WED TO THE DOM Page 2

  I sighed. “I wasn’t exactly imagining doing this kind of work at my age.” I grunted. “But if you think it’s a good idea.”

  Troy stared at me. “Dante, man, you’re the boss. If you don’t think it’s a good idea, we won’t do it. That’s all you had to fuckin’ say, man. Trust me, I won’t fight you on this.”

  I mulled it over in my head. Living in L.A. or La La Land as I called it, had its perks. There were always tons of gorgeous babes, kids who wanted to get high, or immigrants looking to buy guns, but sometimes, I felt like I’d had enough of all of it. Sometimes, I thought about what it would feel like if I sold everything I owned and moved into some little cabin up near Oregon, or some shit like that.

  I banged my gavel on the table and looked out at all of my men. They were waiting for me to answer with solemn looks on their faces.

  “Does anyone else have any ideas?”

  I waited in silence for one of the men to speak up. The room was so quiet I could have heard crickets outside, but the only sounds reaching my ears were the sounds of Troy puffing on his cigarette and Tristan stretching in his chair, making his leather chaps creak against the wooden seat.

  “No?” I asked, looking around again. “Y’all think getting into body-work is a good idea?”

  They nodded slowly. One of the new men, Pauly, nodded. “Yeah.” He grunted. “I think it’s a real fuckin’ fine idea. I wish some hot actress would hire me,” Pauly added with a smirk. He closed his eyes and growled. “I’d fuck her so good she wouldn’t even notice if anyone was trying to rob her blind.”

  “We gotta do this right,” I said firmly, slamming my fist down on the wooden table. The Heaven’s Veil symbol stared up at me, emotionless. “We can’t fuck this up. This is the kind of thing that could ruin our reputation if we let it, guys. We can’t let that happen. Not now.”

  “So, it’s a go?” Troy looked at me.

  I nodded. “It’s a go,” I said. “Y’all better start advertising your services. We’ll get someone to make a website, and we’ll put up cards in all the talent agencies around town. Figure we can each turn a profit on this. We’ll find someone who needs a big lug around to watch his or her back. I wouldn’t even say no to some freelance guard work at this time.” I glanced around the room and stubbed my cigarette out in the skull-shaped ashtray in front of me. “If any of y’all fancy working in a bank, or some shit, I bet that can be arranged.”

  Troy grinned. “Actually, boss, I already got someone for you.”

  I waited as he slid a manila envelope across the table towards me.

  “What the fuck is this?”

  “Someone you’re really gonna like. Trust me on this one,” Troy said as he grinned again.

  Chapter Three

  Katia

  My fingers were shaking as I went back into my office and looked around for my phone. I was already feeling a little calmer, not to mention embarrassed about having thrown my new phone at the wall, but deep down, I was still freaking out. I couldn’t believe that some creep had gotten my email address like that! And that I’d actually been stupid enough to open the damn thing!

  I grunted as I got down on my hands and knees and began crawling around the room, glancing under pieces of furniture and feeling around for the puffy pink case of my iPhone. Strands of my long, meticulously-waved blonde hair fell in front of my eyes, and I sighed and shoved my hand between the back of the pink sofa and the shag carpeting.

  Finally, the tips of my fingers made contact with my phone. I let out a squeak of approval, then strained and lunged until I could wrap my fingers around the cursed piece of technology and bring it closer.

  I was panting by the time I was done. A sharp feeling of panic washed over me again as I dialed my personal assistant, Anya. Anya had been working for me for a little over two years at this point, and we were almost as close as family. Sure, she didn’t understand a lot of the things I asked her to do, but she was overall really adaptable. I’d been called high-maintenance in the past, actually quite a lot, but Anya had always done whatever I asked with a smile. She never talked back, and she never said anything insulting.

  Before Anya, I’d had a personal assistant named Jeanine. She’d been a friend of mine when I was still doing the pageant circuit, but Jeanine never made it in the same way I had. When I’d offered her the job, she’d kind of sniffed and turned her nose up in the air, so it wasn’t much of a surprise a few weeks later when she started calling me spoiled. I’d fired her the day I’d been out driving my Land Rover Discovery and had gotten a flat tire.

  “Jeanine!” I’d barked sharply into the receiver. “Call some tire place; I need a new tire!”

  “Katia, I don’t think anywhere is open right now,” Jeanine had replied in this pointed, nasty voice. “It’s almost midnight.”

  “I don’t fucking care what time it is,” I snapped. “I want a fucking tire! Get me a fucking tire, or you’re fired!”

  She’d hung up on me. That was actually how I’d gotten the phone I had currently. I’d been so angry at Jeanine that I’d thrown my phone out of the window and watched with satisfaction as it disappeared into the ravine at the side of the highway.

  “Anya? Pick up!” I snapped at my phone. It was still ringing. It must have rung over ten times before it went to voicemail. Growling, I punched Anya’s number a second time and held the phone up to my ear.

  This time, she answered on the second ring. “Katia! Oh my God,” Anya gushed. “I am so sorry! I was in the bathroom! What’s—”

  “I don’t care,” I said sharply. “There’s been an emergency. Some asshole is stalking me!”

