I didn’t lie to Troy; I always do my research before launching a new business prospect. It’s about using your connections, associates, partners, others’ paid help—in my case people from Il Lince’s organization. Sometimes, I use bribed civilians. I use firemen and law officers. Growing up mob, this is as natural as breathing. Now, I do the same with the beautiful Tatiana of the Valley.
I can’t say I’m well versed in nun behavior, but this girl must be offbeat with the rest of her pack. Perhaps it’s different for young novices, before they’re fully committed to their calling. For now, I guess she’s sort of a pledge to the Order of St. Catherine? It might be why she removes her robe before leaving the St. Tatiana at night.
My men report that she doesn’t frequent the little church next to her sisterhood’s apartment complex. Her curtains are always drawn, or I would have made them study her behavior in the room too; the more you know about someone, the easier it is to strike their chords and make them whimper.
It takes me a week to gather enough intel to make my next move. My last stint was too impulsive and didn’t work on her, a mistake I won’t be repeating; no woman ignores Isaias di Nascimbeni twice, and I’ll be making sure of that today.
I run through what I know about Tatiana on the way to the church. She’s the middle sibling of a small family from San Francisco. Father works in Silicon Valley. Mother is a stay-at-home wife, while her two brothers have long since moved out. By the pictures on the wall, the family adores their little girl. Girl scout, Halloween, and Christmas photos. There’s one of her being blessed by a higher-ranked priest, a confirmation picture judging by her age.
Her studies at the University of St. John weren’t theological. What stood out from her transcript was the forensic science classes she took. Funny how this little beauty could have been dangerous to my father.
What I like about her past is that her novice status with the sisterhood seems like a spur of the moment decision. It surprises me that they let her in, but the nuns seem legit enough.
I enter the St. Tatiana. It’s broad daylight, and my only errand is some close-up sparring with my beauty. This I already know about her: she’s passionate. So much so, she dropped her mundane, everyday life to follow something she believed in. Still, she’s not fully committed to her cloak. If she were, she wouldn’t have removed it before exiting the church.
Profiling tells me she’s acutely intelligent, which is interesting as hell combined with the fact that I affect her. When I last saw her, she spent all her energy ignoring the fuck out of me, and that shit doesn’t happen without reason.
I spot her right away by a rack of prayer candles. She’s cleaning out burned-down ones and replenishing with new ones, and I reach her before she has time to escape. Until now, I’ve taken the blunt route, stormed in on testosterone-driven impulse, but this new approach is going to get me further. Tatiana, my latest business venture. Fuck, it’s nice to have to work for it.
“Hey there,” I greet quietly.
She tenses but doesn’t look at me. My heart does some kind of odd jump at that. I run my eyes over her, cataloging her frame under the black tent she’s wearing. I have a pretty good idea of how she looks naked.
“How is la bella Tatiana today?”
Her fingers flick candle crumbs off the stand and onto a dustpan. She’s so, so busy, and my cock hardens at her studious omission of me. I lower my voice. “Are you going to ignore me again?”
No answer is needed as she starts on her walk to the front of the church. I saunter after her; with the majestic stride she’s got going, she could be in some procession on her way toward the altar.
“She’s speechless,” I murmur. “Hmm, I could’ve sworn she had a tongue, a damn sharp one too.”
“Don’t swear in God’s house,” she clips, and for that moment, I have her full attention, light-light crystal grey eyes sparkling with annoyance.
“My apologies.” I grasp the banister in front of the altar and swing my gaze upward, remorse hopefully written all over my face. “Dear God, I’m so sorry about saying ‘damn.’ I did not mean it. But don’t worry. Sister Tatiana will make me a better man.”
“I will not.”
That glare again. I slap my hand over my heart, groaning with pain. “You’re going to be the death of me.”
“Wow, you need to work on your pickup lines. Someone—who’s not a nun, and who’s actually interested—deserves better than that.”
I don’t rub in that I got her talking. “So you don’t want to be my death?”
“I do not, no. Thank you.”
