring Giano down.
“Fiancée?! Sure, kid.” Robert scoffed before tilting his head toward the street behind me. “Scott just pulled up, Mr. Luxford. I’ll bring out your bags—no! You stay here. Terrence can help me.”
Giano sighed as Robert ambled inside. “I already told you, Rowen, it’s not like that with Ana. She’s my—”
“Fake girlfriend?” I rolled my eyes. “Your lavender wife?”
“Exactly,” he snapped, and I straightened, eager for a fight. “That’s exactly what she is because my mother required I put forth a public persona that fit who she believed a Luxford should be, regardless of how I was born.”
Well, shit.
Learning his mother had forced him to stay in the closet made pesky protectiveness flare up once again, adding to the jumble of emotions I’d been battling since yesterday.
At the very least, I knew I should apologize for being an insensitive jerk over Anastasia, but I couldn’t remember the last time I’d apologized for anything, so I found myself struggling with what to say.
“I shouldn’t have assumed you snacked on five-star pussy!” I blurted out, making his eyes widen. “I’m pan, so, uh… I snack on everyone…”
No one was more surprised than me that I’d tacked on some personal information, but this man deserved an olive branch.
Wilted and malnourished as it may be.
He nodded thoughtfully as the doormen breezed past us with his bags. “So… you’re attracted to someone regardless of sex or gender?”
Okay, but this is cute.
As annoyed as I was with his recent behavior, I could tell he was coming from a place of genuine curiosity, and I was more than happy to teach this baby gay the ropes.
Especially if it makes his mother roll in her gilded grave.
“Yes, my attraction to someone is based on vibes more than anything,” I replied with the simplified version before putting on a judgmental expression. “Although, that usually excludes billionaires…”
His lips twitched. “I suppose I should be grateful to have passed your rigorous vibe test.”
I rolled my eyes. “Don’t be so sure, Moneybags. You’re currently on thin ice after what you pulled.”
Yeah, yeah, I’m one to talk.
Giano’s gaze heated as it trailed over me. “That’s a shame. I was hoping your shirt was an invitation.”
Who is this man?!
I was saved from replying to that cheeky little comment by Robert reappearing by our sides. “You’re all set to go, Mr. Luxford. Safe travels, both of you, and I’m looking forward to seeing you again, Rowen.”
“We’ll see,” I sniffed, giving Giano a disdainful once-over to hide how I was now thinking about feasting on him. “It depends on if this one behaves.”
Or how well he misbehaves.
Robert guffawed. “Well, you’re already on the permanent guest list, so drop by any time…”
I froze as he walked away, wondering if I could hail a cab and make my getaway before anyone caught me.
As if sensing I was about to bolt, Giano stepped closer. “I added you to the list before you came over yesterday.” He leaned down and lowered his voice. “Before you came in me.”
Jesus…
I startled, shaking myself free from his sex potion spell before glaring up at him. “I’m shocked you didn’t remove my name after I borrowed your…” I glanced around, “jacket. How do you know I won’t just show up whenever I want to borrow from you again?”
He grinned and my stupid heart skipped a beat at how fucking handsome he was. “I would love nothing more than you showing up whenever you want. And nothing I care about is currently in my apartment anyway…”
Oh.
Oh, no.
Pure terror flooded my veins. I wanted to run, but the pull was toward the man in front of me instead of away from him.
And I can’t think of anything more horrifying than that.
“Right.” I stepped back, needing air. “Weren’t you in a rush to get going? I’m sure your private jet is waiting for us and that art isn’t going to find itself!”
Not if I have anything to do with it.
Blessedly letting it drop, Giano nodded and gestured at the car, all packed up with matched luggage. “Lead the way, Mr. Quincy. I’m looking forward to reclaiming what belongs to me.”
I shivered as I turned my back on him and hustled into the waiting car. The subtext was loud in Giano’s statement, and as much as I wanted to argue, I’d also declared he was mine—at least for the duration of our partnership.
Might as well enjoy it while it lasts.