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“Open the glove box.”
When I don’t move, he leans over and opens it for me. Inside is a red box. I know its classical branding from anywhere. Cartier. One of my many favorite jewelry designers. I don’t want presents from this man. I am, however, also a woman with little restraint when it comes to shiny things.
When I reach for it, he pulls it closer to himself, so it’s just out of my reach. “Promise me, Anya, that you’ll be good tonight. A deal is still a deal.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “You should be grateful I’m allowing you to make direct deals in my territory. It’s not me who should be on their best behavior, asshole.”
His smile kicks up at the “asshole” as he hands me the box. I snatch it from his hand, taking a second glance at his arrogant smile. The way he grips the steering wheel is too perfect. Too deadly. And I want to kill him for it.
I sigh as I pull the ribbon and reveal a stunning set of earrings and necklace. Paraiba tourmaline. I shift them from side to side, mesmerized. Fuck. I love them.
“Are they to your liking?” he asks.
I’m quick to box them up and place them in my clutch. “Aren’t we supposed to be somewhere, Lake? I want this over before nine. I need my beauty sleep and all,” I say with a sharp smile.
“Most women say thank you.”
“I’m not most women.”
“That you are not,” he says as he starts the car, and we roll down my driveway. I peer through the rearview mirror to make sure my security isn’t far behind.
I play with my black pearl ring, finding far more interest in it than any conversation River might attempt with me.
Surprisingly, he doesn’t say anything either.
Reaching over for the touch screen, I consider in what way I might be able to torture this man.
Alek and I were raised on classical music. The one time the old bitch found me listening to pop, she snapped the record and banned me from shopping with her for a month. It was fucking torture.
Considering he’s a man in his thirties, I wonder what would be his type of living hell. I hide the devilish smile as I type in Mariah Carey “All I Want for Christmas.” I lean back and pretend to enjoy it, watching River from my peripheral.
“I’m surprised you know a Christmas song, considering it’s the season of giving. Do you even know what that means, Anya?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.
I shift in my seat and prop my chin on the back of my hand as I lean back. “I’m well known for my ‘giving.’ It just so happens I deal a cruel hand.”
He smirks but makes no remark about the song, which pisses me off even more. I lean back over and play the Backstreet Boys.
“Classic, really, wouldn’t you say? Which was your favorite?” he asks, deadly serious. But I know he’s fucking with me.
“I prefer men, not boys,” I chide.
What else, what else?
I switch to Britney Spears.
“I feel like you and Britney would have much in common,” he remarks.
Oh, fuck off.
I switch the music off and peer outside the window. We’re definitely not going into the city. Instead, we’re surrounded by trees and ample plots of land. It begins to rain, and I sigh at the eerie pitch-black outside.
River laughs, and it fills the car enough to put the hairs on my arms on edge. I hate how my body so easily reacts to him without my consent.
I’m going to lose my fucking mind if I have to stay in this car with him much longer.
“His name is Igor, and he flew in to see what kind of deal I can offer him,” River says, and it offers a mild type of calm to my nerves. Business I can focus on.
“Flew in from where?” I ask.
