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That’s the second time she’s insulted my dick. Normally, I don’t let that kind of thing get to me, but something about this girl crosses all kinds of wires in my head.
I grind my teeth. “Cupcake, I’m going to tell you this one time, so I suggest you listen. Not only is my wallet really that big, but you wouldn’t be able to walk after having it shoved in your…apron.” I can’t help but smirk when her lips part, and she lets out the smallest breath. “That’s why I think you would’ve hidden it someplace a little less conspicuous.” I lower my gaze to where the tops of her breasts peek above her red top.
Instead of being offended, she snorts. “Prove it.”
“Don’t tempt me. If you think I’m too much of a gentleman to shove my hand down your shirt, you’re wrong.”
“Go ahead. I dare you,” she growls, and taking it as an invitation, I release one of her wrists to dive into her cleavage when she smacks my hand away, adding, “Of course, that would be assault. So, tell me, are you feeling lucky today, champ? You still want to spin that wheel?”
A surge of emotions runs through me at once. Anger. Frustration. Irritation. And hell, maybe even a bit of respect. Not that I’d ever tell her that.
Let’s just say I’m not exactly LAPD’s favorite person. Then again, something tells me this girl isn’t exactly a shining star of morality herself.
“Okay, you win.” Her jaw drops, and in that moment of weakened defense, I take a gamble and shove my hand down her shirt. Angel lets out a string of obscenities and comes off the wall swinging, but it’s too late. Closing my fingers around the familiar leather, I drag it from between her breasts and dangle it in front of her face. “You were saying?”
“Fine, so you busted me,” she growls, crossing her arms over her chest. “Good for you. You gonna turn me into the cops now?”
They’re the same words Naomi Grecco said just a short while ago. Only this time, my answer will be very different. “I can. You did steal from me, and I have witnesses. However, what do you say we work this out another way?”
Her eyebrows shoot up. “Excuse me?”
“I have a proposition for you. One that can make you a very rich woman, and as we both know, money is very important to you. Plus, you don’t strike me as someone who walks away from a sure thing.”
I’m not sure what I expected, but it’s not her open hand across my face. The one that connects with my cheek so hard, my head slingshots over my shoulder. By the time my ears stop ringing, she has both hands full of my shirt and fire in her eyes.
“Go to hell,” she hisses. “I’m not a whore.”
I’m still processing the fact I just got slapped for the second time tonight, so it takes a minute to realize why she’s so pissed. Leaning down, I press our faces so close I can feel her breath on my cheeks. “Christ, woman, I said I’ve got a proposition for you not that I’m propositioning you.”
“I don’t care. Call the cops. I’d rather go to jail than listen to anything you have to say.”
“For such a smart girl, you make some stupid assumptions,” I say, shifting my position before she can raise her knee for round two. “See, from the minute you swung that tight little ass over to my table, I got your number, cupcake. You and me? We’ve fought for everything we have and it’s still not enough. It’ll never be enough. Especially for you.”
She glances to the side. “You know nothing about me.”
Oh, that’s where you’re wrong.
Because this is what I do. This is the shit I live for. I’ve been taught by the best and now I crave it. The hunt. The reveal. The look in their eyes when I read them like a bargain shelf book.
“You grew up poor,” I press, grabbing her chin and forcing her eyes back on mine. “Had a bad home life, and eventually, you got sick of it and bounced. I mean, even the streets had to be better, right? Only they weren’t. Life doesn’t discriminate on who it fucks over, and it fucked you good, didn’t it?”
The tension in her jaw pulses under my fingers, fueling me even more. She wants to pull away but won’t. Because doing so would verify I’ve hit a nerve. I pause for dramatic effect. If ten years in this business have taught me anything, it’s that the only thing people hate more than truth is silence, and this girl is no different.
“You were a kid with no skills, no money, and no choice but to take whatever shit job you could to survive.” I take a breath, enjoying the flicker of fear in her eyes. I’m so close to cracking this girl’s shell that I don’t even care about the damn wallet anymore. “That’s how you were able to read me in a two-minute conversation and go in for the kill. That kind of skill is only taught at the school of hard knocks.”
“Are you done, or do you want to read my palm next?”
Damn it, I’m starting to like this girl.
Don’t get me wrong, I have two eyes and a dick, but I also enjoy a challenge. She’s throwing up roadblocks faster than I can knock them down, and that gets me off more than anything. If I hadn’t spent the week running interference between a handful of fake heiresses and a tabloid hungry mob, I might drag this out. But I’m not one to beat a dead horse, and this one is clinging to life by a thread.
The moment I go in for the kill, she tilts her head down, and my mind blanks. I don’t think to ask. My hand drifts on its own, my thumb brushing along the delicate curve of her neck, a spark of something I can’t explain igniting.
She inhales slowly. “Why are you staring at me like that?”
I blink, the spark fading away. Instead of chasing it, I grab the brass ring already in reach. “You’re a little rough around the edges, but with a little coaching, we could actually pull this thing off.”
She smacks my hand away again, only this time there’s hesitation. “Pull what off?”
