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“Anya,” he says, as smooth as melting butter. I don’t reply as I note his empty hands, no money in sight. Is that not why he came? I don’t have time for people who insist on wasting my time.
“Nice house.” He nods to the house as he steps closer. I don’t like how he invites himself onto my property or the way he acts as if he has a right to be here.
I stay where I am, two steps up from where he is, where we’re at eye level, then he places one foot up onto the next step. When I arch a challenging eyebrow, he takes the hint and doesn’t take another step.
He offers a charismatic smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. I look at his shiny boot as he speaks, making it apparent that I find his shoes far more interesting than him. “We need to talk business. I’ve given you time to return my numerous invitations, and I’ve been respectful in your territory. But my patience grows thin.”
“Respectful?” I scoff, still looking at his shoes as he takes one more step up, now leaving only one to separate us. He stands over me now, but it offers no intimidation. I only wish I kept my heels on. I cross my arms over my chest and finally look up at him. This man doesn’t know a lick of what respect is. If he did, he would have never come. Not here, not tonight. And not on our turf at all.
“Yes, I am a guest in your kingdom, and I would like to become a business partner.”
“Business partner?” I question. “I don’t have business partners. I do have people who wish to work for me, though.”
That arrogant smile once again blossoms on his lips. “Oh, I’ve heard stories about those who work for you. But also those you work in conjunction with, for example Dawson Taylor.”
I narrow my gaze. My dealings with Dawson are an exception. As he runs the largest escort business in the area, we struck up a deal where we facilitate his virgin auctions and receive a cut for minimal work and effort. But only a few know of our agreement.
River seems pleased with himself. “Would you not call him a business partner?”
“No, I would not. The only business partner I have in this is my brother,” I tell him.
My fucking brother, who refuses to answer my calls after leaving me in the lurch. I know he listens to my voice messages because it would be full by now. I wouldn’t be able to leave any more, which means he’s deleting them. He knows I know this. So I think it’s his way of telling me, without actually telling me, that he’s alive. That doesn’t make me any less pissed, though.
“Yes, I’m aware. So where is your brother?” River locks eyes with me, and I wonder what he sees.
Can he hear my thoughts? Because there’s no way anyone can read my expression. Does he see a broken, tormented woman trying to find her brother or a strong unmoving businesswoman? Not that his opinion matters to me. No man’s opinion ever has. But I wonder with River.
One would almost assume that, like most men, he has a problem with dealing with me instead of my brother because I’m a woman. I’ve had to teach many in the past how that’s their mistake. And if rumor alone hasn’t been enough for him, then maybe this man is all looks and no brains.
The thought brings a venomous smile to my expression.
“You don’t really seem to be the type to take orders from a woman… Lake, was it?” I say his name wrong on purpose.
His jaw tics, and he takes the last step up closer to me. Now, if I want to look at him, I’ll have to look up. I don’t. Instead, I look down at his cock—the only attribute I appreciate in a man.
“No, I guess you can say I’m not that type of man. But I am the type who doesn’t take orders from anyone. I’m someone who will play nice until it’s no longer necessary, Tanya.” My lip twitches at his misuse of my name.
“I don’t like you,” I tell him, straight up.
“I have a feeling you don’t like many people, so I’m not offended,” he says with a smile.
“Miss,” Clay calls from behind me at the front door. River’s gaze darts to him, as if only noticing him for the first time, but is quick to move back to me. I wave Clay away, and I hear his footsteps retreat back to stand beside the door, and I face forward again.
“A wave of your hand and men do your bidding,” River observes. “Let me tell you something, Tanya.” He pauses, as if he is waiting for me to correct him.
I don’t.
He should know better.
And that alone is a strike against him.
“I think women are good for one thing—”
“Where is my money?” I interrupt before he can finish.
Because it’s the only thing we might be in agreement about: the opposite sex is only good for one thing.
One of his hands scrubs at his jaw. “I don’t like you, and I think you are surviving in a man’s world.”
