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Owned: A Mafia Menage Romance(140)

By:Meg Watson


“Are you buying me?” I chuckled, half-believing that was true.

“Ha, no not exactly. You probably know we make it our business to find undervalued assets, small businesses, things like that… And then we bring them to buyers who will assess them properly. We create value... for everybody involved.”

“For everybody,” I repeated.

“Yes,” he nodded. “Everybody wins.”

“OK,” I said slowly, unsure if I should read the papers or act like I was so accustomed to this situation that I didn’t even need to do that.

“You’re very much an undervalued resource.”

“Oh really? I never thought of it that way, that’s funny…. Like an undeveloped lot?”

“You could say that.”

“And you’re going to fix all that?”

“It’s my job,” he replied.

I nodded. “That’s what Edna said.”

Declan drew himself up slightly, his eyes narrowing for just the briefest moment. “Oh she did, did she?”

“She said you’re a collector, like her,” I responded, watching his posture relax again. “And she said you’re ruthless.”

Declan snorted in irritation, looking away and then back to me, his composure miraculously reassembled just like that.

“That’s not a word I would use,” he said, scowling.

“Oh I don’t know,” Jackson drawled, turning in his seat to face us. “I’m sure she meant it as a compliment, Dec.”

Declan flared his nostrils and nodded, squinting.

“Actually, Margot,” Jackson continued, his fingers on my forearm, “you don’t have to sign anything.”

Declan narrowed his eyes and stared Jackson down, but Jackson gave no sign of crumpling in the slightest. His sky-blue gaze was as placid as a monk’s while I could feel Declan’s irritation growing like a pan just starting to sizzle over a flame.

Oh now that’s interesting, I thought. I wonder what kind of psychic thumb wrestling match is going on here?

The muscle in Declan’s jaw clenched and unclenched, and I watched his brow slowly relax as he faced off with Jackson in some kind of silent conversation. For the thousandth time, I was vividly aware that their bond was something I couldn’t even begin to understand.

“So what do they say?” I asked suddenly to break the tension. Both men snapped to me almost as if they had forgotten I was there.

“They simply say that I… we can act as your agents. To promote and sell your work.”

“That’s all?” I asked. Then what’s all the fuss about?

“That’s all,” he nodded.

“Well, that sounds like exactly what you promised me,” I smiled.

“I don’t say things I don’t mean,” he smiled back.

“Well then, hand me that pen,” I declared, producing my hand with a flourish.

“Margot, you don’t have to sign anything,” Jackson repeated. “We’re going to Amsterdam either way. You’re already here.”

“I know that,” I said, drawing myself up and trying to appear as professionally confident as possible. “It’s just business, Jackson. I trust you guys completely… And the foundation of any deal,” I purred as I took the pen and flipped open the document to the last page, “is trust.”

“Precisely,” Declan agreed as I signed my name with a flourish. Jackson sighed and nodded, his face inscrutable. I handed the pen back to Declan and shrugged happily under his approving gaze.

“Amber?” Declan called out after signing his name on each packet.

“Amber?” Jackson repeated quizzically.

“They’re always named Amber,” Declan replied dismissively as the blue- uniformed flight attendant strode smartly down the aisle.

“Yes, sir?”

“We’re ready for the Clos d’Ambonnay now.”

“Very good, sir,” she answered in a breathy sigh that I didn’t like one little bit, I’ll tell you the truth.

“I’m pretty sure her name was Jennifer,” Jackson muttered under his breath.

“So you felt confident I was going to sign, did you?” I said as Declan stacked the papers and replaced them in the envelope.

“Well, if you hadn’t, we would just be drinking a lesser vintage,” he smirked.

Jennifer/Amber rolled a tray with a gleaming ice bucket and three beautiful, delicate champagne flutes. Whipping a white linen from the side of the tray, she draped the fabric over the end and turned the bottle expertly, releasing the cork with a low, throaty pop. As she poured out three flutes, Declan plucked them from the tray and set them in front of us.