Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68249 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
“Was a sleaze.”
“No arguments there,” I replied. “But he was shrewd in business.”
“Shrewd?” Bane’s dark gaze grew darker. “Bro, he owned one mediocre strip joint, which you turned into a franchise and a raging success. Christ, I know you don’t want to throw it all away, and I’m not suggesting that. Just that it’s time to explore other avenues.”
“I agree with you,” I said.
I still held back, though. A tiny part of me would always be that street fighter. That kid who got in a buttload of trouble and didn’t finish high school. Maybe clinging onto the clubs was a reminder of all that shit. Of where I’d come from.
“Good,” Bane said, and flashed the first genuine smile since he’d sat down. He was a charmer, sure, but he was full of shit, too. And way too serious most of the time. He either needed a drink or a punch in the gut. “So, we’re done for today, I think. Let’s wrap things up here and—”
“Whoa, whoa, whoa, kiddo.”
“Kiddo?”
“You don’t wrap things up until I say they’re wrapped up,” I said and pushed myself up from the desk. I circled around the conference room until I was face-to-face with the fucker. He was maybe an inch shorter than me and a lot stockier. Built like a brick shithouse with a better odor.
I grabbed him in a one-armed hug and fisted him on the back. “Now, we’re done,” I said, then laughed and stepped away. “You look good, brother.”
“You too,” he said, straightening his suit lapels. “Different.”
“Different, eh?”
“Yeah,” Bane replied. “I dunno, like you’ve got something up your sleeve. I hope it’s not another surprise deal. The last one with the Russians—”
“Hey, hey, it all worked out in the end. It’s not like they were spies or something. Don’t be a xenophobe.”
“It wasn’t the nationality that bothered me. It was the accent. Couldn’t hear what the fuck they were saying most of the time,” Bane replied.
He had too much class and education for that shit. “I heard ’em just fine.”
“Yeah, but you’re street.”
“Won’t argue with you there,” I replied. My phone dinged in my pocket, and I reached for it so fast I nearly broke the sound barrier.
“Whoa,” Bane said. “What the fuck? You expecting a mail-order bride or something?”
I flipped him off, then took out my cell and walked for the exit. “Next month again,” I said, over my shoulder. “Any emergencies, call me. Unless it’s something to do with the France thing. Christ, I’ve never seen so much cream in my life. Cream in the sauces, cream in the crepes, cream in the motherfucking cream.”
Bane laughed behind me but didn’t follow, and thankfully, didn’t ask any more questions.
I unlocked the screen of my phone and tapped on the text message icon.
It opened up.
“Are you free this evening? I’d like to have dinner and introduce you to one of my friends, if that’s OK. She’s cool. It’ll be a whole casual, breezy thing.”
I stopped dead in my tracks. Meeting the friends? Casual, breezy?
Don’t do it. You’re already in too deep. This is crazy. You don’t believe in this type of shit, you’re a dominator. A man. You’re—
My fingers flew across the screen, typing—thank god for autocorrect—out the reply. “Yeah. When and where?” I was tempted to name the place and the time—let it not be fucking French food—but she’d invited, and I didn’t want my woman to think I was rude.
Your woman? Your woman. It’s too late already.
It’d been too late the minute I’d laid eyes on her. I hadn’t lied to her last night. Every word had come from somewhere deep. A place I didn’t examine closely, ever.
“Mama Rosa’s, eight p.m. Be there or be… I dunno, late?”
“See you then,” I replied and sent it off.
Interesting. She wanted me to meet one of her friends. Shit, I could probably rope Bane into coming along and distracting her while I focused on Riley. A romantic evening, wine, candles, Italian food.
And after?
Whatever we wanted.
Chapter 14
Riley
The inside of Mama Rosa’s buzzed with activity—waiters shuttling back and forth with plates or drinks in hand, wearing their red, black, and green uniforms. The overhead lights were low, and the front window had an unbelievable view of the lights and the ocean.
A gibbous moon hung in the inky sky, which was spattered with stars yet muted by the brilliance of Miami.
“Nervous?” Veronica asked and took my hand. She gave it a squeeze. “If this guy likes you as much as I think he does, he’ll be here.”
I managed a smile. Hell yeah, I was nervous. One Long Island Iced Tea hadn’t changed that, and I’d already started on my next one. Beads of condensation raced down the glass, across the foot, over the lip and right onto the cream tablecloth.
It was easier to focus on water beads chasing each other than the butterflies in my stomach.