Page 46 of Don’t Say Mafia

“Yes,” I said. “I’m married. I’m exhausted. My life is complicated and not in a fun way. I don’t have space for whatever this”—I gestured vaguely between us—“is supposed to be.”

A car honked from somewhere behind me, but he didn’t look away.

“You don’t know me,” I continued. “You don’t know my situation. You don’t know what you’re stepping into. And I promise you, it’s not worth it. I’m not the fun time a guy like you is looking for.”

His expression didn’t shift.

“If you’re looking for something easy,” I added, swallowing, “I am not it.”

Something flickered in his eyes at that. “I’m not looking for easy or fun,” he said.

“Jagger, come on!” I snapped.

“I’m not,” he said firmly.

I shook my head, frustration bleeding through now. “You show up at my jobs. You tip like you’re trying to buy goodwill. You jump counters. You make statements to my boss like you’re issuing orders. That doesn’t end well for someone like me.”

“‘Someone like you’?” he repeated.

I held his stare. “Someone who can’t afford to make mistakes.”

The air between us shifted as he stepped closer, not crowding me, but near enough that I had to tilt my chin up.

“I don’t indulge curiosities, Eden,” he said, and his voice had lost its teasing edge entirely. “And I don’t start things I don’t intend to finish.”

“I’m telling you to stop,” I whispered desperately.

He studied my face like he was memorizing it. “No,” he said simply.

The word wasn’t loud or aggressive . . . it was absolute.

“You don’t get to decide for me what’s worth my time,” he continued. “And you don’t get to push me away because you’re scared of what it might cost.”

My throat tightened. “Please.”

He grinned and leaned in until his lips were brushing my ear. “I don’t stop, Eden,” he said. “Not when I’ve found something I want.”

The words stole the air from my lungs.

“And you,” he added, “are most definitely what I want.” Jagger abruptly stepped away as if he hadn’t just shifted the axis of my entire morning . . . and possibly my entire life.

“I’ll see you soon, Eden.”

Jagger got into the car, and just before it pulled away, his gaze found mine one last time through the glass.

Then he was gone.

And I was left standing in the sunlight, knowing with awful clarity that Jagger hadn’t heard my warning at all.

Jagger

I leaned back in the rear seat, my phone pressed to my ear, while Zachary, my driver, steered us off the Strip and into traffic that crawled like it had nowhere better to be. “How did it go?” I asked Eli.

There was a long exhale on the other end. I could picture our PI leaning against a brick wall with his baseball cap hiding his face, pretending to scroll while he stalked Eden’s husband. “He showed up already trashed,” Eli said. “Eyes blown, hands shaking while he filled out the form, grinning at the receptionist like charm was a substitute for sobriety. Does your girl know he’s picked up a habit?”

I closed my eyes. No, I was positive she didn’t.

Thanks to the cameras I’d had installed in her apartment, I’d witnessed their conversation this morning. It had been easy to hear how nervous Ryan was for his interview. The little shit hadn’t had to do one in a while since he’d been depending on Eden to fund everything.