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“The first lady told her in plain terms to buck up and accept her fate. That there’s no getting out.”
“Thank you, Carlos.” Undoing the first few buttons of my shirt, I release the tie’s knot and let the ends hang over my shoulders. “Keep me informed, and I’ll have a little something extra for your troubles.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Disconnecting the call, I walk over to the small bar inside my office and pour myself a drink. I’m giving myself a second or five to compose myself before reaching out to Solimar, swirling the amber-colored liquid around the glass twice before bringing it to my lips.
Her being upset doesn’t sit right with me. Eats at me. It makes my chest feel tight.
I throw back my drink and then pour another. And another.
My first instinct is to ram an eighteen-wheeler through the security gate of the president’s home and shoot every single fucker inside, except her.
She’s different. Innocent.
“My vow of vengeance will never touch a single hair on that little flower’s head.” Back at my desk with the decanter in hand, I set it down and pick up my iPad, opening the FaceTime app. I’m looking for the contact information her guard gave me a few days back. A quick press to her picture and the phone connects, ringing twice before her beautiful face appears.
At first, she doesn’t say anything. There’s shock and maybe a bit of awe, but behind the surprise expression, I see amusement. It’s in the curl of her lips and the brightness of her eyes. In the way she sighs my name before shaking her head and climbing atop her bed.
Once situated, her back against a headboard with a mountain of white and pink pillows cushioning her body, she arches a brow. “Should I even ask?”
“No, but if you do, I’d tell you.” She’s appeased by my answer, her eyes dancing between my chest and face. “Does it matter?”
“No. Not really.”
“Good.” Refilling my glass, I take a sip. “You ready to play?”
“Play what?” The question is coy, the expression on her face inquisitive. Fuck, she’s beautiful. Solimar is all soft and decadent in her tight, light blue tank top and matching sleeping shorts. She’s dangerous curves and a happy smile. However, I do notice the bit of red around her eyes. The bit of wetness that still clings to her lashes. “Is there something I’m missing?”
“Twenty questions, Preciosa. You owe me,” I say instead of questioning her. Not today.
“Do I, now?”
“Yes.”
“I don’t know about that…”
“Are you going to deny me?”
“No.” Solimar mumbles don’t think I can under her breath, but I don’t call her out on it.
“First question?”
“Hit me,” she replies, nodding enthusiastically, and I chuckle.
“Favorite color?”
She’s pensive for a moment, finger tapping her chin. Motherfucking adorably indecent. “White. You?”
“Really? White?” Not at all what I thought she’d say. Most women like pink, or red, or even purple.
“Yeah.” She giggles. Her fresh face and soft eyes make me want to kiss her. “I like the idea of a blank canvas and embellishing it in diverse ways. Being creative in any way is an outlet I crave.”
“Do you like to accessorize, is what you’re saying?” Solimar tilts her head to the side, expression bordering on confusion. “What, Preciosa?”
“Never thought you’d understand what accessorizing means, that’s all. Men don’t go through painstaking hours upon hours to put outfits together.” The mirth is back in the small quirk of her lips. “You guys are more grab and go.”
“You forget I have a sister slightly younger than you. Shopping is her life.”