“In that case, dinner and a bottle of wine? There’s an excellent restaurant a few blocks over. Mintrer’s. Their wine is hand-selected by the owner.” I sniff like I expect this to be an easy sell.
“Are you high?”
I snort out laughing. “Whoa, didn’t see that coming from a nun.”
“What do you know about nuns?”
“My mother, you know. And I’ve dated a few. Also, Sister Cecilia is my housekeeper,” I say, “and Sister Mary the mother of my children.”
Her eyes are about to bug out of her head. She’s incredulous and furious, and this is fucking awesome. I’m waiting for a clever retort that doesn’t come. When she can finally speak again, she shakes her head. “I think you should leave, Mr.—”
“Call me Isaias. I’m here for my confession, unless it’s not a good time?”
“Oh!” For a second, she scrunches her eyes shut like she’s been off-topic and I just hauled her back in. It’s perfect. What she doesn’t realize is that I’m god. Whatever I put my efforts into turns to gold. I puppeteer people without them even knowing it, and she’s playing right into it.
“No, of course. I’ll find Father Altermatt for you.”
I lift my shoulders in a slow shrug. “It’s fine. I can come back.”
“He’s in the back, hold on.” She picks up the box of votive candles. The packing tape is torn on one side. “Bet you need a good absolution.” She wobbles the box into place in her arms.
“Whoa, careful.” I shoot a hand out last second, keeping the crack from rejecting the candles. “Give it to me.”
“No, I can—” She jerks the box closer to her chest, and the candles rush out, landing around her feet.
I hunch, scooping wax cylinders into my hands. She lets out a huff of air as she shifts down on her knees.
“You don’t listen well, do you?” I examine her face as I work. She tries to keep those perfect features marble-immobile, but her eyes give her away. Flicking between the candles on the floor and the ones in my hands, she’s assessing the damage—and probably the easiest way to get past me.
“Obviously, I couldn’t have guessed that the box was broken.”
For most people, what I’m about to say would be stupid, but this woman, with so much passion and anger hidden under those ice features, it could throw her off enough to give me an in. “I saw it. All you needed to do was heed me, but you didn’t. If you can’t listen worth shit, how can becoming a nun be the right choice for you?”
Tatiana’s hands still around the candles. Her head lifts slowly until she meets my eyes with the coldest, steeliest stare I’ve ever seen. It’s making the blood woosh through my veins.
“I. Am none of your business. What you need to do is get your confession done and leave. I know what I’m doing. As far as the way I am? Rest assured I’m exactly right for my calling. We clear?”
We clear? Holy shit. My goddamn dick can’t take this. I’ve got a raging hard-on for this girl.
“Coffee.” I don’t let go of her glare. She’s killing me with it, honestly, truly going assassin-mode.
“Not happening,” she says. Then: “I’m a nun.” She adds the last sentence like an afterthought. Not a good sign for her. It is for me, though.
“And nuns don’t drink coffee?”
“Not with men who are none of their concern.”
“Not with sinners who need saving?”
Silence. Complete silence.
“Just one cup of coffee, that’s all,” I add. “What harm could it do? When are you done here today?”
Still no answer. She’s trying to take the candles out of my hands and stuff them back into the broken box. I hold them hostage against my body. She’d have to touch me to get them, and she doesn’t want to do that.
“Seven thirty?” On regular days, that’s when my people have seen her leave.
She narrows her eyes. “Are you spying on me?”
“I’m psychic, Sister Tatiana. Did I forget to tell you that? I’ll pick you up then. Coffee Expressive’s sound good?”
It’s a wrap on our biggest film of the quarter. Gianni’s happy with the raw data. One of the new girls flown in from the East Coast has mad talent. It’s hard to find girls who don’t look like they’re faking it in the beginning, but everything this one does is one hundred percent real. On the last shot, Morgan came on command—Gianni literally counted her in—and with one of our biggest stars too. That takes balls. In general, the newbies are nervous as hell working with Luka for the first time.
