Page 71 of Dirty Boss

The lights glinted off the surface of my wine. The smear of marinara on my plate looked almost black in the dimness.

My whirlwind with Vaughn was coming to an end. Rejection was incoming. I could feel it like an arthritic woman feeling a coming storm in her bones. I’d gotten a temporary reprieve, but the end was nigh. I’d refused him, and he would reject me.

Then Vaughn finished his piece of pizza, brushed the cornmeal off his fingers, and said, “I think you should meet my daughter.”

TWENTY-FOUR

ALBA

I blinked. “What?”

“My daughter, Charlotte.”

“I know who your daughter is, Vaughn. But you said…”

“I think you should meet her.”

“But…why?”

Vaughn frowned at me. “What do you mean, why? She’s my daughter.”

“And you want me to meet her?”

He stared like he wasn’t understanding. “You don’t want to?”

“No! I mean, yes!” I shook my head. “I want to. But I don’t understand… You wantmeto meet her?”

“Obviously.”

I cleared my throat. Nodded. “Yeah. Obviously.”

Inside, I reeled. Sure, he’d made me say those things when we were having sex. Possessive things. He wanted to be exclusive. But meeting his daughter?

I had to quickly rearrange my train of thought. I’d believed we were about to break up. I thought he was getting bored of me, that if I didn’t behave the way he wanted—by going to Arlo Noble’s gala with him—he would toss me aside.

But I’d said no, and now he wanted me to meet his daughter.

I had to clarify. “So, even if I don’t go to the gala with you, you want me to meet Charlotte?”

Vaughn frowned. “I’m not sure what one has to do with the other.”

I laughed, feeling fizzy and floating inside. “Right. Sorry.”

He wanted me for me. He wanted arelationshipfor me—even though I had no money, no connections anymore, nothing to offer him but some advice on how to dress himself. And he still thought I was worthy of dating. Him, the man across from me with the square jaw and the sparkling eyes and the broad, scarred hands and the construction empire.

He wantedme.

“Are you okay?”

I nodded, saved from answering when the door swung open and Ralphie reappeared to take our dishes. He cracked jokes as he cleared our table, and I was able to settle myself down. Still, when Ralphie insisted on giving me a tour of his greenhouse, my hand found Vaughn’s. With his fingers braided through mine, we followed Ralphie and listened to his explanations about humidity and temperature and light. He showed us his grow lamps and gave me advice on fertilizing various herbs.

I absorbed none of it—but I still couldn’t stop smiling. Finally, when our wine was done and Ralphie had been called back inside, I leaned my head against Vaughn’s shoulder and hummed as he wrapped his arms around me.

“Ready to go home?” he rumbled, lips brushing my temple.

I liked the sound of that.Lovedthe sound of that. Home—with Vaughn. Nodding, I tilted my head up for a kiss, and I couldn’t help the way my lips curled into a smile against his.

Ralphie sent us home with a container of his famous tiramisu, and we headed back to the darkened townhouse.