Page 9 of Don’t Say Mafia

A guy falls asleep once, and this is what he gets. At least I hadn’t answered a call while I was fucking her. I bet she would have freaked out even more about that.

I shrugged one shoulder. “Chloe—Cleyo I mean, look, you’re hot . . . you’re fun. But . . . it’s time to go. If you were looking for a guy who was going to beg you to stay, you picked the wrong penthouse.”

Her cheeks flushed darker, and I sat up, just in case she tried to stab me or something.

It had happened before.

She stepped closer and jabbed a finger at me. “You’re an arrogant prick.”

That was almost . . . nice compared to some other names that had been thrown my way.

“I am, you’re completely right,” I told her. “And you deserve better, Chloe. You deserve Prince Charming, who’s going to give you your happily ever after.”

The purple hue of her face went even darker, and I side-eyed my phone in case she passed out and I needed to call for a doctor.

That had also happened.

“Fuck you, Clyde Snow,” she growled before stomping toward the elevator and pounding on the button.

Clyde Snow. I’d forgotten I’d given her a fake name. I was beginning to wonder what I did remember from last night at this point.

“Have a good day!” I called as she stalked into the elevator.

All I got was an answering scream. Hopefully she didn’t go for the mirrors on the way down. Those were a bitch to get replaced. They were always back-ordered.

The elevator doors finally closed, and I settled back into my silk sheets. Well, that went well.

But at least on the plus side, my dick was now fully down.

The mattress dipped when I finally swung my legs over the side, the silk sheets sliding off me as if they were disappointed in my life choices right now. Maybe they should be disappointed; once again I’d gotten home around five in the morning and woken up in the evening to start another day. I was like a fucking vampire at this point.

I scrubbed a hand down my face and stood, my bones popping as I stretched, and I considered pants for half a second before dismissing the idea entirely. This was my place. Anyone who showed up unannounced got what they got.

The penthouse was quiet for exactly ten seconds, and then the elevator dinged. I didn’t bother turning around or reaching for clothes. I already knew who it was.

The doors slid open, and Maddox strolled in like he owned the place, a foil-wrapped burrito in one hand and his phone in the other, chewing as though he’d just won a small but meaningful victory.

He was, as always, in a suit. A perfectly tailored charcoal one that likely cost more than most people’s rent, a crisp white shirt beneath it, and a tie knotted with exacting precision despite the ridiculousness I was sure he’d gotten up to today. Maddox treated suits like a personal brand, the way some men treated cologne or watches.

Maddox’s hair was a deep, inky black, cut clean at the sides and swept back on top with a precision that looked effortless but definitely wasn’t. His eyes were a deep blue, sharp and watchful, and they always seemed two steps ahead of whatever room he walked into. They missed nothing, and women strangely obsessed over them.

Maddox chewed, swallowed, and then glanced around my penthouse with lazy disinterest, completely unfazed by the chaos, the silk sheets, or the fact that I was still naked.

“Morning, sunshine,” he said around a mouthful of eggs, as if this were the most normal scene in the world. “You look like shit.”

“You ever heard of calling before a visit?”

He snorted. “You ever heard of answering your phone when I do call? Well, I guess I didn’t call. But I did text. Twice. Which is basically the same thing. And then I got hungry.”

Maddox took another bite, his eyes sweeping the room, pausing briefly on the abandoned condom wrapper on the nightstand. The woman’s citrus perfume was still hanging in the air, and I’m sure he’d just noticed that as well.

“Fun night?” he asked, smirking.

“I fell asleep mid-sex,” I said flatly. “So I’m not sure it can be qualified as fun.”

He stopped chewing and then lost it completely. And it wasn’t like he just politely chuckled. He was laughing so hard that he fell forward, one hand braced on his knee, the burrito in his other hand waving dangerously close to the white rug that cost way too much to endure cheap salsa.

Maddox finally straightened, and I contemplated shooting him before deciding that would be more trouble than it was worth.