started dating her. His opinion hadn’t changed much except now she was turning out to be a dangerous type of airhead—one of those spoiled princesses who thought they owned the world just because a trust fund from Grandma or Grandpa drip-fed them an endless supply of money. He was willing to bet his vintage Rolex watch that she’d never done a full day’s work in her life. “Think carefully before you answer. Specifically, think of everything you have to lose if you keep pushing for this.”
“What are you implying? I thought discretion was your middle name,” she replied.
“My discretion is guaranteed. But are you sure you’re covering your tracks? This phone call, for instance. Are you sure it’s secure enough? What with everything being so traceable these days?”
She laughed, but the sound was a little forced. “Don’t worry about me, I can take care of myself.”
He waited a beat, allowed the gravity of his words to sink in. “If you say so. My position hasn’t changed, but I seriously suggest you change yours back to the original agreement.”
“Come on,” she said. Her voice had dropped down two notches from shrill to an attempt at sultriness—which she wasn’t pulling off very well. Gabe lowered the phone, sighed heavily and banged his head against the wall behind him before putting the handset back to his ear.
“...can make it worth your while...just name your price. I have friends in seriously high places. I can put you in touch with a hell of a lot of work, make sure you’re set for life. Or...” Her voiced dropped even lower. Gabe swore if he closed his eyes he could picture her twirling her hair around her finger like a goddamn cheerleader leading a football jock to his doom. Shame it did zero for his libido. He’d never had a thing for bimbos. “It doesn’t even have to be all money. I can offer you incentive in other ways, you know what I’m saying?”
He knew. And he was trying not to crawl out of his skin. But he fed her a little more rope, just to see how thoroughly she would hang herself. “And how do you propose to do that?”
“I have my ways. I have a friend who owns a private club where anonymity is a huge deal. We could meet there—”
“Let me get this straight,” Gabe cut across her, unable to believe his ears. “You’re offering me sex in return for getting rid of your rival? You think I’m so gullible that I’d risk my business for the promise of some tail?”
“Please, spare me the affront. Who do you think you are, the pope?” she returned icily.
“No, I don’t think I’m the pope, and you’re not Mother Teresa, either, since you don’t seem to give a damn about how your man will feel about you offering yourself to someone else.”
Another laugh. “I never claimed to be a saint. And leave my man to me. Are you going to man up and accept a little extra to give me what I need? Or are you going to keep hiding in the shadows?” she taunted.
Gabe wasn’t sure why his hackles rose at those last words. But he was sure this conversation had gone on long enough. “Thanks for the offer, but the answer is still a hard no.”
He heard her sharp intake of breath. “You need to think long and hard about saying no to me.” Her voice had gone from seductive to chilly. Typical entitled princess.
“Are you threatening me?” he asked, faintly amused.
“I’m making you aware that you won’t like the consequences very much if you don’t start seeing things my way.”
Amusement turned into laughter. She had balls. They were tiny, but he had to give her credit nonetheless. Not very many people thought it wise to threaten the Fixer. In fact, she was probably the first.
His breath caught as the door to Harrison’s room jerked open and his aunt walked out.
Something about the way she held herself, her chin in the air, her spine rigid with purpose, tightened his gut. Mariella was a proud, strong woman. But the woman walking down the corridor away from him had renewed purpose. He’d missed whatever discussion had happened to put that purpose there because he’d been dealing with this pesky irritant.
“I’m waiting for your final answer,” the woman snapped.
All traces of mirth evaporated. “I gave it to you five minutes ago, but I don’t mind repeating myself one last time. You want your problem dealt with? I’ll deal with it. But I’ll deal with it my way and I’ll let you know when it’s done. Don’t call me again.” He stabbed the end button with a little more force than necessary. Then he set off after Mariella.
* * *
Predinner drinks on the patio was a perfect idea. Nothing like a warm Santa Barbara evening, enjoying the sunset over the ocean while sipping cocktails to start the next phase of her plans just right. Mariella tilted her face toward the warmth, breathed in the calm air and felt a little of the tension from the past few days since the false alarm with Harrison draining from her.
There was still a mountain to climb before their position at the top was once again claimed, but this was a good start.
Or it would’ve been if Rafe hadn’t been running late. Again.
She checked her watch. Then her phone. No message.
“Don’t worry. He’ll be here,” Gabe reassured her from his seat next to her.
She sighed. “He was never the best timekeeper in the world, that boy.”
“I’m guessing the nature of his work doesn’t always lend itself to precise timekeeping, Mom,” Luc sniggered.
She pursed her lips and glared at her son. He merely rolled his shoulders, sat back on the overstuffed lounger chair and crossed his legs. A moment later, he tensed slightly, his jaw flexing.
Mariella’s eyes narrowed as she watched him do his best not to look at the approaching housekeeper. God, she hoped this wasn’t yet another problem with her family. She knew Rachel, her son’s new fiancée, could be a bit of a handful, but surely things weren’t still tense from Elana’s wedding, were they? She hadn’t missed Rachel all but dragging her son out following the garter-removing incident. To be honest, she was a little relieved her future daughter-in-law had made her excuses for tonight in order to make a dinner date with her own mother. Mariella knew she would have to get involved with their wedding plans at some point, but for now she was content to let Rachel and her mother get on with it. She had enough on her plate.
She sighed under breath as she watched Luc. She could really do with not having to put out another fire, albeit an insignificant one. But then that was the thing about fires...they were insignificant right up until they blew up in your face.
Take her sister, for instance.
As if conjured up from the darkest part of her imagination, Ana stepped out onto the patio. The sleeveless white pantsuit she wore seductively followed the lines of her perfect body, right down the feet currently adorned by fuchsia-colored heeled Ferragamo slippers that looked suspiciously familiar.
Tension Mariella had thought had dissipated ramped up high again. The last thing she wanted to do right now was to rip into her sister for raiding her wardrobe yet again, but seriously, this was getting really old.
“Gabriel, mi hijo, you’re looking
