Texas-Sized Scandal. Katherine Garbera
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right. He was better than his mobster blood. But, he reminded himself, that didn’t mean he was good enough for Melinda Perry. Despite the scandal that swirled around her family—he’d heard rumors that her father was implicated in a murder now—Melinda was always above it. She loved her family but she kept her distance. No one who looked at her would ever believe she was anything but good and kind. Things no one would ever say about him.
No matter that he had to remind himself of that several times a day.
“Johnny,” he said, walking over to the doorman. “I’m here to see Ms. Perry. How long have they been here?”
“All day. I helped her sneak back onto the elevator. But they’re persistent and won’t leave.”
“Have you called the cops?”
“Ms. Perry didn’t want to. She said they’re just doing their jobs.”
Of course she did. She had a kind heart. “Let’s get rid of them. I’ll call the commissioner and take care of it. Also, will you keep an eye on my car? Move it if you need to.”
“Yes, sir, Mr. Bartelli.”
Slade walked into the lobby of Melinda’s building and stood there for a moment, battling both sides of himself before he dialed his assistant and asked him to take care of the paparazzi.
“Yes, sir. Also, you had a call from your father. Not an emergency. He just wants to speak to you. And your grandmother expects you for dinner with Ms. Perry.”
“Ignore my father. I’ll take care of Nonna.”
“Yes, sir.”
He hung up with his assistant and immediately went to the elevator that led to Melinda’s condo. He knew why everyone was interested in them as a couple. Because he was flashy and courted the media. It was the only way he knew to prove that he was aboveboard ever since he’d taken over running Conti Imports. He’d been under so much scrutiny that he’d hired a PR firm that had advised him to make sure everything he did was very public and had as much publicity as he could throw at it.
He’d never have guessed he’d like the attention as much as he did, but it suited him. He liked talking to the press; he didn’t even mind it when they followed him around. But with Melinda, he knew that was just another mark against him. His dad was a rumored mob boss and Slade knew the old man had tried going clean a long time ago and he’d never been able to. That was another reason why Slade really liked working for his mom’s side of the family.
His dad had one time said that once he took his job as a hit man, there was no turning back. And Slade never wanted to be on that path. As much as his gut always wanted him to take the easy way, he fought it and made sure he never did.
But Melinda messed up his gut. She had him so hot and horny he felt like he was eighteen and not almost forty. He hadn’t been this turned on by a woman in a long time. But it was more than the sex that was fabulous. It was the way she poured herself into her passions like art and opera.
When he got off the elevator on the twenty-fourth floor and walked toward her condo, he hesitated. It would be better for her if he let her drift out of his life. He knew that media attention wasn’t something she was going to enjoy. And he’d done a good job of keeping their relationship private. Until now, obviously. He had to admit that he’d done it not for her—well, not consciously for her—but more for himself. So much of his life was in the spotlight that it had been nice to have someone who was just his. No one knew about her, and he knew she liked it that way as well. Though she might say that his family name didn’t matter to her, he knew it did.
Hell, he wasn’t even sure that Nonna was going to approve of him and Melinda. And of all the people on the planet, she was the one who loved him the most and always thought he deserved the best.
He pushed the doorbell and heard Pixie barking in the condo, but there was no answer. He waited for a few minutes and then punched the doorbell again.
Pixie didn’t bark this time, which made him suspect that Melinda was in there and didn’t want to talk to him. He knocked on her door one last time. “It’s me. Slade. Let me in, so we can sort this out.”
He waited, not sure if she would open the door for him, and another minute passed before she finally did and he saw her standing there. Her long blond hair was pulled back in a high ponytail—the kind she favored—that accentuated her heart-shaped face. Her blue eyes were troubled, and she’d chewed off all the lipstick he was sure she’d put on that morning. She had on her workout gear, which showed off her athletic physique. Her skin appeared pale and she didn’t smile when she saw him, which set warning bells off in his mind.
Melinda smiled at everyone. Everyone. The bellhop who opened her door, the barista who made her coffee, the doorman. She was one of the friendliest people he’d ever met. Now, though, she didn’t step back to invite him inside.
“Are you okay?” he asked. He had no idea how to fix this. To be honest, he knew that she had liked their low-key relationship but this reaction... Was she embarrassed by him?
“I’ve had better days, but yes, I’m fine,” she said, clearly lying to him as she had one arm wrapped around her stomach as if she were trying to hold herself together.
“I don’t know how the media were alerted to our presence at the opera last night. I know my people didn’t say anything,” he said. “I’ve got a call into the police department to get rid of the paparazzi who are hanging out downstairs. We’ll get on top of this and get it sorted out.”
“Will we?” she asked. “Why?”
“Why? I thought we liked hanging out together,” he said. “Isn’t that reason enough? Why don’t you let me come in and we can talk about it?”
She shook her head. “If you come in, we will probably do more than talk and I need to be clearheaded about this, Slade.”
He smiled at the way she said it. “You are being clearheaded. I promise to be on my best behavior.”
Melinda’s building was sleek and modern, a tall high-rise made of glass and steel, but her condo was much like the woman herself, warm and welcoming. The entryway had an antique hall tree, on which she always kept a vase with fresh-cut flowers in it. Moving into the main open living space, he noted the two large couches as well as two armchairs, all in cordovan leather that he knew from experience were buttery soft and the most comfortable chairs he’d ever sat in.
Her coffee table was made of reclaimed wood, where she kept art books on her latest obsession. Right now, he knew she was researching Dalí for an exhibit the art council wanted to bring to Houston. But she also had a few magazines that she kept tucked in a basket on the lower shelf of the table. She’d even started storing the business magazines he liked to read there.
Her kitchen was demarked by a tall countertop with high-back stools. The cushions matched the colors of the large Cruz Ortiz painting that hung above her fireplace. The colors of the Ortiz painting were bright and reflected, in Melinda’s words, the vibrancy of Texas.
She stood there between the living room and the kitchen, watching him with her eyes wide and troubled. He had done this to her. It hadn’t been his intent, but he was bringing scandal to her door the way her father and her sister had. Something he’d promised himself he wouldn’t do.
“I like it when you’re at your best,” she said, then shook her head. “See? No. You can’t come in. I’m not me when you’re around.”
He didn’t like the way she said that. As if he were a bad influence on her. “I think you’re more yourself with me than you’ve ever been before.”
Melinda wished she’d left the door closed, but manners had forced her to open it and now the plan she’d hatched to break up with Slade and get back to