  There was a pause.

  “Anya!” I yelled. “Come on! What the fuck is wrong with you? I said someone is stalking me!”

  “I know,” Anya said. Her voice was quiet, and I could hear her swallow over the phone. “I know someone’s stalking you.”

  She paused as rage welled up in my throat. I wished that I could reach through the line and slap her.

  “How the hell do you know that?” I demanded. “And furthermore, if you knew, why the hell didn’t you say anything?”

  Anya sighed. “Look, Katia, I was hoping I could resolve all of this myself, without having to drag in any outside forces,” she said softly. “Katia, I know it’s scary. I was looking into a bodyguard for you. Someone who could stay with you all the time and make sure you’re safe. Doesn’t that sound like a good idea?”

  “Are you fucking kidding me? This is the first I’ve heard of this idea! Why didn’t you tell me anything earlier?”

  “Calm down,” Anya said. I stared at the phone in shock. I couldn’t believe she was telling me what to do!

  “You have no right to order me around.” I huffed. “Anya, this is a big fucking deal, and you’re so fired as soon as you give me the info on the bodyguard.”

  “Katia, please. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to scare you.” She swallowed again. “This ass—person who’s trying to get in touch with you, well, they’re pretty serious about it. I called the police, and they agreed it was best I keep it from you. I’ve been getting letters and calls for about a week now. The police wanted me to hire someone, which is why I looked into the bodyguard idea.”

  I flopped down on the pink satin couch, letting my feet fly into the air before settling on the other end.

  “Fine.” I grumbled. “But really, Anya, you couldn’t have told me? I don’t like being lied to by my assistant,” I added. “This really doesn’t look good.”

  “I know, I know,” Anya said quickly. “But I promise, I did it for a reason. And the police say I did the right thing, too. These letters—Katia, they’re really disturbing. They aren’t the kind of thing you can un-see. I just thought, you know, because you have trouble sleeping—Well, it probably wouldn’t help. I know Arielle has really been working on getting you to de-stress, and I thought seeing those letters would have just opened up a new can of worms for you.”

 
I frowned and glanced up at the ceiling. My office was my favorite room in the whole condo. Even though I loved them all, I’d saved the best for this room. The ceiling was molded with ivory and gold swirls, with pink accents in each corner. All of the furniture was either Italian striped silk or pink satin that I’d picked from a custom shop. I’d ordered a couch and matching loveseat in pink, and my office chair was lambskin. My little pug, Oliver, wasn’t even allowed inside. I always worried about his claws scratching the precious fabric.

  “So, the police said not telling me was a good idea?” I asked after a pause.

  They must not know me, I thought grimly as I shifted my position on the satin couch. They’re going to get a fucking earful as soon as I have the chance to call LAPD.

  “Yes,” Anya squeaked out. “Look, the bodyguard—his name is Dante. He’s the leader of a local MC, and I thin—”

  “Wait, stop,” I said. “What the hell is an MC?”

  “Motorcycle club,” Anya replied. “This guy started Heaven’s Veil. Have you heard of them?”

  “Obviously not,” I snapped. “If I didn’t even know what an MC is, how the fuck would I have heard of his stupid club?” I rolled my eyes. “Honestly, Anya, you must think I’m an idiot sometimes! And a motorcycle club? What the hell is that? You mean this asshole spends the whole day riding around on a bike with a bunch of other men who never learned to shave or take a shower?”

  “Katia, he’s really not like that,” Anya protested. “He’s tough, and he has credentials. The man’s a top-level fighter. He’s even taken MMA and three kinds of Jujitsu.”

  I rolled my eyes again. “Yeah, and so have all the other guys I’ve hired in the past,” I said icily. “Why couldn’t we just call one of them?”

  Anya sighed. “Katia, this guy is top dollar. His rate is five hundred an hour. He doesn’t mess around. I know he’ll keep you safe. You don’t have to do this, but I strongly recommend you consider hiring him. At least for a couple of weeks until the police can figure out who the hell is bothering you.”

  I licked my lips. “Fine. You call him. Set up a meeting.”

  “That’s the thing…” Anya said in a small voice. “I can’t. I already did, and he said that he needs to hear it from you.”

  I groaned loudly. “I was just about to start my Pilates!”

  “I’m sorry, Katia. If you want, I’ll come over and write down everything for you to say, you can put him on speaker, an—”

  “It’s fine,” I snapped. “I’ve already made my own coffee. Next thing you know, you’ll be telling me that I have to pick up my own dry-cleaning!”

  After I got off the phone with Anya, I stared at the number that was written down in front of me. I’d used my personal stationery, the gold embossed kind that had cost over a thousand dollars from a private factory in England, and somehow the name Dante Saunders just didn’t fit. I licked my lips. He sounded like a tough guy, a real asshole, who’d never been around a woman like me before.

  It was all stressing me out too much. I decided to go shopping and call Dante when I got home. Shopping relaxed me in a way that nothing else could, not even a long trip to Red Door Spa with a facial and a hot stone massage.

