Angela left a few minutes later and Pixie came trotting into the room and plopped herself on her bed. Melinda leaned into the mirror to finish putting on her makeup and fixing her hair and then she got dressed for the day.
She took extra care to make sure her A-line skirt was straight, and her blouse tucked in properly; she didn’t like it when it was too loose around the waist. She tied the pussy bow at the neckline and then switched the contents of her handbag to the purse that perfectly matched her magenta skirt. She had a lot of work to do at her foundation and meetings this morning.
She put her sunglasses on the top of her head, patted Pixie’s head as she walked out the front door, then took the elevator down to the lobby of her building. Downstairs, she was met by a barrage of flashbulbs.
Panicked, she ducked back onto the elevator. She went back to her condo, texted her assistant she’d be out this morning and then hit the treadmill. Walking always helped her figure things out. Things were definitely getting too complicated and now she knew she had to end things with Slade. No one had ever noticed when she kissed Donald.
* * *
Slade Bartelli tossed his phone on the passenger seat of his Ferrari Lusso as he backed out of his parking space at his downtown offices. He’d been trying to get in touch with Melinda since he’d gotten the news notification from the Houston Chronicle. And nothing. Total radio silence.
She wasn’t a fan of too much PDA, which he admitted was cute and one of the reasons why he liked her. She dressed like a lady but kissed like...well, like his hottest, wettest dreams. She was different, and he liked that about her. But his gut—the same one that had always warned him when trouble was at the door during his childhood—was telling him that if he didn’t talk to her, she was going to walk out of his life without a backward glance.
Part of him—the part that he was constantly fighting with—wanted to find the paparazzo who’d taken that photo and pound him. But he wasn’t that kind of Bartelli. He was trying to be the man his nonna Conti had raised him to be. But there were times when he had to admit his dad’s way was a lot more efficient.
He pulled up in front of Melinda’s building, parking illegally out front because he knew the doorman would relish the chance to drive the Ferrari if the traffic cop came by. He saw the paparazzi as soon as he neared the building. They were snapping photos, calling his name, and he faced them with a snarl, ready to unleash hell or his version of it on them, until he heard the doorman calling his name.
Not Slade but Mr. Bartelli.
That’s right. He was better than his mobster blood. But, he reminded himself, that didn’t mean he was good enough for Melinda Perry. Despite the scandal that swirled around her family—he’d heard rumors that her father was implicated in a murder now—Melinda was always above it. She loved her family but she kept her distance. No one who looked at her would ever believe she was anything but good and kind. Things no one would ever say about him.
No matter that he had to remind himself of that several times a day.
“Johnny,” he said, walking over to the doorman. “I’m here to see Ms. Perry. How long have they been here?”
“All day. I helped her sneak back onto the elevator. But they’re persistent and won’t leave.”
“Have you called the cops?”
“Ms. Perry didn’t want to. She said they’re just doing their jobs.”
Of course she did. She had a kind heart. “Let’s get rid of them. I’ll call the commissioner and take care of it. Also, will you keep an eye on my car? Move it if you need to.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Bartelli.”
Slade walked into the lobby of Melinda’s building and stood there for a moment, battling both sides of himself before he dialed his assistant and asked him to take care of the paparazzi.
“Yes, sir. Also, you had a call from your father. Not an emergency. He just wants to speak to you. And your grandmother expects you for dinner with Ms. Perry.”
“Ignore my father. I’ll take care of Nonna.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up with his assistant and immediately went to the elevator that led to Melinda’s condo. He knew why everyone was interested in them as a couple. Because he was flashy and courted the media. It was the only way he knew to prove that he was aboveboard ever since he’d taken over running Conti Imports. He’d been under so much scrutiny that he’d hired a PR firm that had advised him to make sure everything he did was very public and had as much publicity as he could throw at it.
He’d never have guessed he’d like the attention as much as he did, but it suited him. He liked talking to the press; he didn’t even mind it when they followed him around. But with Melinda, he knew that was just another mark against him. His dad was a rumored mob boss and Slade knew the old man had tried going clean a long time ago and he’d never been able to. That was another reason why Slade really liked working for his mom’s side of the family.
His dad had one time said that once he took his job as a hit man, there was no turning back. And Slade never wanted to be on that path. As much as his gut always wanted him to take the easy way, he fought it and made sure he never did.
But Melinda messed up his gut. She had him so hot and horny he felt like he was eighteen and not almost forty. He hadn’t been this turned on by a woman in a long time. But it was more than the sex that was fabulous. It was the way she poured herself into her passions like art and opera.
When he got off the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor and walked toward her condo, he hesitated. It would be better for her if he let her drift out of his life. He knew that media attention wasn’t something she was going to enjoy. And he’d done a good job of keeping their relationship private. Until now, obviously. He had to admit that he’d done it not for her—well, not consciously for her—but more for himself. So much of his life was in the spotlight that it had been nice to have someone who was just his. No one knew about her, and he knew she liked it that way as well. Though she might say that his family name didn’t matter to her, he knew it did.
Hell, he wasn’t even sure that Nonna was going to approve of him and Melinda. And of all the people on the planet, she was the one who loved him the most and always thought he deserved the best.
He pushed the doorbell and heard Pixie barking in the condo, but there was no answer. He waited for a few minutes and then punched the doorbell again.
Pixie didn’t bark this time, which made him suspect that Melinda was in there and didn’t want to talk to him. He knocked on her door one last time. “It’s me. Slade. Let me in, so we can sort this out.”
He waited, not sure if she would open the door for him, and another minute passed before she finally did and he saw her standing there. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail—the kind she favored—that accentuated her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were troubled, and she’d chewed off all the lipstick he was sure she’d put on that morning. She had on her workout gear, which showed off her athletic physique. Her skin appeared pale and she didn’t smile when she saw him, which set warning bells off in his mind.
Melinda smiled at everyone. Everyone. The bellhop who opened her door, the barista who made her coffee, the doorman. She was one of the friendliest people he’d ever