Luka’s head isn’t in the game, though. I need to talk with Gianni about that. Sure, he pulls shit off as always, but he doesn’t stay behind for the after-parties, and Belen isn’t happy with his commitment. Then again, there isn’t much Belen is happy about these days. She’s especially unhappy with Morgan but for completely different reasons. It’s not hard to see her brain spinning with fear that she’ll lose her status as the face of Lucid Entertainment.
“You might want to throw her a bone, Boss,” Gianni said.
I wasn’t inclined to do so. The less secure people feel in their position, the harder they work to keep it. “What do you have in mind?”
“PR wants some new shots for internet ads, and a few snippets for cable. Might want to use her for that.”
“We could easily find good shots of Morgan,” I said straight-faced, enjoying Gianni’s warning stare in response. “Look through your footage after edits are done on Annabelle’s Escapades.”
“You know you’re playing with fire, right?”
I flashed him a grin. “Nothing I can’t handle.”
I haul ass down to the church to get there before Tatiana is out. Belen calls as I park in the back, and I pick up as I walk.
“Hey, lover. Where are you?”
“Busy. What do you need?”
“A-w-w.” She whines it out. “Just wondering, you know. I’m heading to the club and wanted to see if you’d come along.”
I round the corner and see Tatiana at the front of the church. She’s actually there, dressed in some pink ensemble, a skirt and a tank top. Wow, I’m liking this.
“Isaias. Are you there?”
Her hair. Those long brass-colored coils. I want to get my fingers in them. “I don’t go to the club unless it’s for business, and I’m not working tonight.”
“No?” There’s hope in Belen’s voice. “Gianni wants a retake of the fight scene, but he’s postponing until tomorrow so I can leave a little early. I can head over to your house and make dinner for us?”
I lift a hand in acknowledgment to Tatiana. She sees me but doesn’t wave back. Her gaze doesn’t shift away, though.
“I thought you were going to the club.”
Annoyed, she makes some small sound at the back of her throat. “I’d rather make dinner for you.”
“I’m busy. Be at Lucid early tomorrow. If Gianni wants a fight scene retake, he’ll need to get it done before the set of Sexman is up in Studio 2.”
“About Sexman. Have you thought any more about letting me take over the lead? Ana isn’t the right choice for that film. You know she’s too nice—she freaking even looks too nice. Baby, pretty ple-e-ease?” Belen doesn’t sound adorable when she begs. Her bitch mode is the only thing that keeps me bringing her home. Well, that and her sharp elbows, which merit respect.
“Anyway. Gotta split, Belen.”
“You know, I don’t need you to keep me warm at night,” she barks. “I’ve got other guys, and they’re not even on your payroll. Seven of them, actually. Luka’s roommates.”
“TMI,” I say and hang up. She’s getting too attached. I’ll definitely need to yank her down. Tomorrow, I’ll demote her in Sexman. She’ll be one of the prostitutes he kills in the first scene. A few more changes of the kind, and she might be humble enough to work out for me again.
I put her on temporary block, because she’ll rage-call me. Then, I slide the phone into my pocket and take the steps up to meet Tatiana.
“Hey. You look beautiful,” I say, voice low and intimate.
“Thank you.” She runs those crystal-clear eyes over my shape, taking in my appearance. My style is dark elegance. I pay a shopper for this so I don’t have to worry about it. Everyone wants to work with the successful rich guy, because you’re either their peer or they want to be your peer.
I narrow my eyes. “You like what you see?”
“Doesn’t matter,” she counters instantly. I guess she’s learning to expect the unexpected from me. “So Coffee Expressive’s? Starbucks isn’t good enough for you?” She crosses her arms, and it makes her boobs lift. They’re C-cups and firm, I can tell.
“Starbucks is good enough for me, but I have employees who go there, and I want you to myself. This way.” I open a hand, showing her toward the back of the church and the Flying Spur.
“You embrace the material world” is her comment. Her words might be laconic, but she caresses the front of my cat with adoring fingers.
“I live in the material world. You like cars?”
“Dad’s a mechanic. I’ve seen a few of these.”
“Flying Spurs?”
“Yeah. Is this a W-8? Or W-12?”
“W-12.”
