Page 199 of By A Thread

I’d never felt anything like it. Not before him. The storm breaking. The clouds parting as we jumped together into the abyss.

65

Dominic

Iwaited until I’d been able to lock down on my emotions surrounding my father’s spontaneous little blackmail demand before doing what had to be done. It was late Friday, and my mother’s assistants had gone home for the night.

“Come in,” she called a beat after my perfunctory knock.

I found her on the couch, shoes kicked off under the glass coffee table, bare feet tucked under Simone’s leg next to her. They were drinking what smelled like very expensive tequila.

I had the distinct impression that I’d just interrupted something.

“Dominic, darling. Come join us,” my mother said wearily. “Help yourself to a glass.” I knew that look. And I knew what always caused that look. Or more specifically who.

Simone gave me a sympathetic smile. A warning that this was indeed bad.

“What did that bastard do now?” I asked, taking a glass from the well-stocked bar cart my mother kept in the corner.

Simone took my glass and poured generously. “Not him this time,” she said.

“I just got off the phone with Elena’s attorney,” Mom said.

Incredulous, I frowned. “Why?”

“It seems she is no longer interested in being featured on the May cover,” my mother said with a complete lack of the emotions I knew swirled beneath her implacable surface.

“We’ve already started the first print run,” I said, gripping my glass.

“After she threatened a lawsuit, the print run has been paused until we can explore our options,” Mom said.

“This is bullshit. This is just another stupid publicity ploy.” I’d never told my mother about why I’d ended things with Elena. And she’d never asked. We didn’t tend to share things unless there was no other way around it. Like my father’s firing and their divorce.

“She signed the releases. Legally, you can proceed,” Simone said.

“I’m not inclined to put someone on my cover who doesn’t recognize what an honor it is to be there. Doing so would give her the prestige of the coverandthe platform to complain about how big, bad Dalessandra Russo wouldn’t let her change her mind.”

My mother twirled the emerald on her middle finger.

“Did she give any indication that she was going to back out at the last second?” I asked. Something was niggling at me in the back of my head.

“Not at all. In fact, she sent me a card with an excessive amount of exclamation points two days ago thanking me for the opportunity.”

I pinched the bridge of my nose. That niggling was getting harder and harder to ignore.

I swore and sipped the tequila. Its smooth burn was a welcome relief from the tightness in my throat.

“I’ll talk to her,” I said.

My mother’s eyebrows winged up. “Wasn’t your parting a little… dramatic?”

“Not for me,” I said, coolly.

The two women shared a look.

“I’ll talk to her,” I repeated. “In the meantime, start thinking about a Plan B. Who deserves that cover?” If I was right, no amount of talking was going to put Elena back on that cover.

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