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“You know him, so it’ll be cool.”
“I know his partner, Coulter,” Cady admits. “Through their club.”
“Fantasies.” I nod and keep nodding. “I’ve never actually been there.” Marcus and Coulter opened a club last year—two clubs in one, actually: a nightclub catering to the club bunnies and guys trying to pick them up through dodgy dance moves, and a club that caters to the more adventurous.
They call it a swinger club. I’ve never questioned Marcus about his lifestyle or who or what he gets into because it’s none of my business. And now that he’s getting married, it’s Callie’s business.
As for me, I would probably stick to the nightclub part because I’ve never been much for sharing.
“But you know of Marcus,” I say with an eagerness that I’m sure will look embarrassing when I look back on it. “So there’s no reason why you shouldn’t go with me. You’ll love Callie. everyone does.”
“You can’t bring a guest at the last minute,” she protests.
“You kind of can to this one,” I hedge. “See, it’s a destination wedding—”
That’s not a good expression. “Where is the wedding?” Cady demands.
“Turks and Caicos,” I admit. “So. You busy this weekend?”
She is a closed book, her expression giving nothing away. She might be inwardly laughing hysterically, or giving a big Hell no, or wonder of wonders, might actually be considering it.
I cross my fingers under the table. Not only would she seriously be doing me a solid coming with me as a buffer between me and whoever Marcus can throw at me, but also because she’s a beautiful woman and if I said I wasn’t attracted, I’d be lying.
I’m attracted. I’m interested. Intrigued.
Fascinated.
Outwardly, this woman has everything—smarts and savvy and looks amazing, but there’s a vulnerability that popped out with the police.
Normally I don’t go for vulnerable, because those are the ones who can turn needy at the drop of a hat. But Cady…
The expression on her face is what I would imagine Cady looks like when she’s examining a million-dollar deal, looking for a way to get out. “I assume you know my history,” she says in that cool voice that could freeze the balls off a snowman.
“History.” What does one say when confronted about the fact that Cady was both a stripper and an escort? Not only an escort, but kind of like a madam of an online brothel?
I wonder if Cady considers herself as any of those things, or if she’s pushed them aside into the box of history to focus on running her million-dollar empire.
Billion. Marcus said she’s worth a billion.
But she has freckles.
Freckles. On her nose.
All of which should intimidate me, or at least impress me, but I find myself wondering if the freckles on her nose are the only ones she’s got.
Redheads usually equal freckles.
I wonder if this way of thinking is why my father is constantly pissed off at me.
Speaking of pissing off my father… “If we’re talking history, does that mean you need to know mine? I lost my V-card when I was—”
She sniffs. “I don’t need to know any of that.”
“And neither do I. Unless you want this to be a business transaction. I guess that would be fine, but I’d rather not, if I’m being honest.”
“I prefer honesty.”
“As do I. And I’d appreciate it if you agree to do me this favour as… a friend… rather than a business associate.”
