DOM: Alliance Series Book Three (57)

When Dominic got up, I snuck down the hall to a bathroom I’d spotted earlier to relieve myself. But not wanting to talk to him, I rushed back to bed and pretended to still be asleep until I heard him leave the condo.

I have no idea where he is. Maybe the mafia has an office somewhere. But my cowardice threw me behind schedule, so I’ve been rushing to get myself ready for the web call I have in—I check my phone—two minutes.

Careful not to spill, I cross the great room to the large dining table between the living room and stairs and set my coffee next to my laptop.

The sky is bright blue above the Chicago skyline, and even though I’m flustered and running late, I can’t complain about the view.

I click on the link to the meeting and connect just as the clock flips over.

Five people are on the call, including Bri, the woman whose bachelorette party I blew off so I could get drugged and subsequently married to Dominic. Then there are the two people who make up our marketing team and one other designer—like myself. Our boss was supposed to be on this call, but he emailed saying he couldn’t make it.

I’m not sad he’s missing it. This call full of women is much preferable.

“Morning,” I greet everyone, as I’m the last to join.

“Damn, Val!” Bri whistles and leans closer to her screen. “Is that your new place?”

I could kick myself for not remembering to blur my background. But it’s too late now because everyone is leaning toward their screens to get a better look, even the marketing people I hardly know.

I can’t even blame them. From my spot at the dining table, the camera shows off the massive ceilings, the high-end, stupidly large kitchen, and part of the open stairs leading up to the second level.

It looks exactly like a billionaire’s penthouse.

Before I can think of something to say, Bri continues. “I heard you upped and moved to Chicago, but you didn’t say anything about it over the weekend, so I wasn’t sure if I should believe it.”

Her tone is mostly stunned, but there’s a tiny bit of hurt in there, too. And I decide that the only thing to do is tell the truth.

Well, a partial truth.

“Okay, so…” I take a sip of my coffee as all attention moves to me. “When I last saw you, I didn’t know I was moving.”

“That was Friday.” Bri shakes her head. “It’s Tuesday.”

The other designer, who I’ve met before, laughs.

“Well, to be fair, I decided Saturday night.” I take a bigger sip of coffee. “But that was only after I got married on Friday.”

Bri’s mouth drops open.

“Aw, congrats,” someone from marketing says, but Bri drowns them out.

“Shut up!” she practically shouts. “Please tell me it was to that hot-as-fuck man who picked you up.”

I grin despite myself. “That’s him.”

“You guys don’t even get it,” Bri tells the rest of the people on the call, fanning herself. “This man was… I don’t even know how to describe him. Like movie star meets just got out of prison. And it works.”

The way she says works makes me laugh, but I have to admit the description is pretty good.

“I want to see!” one of the marketing team says.

“Yeah, wedding pics, please.” Bri nods.

I have to work to keep the smile on my face.

I don’t remember anything about the service. Nothing more than slivers of seconds. And before I can think about what I’m saying, I admit, “I don’t know if there are any photos.”

“You don’t…” Bri leans closer again. “Oh my god. Did you get drunk married?”

She’s cackling before I can even respond. But my cheeks are starting to heat, so I put my hands against them to cool them down, and that must be all the answer anyone needs because now everyone is reacting.

Then I remember my damn inked finger and drop my hands out of view.

Thank god everyone was so distracted laughing at me that they didn’t notice the freaking tattoos.

I’ll have to do something to cover them up when I go into the office tomorrow.

“If that’s what his place looks like, then it’s gotta be the best drunk decision I’ve ever heard of,” the marketing team chimes in. “And if he’s hot on top of it… Jackpot.”

“He’s not bad to look at.” I pick up my coffee with my right hand. “Should we start?” I ask, trying to prompt the point of the call.

“I have more questions,” the other designer says as everyone else nods. “Where does he work? You clearly didn’t meet him at our company. Even Mr. Ritz only lives in a three-bedroom condo.” She refers to our boss, who makes us all call him Mr. Ritz instead of using his first name. “And I only know that because he never shuts the fuck up about it. Like it’s some sort of flex and not him proving he could pay us more.”

Since I started a few years ago, I’ve been working remotely, so I don’t know the boss as well as everyone else, but I’m not surprised that the people who go into the office a lot aren’t fans. The whole Mr. thing is a bit pretentious.

One of the marketing girls snorts. “Yeah, I almost wish he was on this call.”

Her teammate lifts a hand. “Let’s not go crazy.”