Page 107 of Cross + Catherine: The Companion

The Business

Cece POV

Cece kept her clutch close to her body as she weaved in and out of the people—very famous faces with very deep pockets, and far too many secrets to name. Working in this business of dealing drugs to the rich, famous, and spoiled since she was eighteen had taught her one very important thing: everybody had secrets to hide.

It just so happened to be that Cece, and the drugs she supplied, was a secret far too many in the elite circles kept.

Still, even though she knew a lot of the faces at the New York after-party, she didn’t feel very comfortable letting her guard down. She was twenty-two, not fourteen. She wasn’t some naive girl with the belief that she held all the power.

Her mother taught her that lesson.

Not to trust anyone.

Not to give an inch to any-fucking-one.

A woman gave an inch, and a man took a mile. Men were goddamn predictable like that. Creatures of habits when it came to getting what they wanted. Or better yet, being denied what they wanted, and their subsequent reaction that came from it.

Cece couldn’t count the amount of times she had been propositioned by the men she dealt to—or someone in their inner circles—for more than just drugs. They rarely even made a secret about asking, instead seeming to get some strange, sick enjoyment out of asking her where everyone else could hear, too.

She had no problem saying no.

She always said no.

They knew better, anyway.

Her body—sex—was not on the table when she showed up to answer one of their calls. She was there to hand off the drugs they wanted, and get the hell out shortly after.

Be their beautiful ghost, her mother liked to say. It was supposed to be a nothing more, nothing less kind of thing.

Some of them didn’t want a ghost, though. Some of them wanted something much more tangible from Cece.

This client in particular was one …

“Cece!”

She plastered on her fakest smile, but it still passed Mack Gordan’s shit-o-meter, it seemed. The famous football player was built like a brick shithouse, and had a booming voice to match. As far as Cece knew, he’d retired a couple of years ago from the game after a bad knee injury left him practically useless.

He liked to party, though.

His reputation preceded him. Everything people said about him was true, and then some. The guy was overbearing, a little too touchy-feely, and he didn’t seem to get the hint that Cece was not on his market.

Or frankly, any fucking man’s market.

He was a client, though. And so, Cece sucked up her issues and uncomfortable feelings whenever she got another call that he wanted something delivered, and did her damn job. She didn’t want to tell her mother that she couldn’t handle this guy.

After all, Mack had never actually crossed a line. Not one that Cece hadn’t been able to handle, anyway.

With his friends all around, a large party happening, and witnesses … she doubted he was very threatening to her. Harmless, really.

“Hey, Mack,” Cece said.

She took his hug, but didn’t offer more than an awkward pat on the football player’s shoulder in return. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything.

Then again, he was a little too occupied by dragging his hand lower on the back of her black body-con dress until his palm rested right on the swell of her ass.

Nope.

Cece took a wide step back, and had to practically take Mack’s hands off her body.