“Okay. The W-8 lurches at lower gears. Is that the case with the W-12 as well?”
I blink. “You’ve driven one?”
She laughs under her breath as she gets into the seat. “Dad’s shop specializes in luxury cars, and he used to let me drive the juicy ones. The Flying Spur isn’t among my top ten, though. Too heavy. It’s a smooth, quiet ride, but just too cushiony for my taste. It can’t do the fun stuff, like haul ass through the canyons.”
I rev the engine and wink at her. “Depends on who’s driving it. I hauled ass down here to get you. Also, I think you just cussed.”
She’s momentarily speechless before she explains that: one, she’s off-duty as a nun at the moment—hence the clothes; two, “ass” is not a swear word. I tell her it depends on how it’s said and demonstrate by aiming a, “You goddamn ass!” at the closed side window to an unsuspecting guy with a dog.
She purses her lips until she can answer without laughing. “That would be defined as swearing because of the first word.”
“You mean ‘you?’” I tease.
“Okay, the second word.” She rolls her eyes, and that’s fucking beautiful on her.
“You can’t say it, can you?”
“Say what?”
Ah, she’s playing along. I tilt my head sideways, leaning toward her. With my eyes still on the road, I maneuver us out onto the street.
“Goddamn,” I repeat to her. Quiet and reverent, it’s a sigh so intimate it’s how I’ll sound when our bodies fuse together for the first time. I flick her a side-glance. There’s a new tinge to her cheeks, and her throat bobs on a swallow. Oh, I’m getting to her.
My chest feels light. It’s nice to play with this off-limits piece of candy. Maybe that’s what it is. She’s just off-limits, harder to get than everybody else. It’s not easy to find that exhilarating chase in women anymore. Isaias di Nascimbeni points, and Isaias di Nascimbeni gets. But here she is, a frustrating, beautiful female, my first “no” in years.
“Please.” I nod at the menu. “You’re too skinny. You do eat dinner, right?”
“Yeah, but someone wore me down and took me out for coffee instead of letting me go straight home today.” She rolls her eyes again. Fuck, so cute.
“Grab a bite here, then.”
“Nu-huh, what are you talking about? Look at these prices.”
“These goddamn prices?” I ask silkily. “Don’t worry about it. It’s my treat.”
“Ha, no. I can pay for myself.”
“You probably can. I’m sure nun salaries rock, but I insist.”
“Nope, because that would mean we’re on a date. We’re not on a date.”
“I beg to differ on both accounts. I’m paying, and I’m pretty sure I worked hard enough for this to happen to call it a date. Ryan?” I jut my chin up to get the employee’s attention. “Give us a strawberry gazpacho with hot ciabatta on the side, a green zebra, the spicy chipotle pumpkin hummus with warm pita, and plenty of olive butter, please.”
She turns to gawk at me. “That’s a lot of food. Crazy food too. Who’s going to eat all of that, and do you know what it is?”
I sigh, content. “Two sets of utensils, please.”
She shakes her head but doesn’t say anything else. From the corner booth I seat her in, I point across the street to Mintrer’s.
“That’s the restaurant you didn’t want to go to. Funny how it all worked out, right? You’re still eating with me, and we’re only feet away from where I wanted to go in the first place. Only now we’re having coffee instead of wine with the food. What does that tell you?”
I have no idea what she’ll say, and I’m damn interested to hear her verdict.
“It tells me you’re a man used to having things go your way. It also tells me you like wine and that you’re not comfortable with your, quote-unquote, win. But let me make it up to you.”
Tatiana leans forward. With her hands under the table, her boobs almost touch the tabletop as she does, and I have to stop my gaze from drawing downward. “I’m very appreciative of these exciting new dishes you’re introducing me to. Since you didn’t get your wine, I’ll buy you a bottle on the way back home.”
“Yeah?” I lean forward too, and—good: she doesn’t avert her eyes. “Where are we drinking it?” My guess is her sisterhood’s home isn’t going to let her bring men and alcohol into her room.
“We’re not. I’ll be taking the bus home, and you’re bringing it home to your lair.”