When Kent walks into his office, he’s surprised to see Daniel standing there, staring out the window, watching a car pull away. “Who is in that car?” Daniel asks. Kent crosses to his desk and sits down in his chair, folding his hands. He takes a moment to study his son. Daniel is tall, handsome, c
His thoughts turn, then, to those moments in the club, when he had been fooling Dean into thinking Fay was his plaything. Fooling himself, really. He had been hard as a rock, looking down at her supple form, that soft curve of her breast after he snapped the strap of her dress – Kent blinks, bringi
I’m laying back on my bed, all cried out, when I hear a knock at my door. I raise my head and groan inwardly. What’s next?Before I can get up to answer it, the door creeks open a little. I sigh. No such thing as privacy in the Mafia palace. “Fay?”My mouth drops open as I hear a voice that I recog
“Daniel,” I say, my heart going out to him. “Why is it such a big deal? It’s the twenty-first century – it’s so backwards to think that way about sexual orientation –““You don’t understand,” he says, shaking his head and looking down at the floor. “It’s a different world here, Fay – that’s why I sp
I spend a restless night in my new room. When the clock reads 7:00, a knock comes at my door and it opens without waiting for a response. I glare and make a mental note to somehow get a lock. “Ah! You’re awake.” The same woman who dressed me last night bustles into the room. “You’re already late, m
A blush spreads across my cheek and nose. Why is he looking at me like that?“So you like it,” Kent says, his voice low, possessive. “I do,” I say, hesitating. “Is there something extra…”“Amaretto,” he says. “Adds notes of apricot and bitter almonds.”“It’s delicious,” I say, holding his gaze whil
Fiona finishes saying good morning to Kent and stops at our little table on the way out.“This beauty must be Fay,” she says as she arrives, giving me a big smile. She has a thick New York accent, a little like Fran Drescher, and I can’t help but be charmed by her sweet, brusk nature. “It’s nice t
She shrugs, beckoning me over to her. “Personal shoppers, mostly. Kent likes to look good, but he doesn’t like to go to stores.” I join her at a velvet settee in front of a trifold mirror. “The rest,” she says, “are…gifts. Donations.”I cock my head at her, confused.She gives me a wink. “You know.