  I didn’t want to call a driver, so instead, I took my Camaro out to Rodeo Drive and handed it over to the valet.

  I hit Louis Vuitton first and bought six new bags, along with a pair of shoes, and a belt as a present for Anya. I was still angry with her for going behind my back, but I knew that she’d probably been trying to do her best. After all, everyone had his or her incompetent moments sometimes. I just wished she trusted me to be more self-sufficient. The way Anya treated me was like she had to walk on eggshells around me all the time. I just didn’t understand it! The way I saw it, I was a perfectly reasonable and kind boss.

  Oh, well. Maybe she’d just worked for assholes before, and this was her own way of covering up after herself.

  After Louis Vuitton, I handed my bags to the valet and went into Tory Burch. I wasn’t a huge fan of Tory Burch—too cheap, mostly. But they did have a cute shift dress, and as soon as I tried it on, I knew I had to have it. It was perfectly preppy, lime green with pink trim, and I knew it would look great with these Prada sandals I’d bought the other day. Satisfied, I paid for the dress and walked outside.

  My phone buzzed in the pocket of my jeans, and I groaned. I didn’t feel like talking to Anya again. I wondered if she’d called that Dante character without even giving me a chance to tell my own damn story!

  Maybe I should save that belt for someone else, I thought as I reached for my phone. She needs to learn how to be a good assistant if she’s going to keep working with me!

  A wave of anxiety passed over me when I saw that the number was unknown. I growled at my phone. If it was that same creepy asshole from earlier, I was going to chew him out for calling and giving me chills.

  “Hello?”

  “Hello, is this Katia Reynolds?”

  I relaxed as soon as I heard the voice. The man on the other end was well-spoken and enunciating clearly. Obviously, this was someone used to dealing with women of my status.

  “Yes,” I said sweetly. “This is she.”

  “Ms. Reynolds, I’m sorry to inform you that the alarm sensor at your home has just been triggered. If you’re inside, please make your way outdoors and tell me as soon as you’re safe. I’ve dispatched the police to your residence, and I want you to check in with them as soon as they arrive.”

  “I’m not home,” I said. A weird, faint feeling came over me, and I had to steady myself against the brick wall of the Tory store. “I’m out. I’m shopping.”

  “Okay, then Ms. Reynolds, I want you to go home and please check in with the LAPD before entering your residence.”

  I felt dizzy. My knees buckled and threatened to give way from underneath me. “Okay,” I said in a shaky voice. “Thank you.”

  Twenty minutes later, I was standing outside of my building with Anya and a LAPD officer. He was checking me out as all men did, but I barely noticed.

  “Ms. Reynolds, do you have someone you can stay with?”

  I stared at him. “Are you kidding? You want me to leave my house?” I squinted and leaned forward, pulling my Gucci sunglasses down the bridge of my perfectly-sculpted nose. “I’m not leaving my house, and that’s your problem if you can’t protect me while I’m here. This is my property,” I said haughtily, drawing myself up to my full height. “You’re a cop. Protecting people is what you do. Or what you’re supposed to do.” I sniffed.

  “Ma’am, I’m going to have to ask you to please re-evaluate the situation,” the cop replied. “Is there anyone you can call who can come stay with you?”

  “No, who do you think I am?” I snapped. Suddenly, a light bulb went off over my head. “Actually, there is someone,” I added. “A bodyguard. My personal assistant already hired him for me,” I lied. “You want me to call him?”

  “Immediately,” the cop said. He rolled his eyes and walked back to the squad car, leaving me in the middle of the road with my shopping bags.

  Anya thankfully didn’t say anything about the lie. That’s probably why I keep her around. With a sigh, I reached into my clutch and pulled out the piece of stationary with Dante’s number on it. My handwriting looked foreign, and for a moment, I wondered if I was stuck in the middle of a nightmare. It certainly seemed that way: shopping bags all around my feet with no valet, police trampling through my home, my potential stalker somewhere in the world near me.

  As I dialed the number, I tried to focus. Everything is going to be fine, I convinced myself. Just call Dante and get him to come over, and this whole thing will blow over.

  Someone answered on the second ring.

  “Is this Dante Saunders?”

  “Yeah,” a voice grunted. “Who the fuck is this?”

  I opened my mouth and was just about to yell at him, but I glanced at the police officer filling out a report and sighed. “This is Katia Reyno
lds,” I snapped. “Your new client. Didn’t Anya Bellaire tell you about me?”

  The man chuckled, and I felt rage bubbling up my throat. “Oh, yeah, the beauty queen,” he said casually. “So, you wanna meet me at Bubbs?”

  I squinted. “What the hell? No, I don’t want to meet you at Bubbs,” I snapped. “I don’t even know what that is!”

  “It’s a bar, princess,” Dante drawled. “Outside of L.A. I don’t like doing my business down here.”

  “Too bad,” I snipped. “We’re meeting at Starbucks on La Cienega. By the Strip,” I added helpfully. “In ten minutes.”