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A small smile plays over that sensual mouth. “Why?”
“It doesn’t interest me.”
The smile grows. “If that’s your attitude, Perry, then I’m wondering how you made it this far.”
“Asking if I fucked my way to the top?”
The asshat laughs. “You? No.”
I stand and so does he. But anger and the meaning of his words fuel my move. I’m not sure why he does it, though I doubt it’s out of politeness. “I think we’re done.”
“You might be, but I’m not,” he says, “and I meant you don’t look the type.” Ryder shrugs. “Not that there’s anything wrong with it. If sleeping your way anywhere floats your boat.”
“Is that what you did?”
He laughs again. “Perhaps fucked my way down to here.”
“I’m still not interested.”
His laughter dies and Ryder gives me a considering look. “It’s an easy job.”
It should be, but I know it won’t be. He’s charming even when he’s an asshole, like he was at the start, and I really don’t need the grief. He likes women too much. As in, get down and dirty with a new one every day, and… Shit.
He’s too damn good looking and I’ll develop an unwanted crush on him and it’s going to be awful. If I take the job. Which I won’t.
“Ryder, I see the papers. I read the stuff online. And you’re the party boy, the guy who takes nothing and no one seriously. There’s a line of women gagging for it—” his brows rise when I say this “—and you don’t care if they’re married, in a relationship, or anything. If it’s female, and you want her, you go for it. Getting you to keep it in your pants is going to be a losing battle. With extra headache thrown in.”
He doesn’t say a word, simply crosses his arms. “You’ve got me all figured out, I see.”
“Am I wrong?”
“It shouldn’t matter.”
He’s right, it shouldn’t. Not in the grand scheme of things. But I promised myself a few things when I started having enough money to walk away from jobs if I chose.
I promised not to take on the monsters.
I promised not to take on unnecessary headaches or clients who were pushed into my hands.
I promised not to torture myself.
He’ll be torture.
I know myself well enough to know a man that hot, that charming, that bad-boy-to-the-bone will appeal on a molecular level.
Shallow, yes. But hormones and pretty and sex appeal don’t care about depth.
I won’t like him and I’ll tangle up in stupid hormonal responses to him.
And he won’t even notice me.
Not that I want that.
“It shouldn’t, but…” I can’t say that to him. I’m not an idiot. “Chances are this is going to be an above and beyond job. Chances are you’ll fail.”
“So I fail and you look bad? No one except those in the know know you.” He rubs a hand over his eyes and shakes his head. “That sounds like a bad song.”
“I’m choosy with clients I take on. I have someone who works for me. Andre. He’s excellent and he—”
