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“I did not screw her,” he said witheringly.
“Oh, really? Do you think I’m an idiot?”
“I think you should mind your own business.”
“She works for us. Do you have any idea what kind of Me Too problem we could have on our hands if it comes out that you banged the maid?”
“She works for the hotel chain we happen to own; I am not her boss.”
“So you were banging her?”
“Don’t speak like that.”
“Don’t you go lecturing me.”
“I didn’t sleep with her.”
“And if I hadn’t turned up?”
“She was here to deliver food, and clean up my mess,” he gestured to the carpet. Emme reached for another chip.
“And you’re not wearing a shirt because…?”
“Because I’m not.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Whatever. I don’t care. That’s not why I’m here.”
“Then why are you?” He glanced at the clock on the wall. It was almost midnight. What time did Skye’s shift finish?
“Because you ghosted your own brother’s wedding, and you haven’t come to a single family thing since.”
“I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah, yeah, I know. Running the business while Max is on his honeymoon. But that’s no excuse. We’re flying back tomorrow—you should have been at dinner.”
“I didn’t feel like it.”
“Really? You weren’t hungry?” She scoffed, gesturing to the mountain of food. “You sure about that?”
He grunted.
“Look, it’s your life,” she said, lifting her hands in the air placatingly. “But if you want my advice, call our mother. She’s miserable, and clearly worried about you. I don’t like seeing her like that.”
His brow furrowed. He ignored the instant inflection of concern. Of guilt. He didn’t particularly like to think of Patrizia like that either. It had been a long time of considering her to be his mother, the woman who’d held his hand on the way to school and always made sure his favourite cookies were in the kitchen, who’d sat in the audience at every speech night, come to his university graduation and cheered louder than anyone when his name was called, who was his champion no matter what his success. She was the woman who’d raised him, but somehow, the fact that she’d been such a great mother, and that he loved her so much, trusted her so implicitly, made the dishonesty hurt all the worse.
“I’ll consider it,” he said.
Emme swore softly and Leo chastised her.
“You’re just being such a bastard,” she said with a shake of her head. “I don’t know what’s going on, but I suggest you sort yourself out, and fast.” She stalked towards the door. “And try not to sleep with everything in a skirt while you’re staying at the hotel, okay? We don’t need the HR mess—or PR mess, for that matter.”
Alone in the staff elevator, Skye went to scrunch the hundred dollar bill into the palm of her hand, but it wouldn’t give. She unfurled it to discover a crisp white business card in the centre with strong gold lettering.
It said only two words and then a string of numbers.
Leandro Valentino. And going from the country code, a landline in Italy.
Her heart pounded. Her stomach dropped, independent of the way the fast-moving elevator carriage always threatened her sense of spatial awareness.
