Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Instead, I feel fucking bad for her.
It’s hard not to start taking care of her. I’m not a fucking saint—but I find it difficult to see someone living at the edge of their means and in clear trouble without stepping in to do something. Especially a person I know, even if she is an absolute nightmare.
That’s always been my role. Taking care of others. I take care of my cousins, real and actual, and all my aunts and uncles, regardless of blood relation. I take care of my family and my organization, and sometimes I even like doing it.
But Valentina would never let me do that for her.
That girl has pride. I’ll give her that. I’ve known her for a little while—we met through Marco a little over a year back—and from what I can tell, she’s the most stubborn human in the world. She’s not dumb, and she might take help from someone, but definitely not me.
The bagels and coffee are already pushing it.
“Eat up then.” I sit at her table as she swallows the rest of the bagel whole like a python enjoying a kill.
“I assume you didn’t come here just to bring me breakfast.” She gestures at me with the coffee, her face taking on its usual hard stare. Fucking Valentina. She’s beautiful, but god damn, does she like looking at me from up on her high fucking horse.
“Oh, no, baby, that’s exactly what I’m doing here. I just love feeding you bagels and getting nothing but condescension in return.”
Her jaw ticks. That girl hates me. “Maybe I’d be a little more grateful if you hadn’t broken into my apartment. I consider this an apology. And I accept.”
“Wow, how magnanimous.”
“Big word for a little pea-brained dick like you.” She says it while fighting a smile, and I like that look on her face. It’s a bit cheeky and mischievous.
“Since you’re being so kind, I’ll get down to business, how’s that sound?” She makes a little go ahead gesture as she starts on her second bagel. “I’ve been thinking more about your proposal, and I’m starting to come around to the idea.”
She hesitates, frowning. “That’s it? That’s all?”
“You’re the one that needs to convince me, remember?” I wave at the empty chair next to me. “Come show me what you got.”
She pauses long enough to take another bite, but reluctantly takes the seat and pulls out her phone. As she tells me about the operation in surprising detail, backed up by her extremely mediocre camera work, I resist the temptation to stare at her lips. Which is far from easy. For all Valentina’s flaws—her grumpiness, her stubborn streak, her pride—she’s still an attractive woman.
But I haven’t had time for attractive women, and I sure as hell don’t have time for one that looks at me like I’m no better than a swamp leech.
“Okay, I’m going to give you a compliment now, and please don’t let your already impressive ego inflate even further—”
“Hilarious, coming from you,” she mumbles.
“—But this is all very good. Better and more thorough than half my men would do.”
“Half?” Her eyebrows raise. “You have really good men then.”
“Fine, better than most.” I drum my fingers on the table, considering. I think about the empty pantry and her barren refrigerator. I think of the bills piling up. I imagine her stressed out to the point of proposing this job to me, of all people, a guy she clearly can’t stand, all because she’s utterly desperate.
“What?” she asks, making a face. “You’re staring at me.”
“I’m considering.”
“How about you consider at the wall instead?” She moves to stand up, but I reach out on impulse and touch her wrist.
I don’t grab it. I don’t dig my fingers in. I just—touch it. And she stops moving, her eyebrows raised, her mouth open ever so slightly.
“Come to Bloody Strike tomorrow morning and we’ll put a real plan together.”
She doesn’t move. I don’t pull my hand away. I like the feeling of her skin. It’s soft, with little downy hairs. I like her tan skin and her thin wrist, and I love her pouty mouth and her heart-shaped face. The girl’s so damn pretty.
“You’re taking the job?” she asks finally.
“I’m leaning in that direction.”
“I want ten percent.” Her eyes narrow. Well, maybe not that pretty, since now she’s looking at me like she wants to bite off my nose.
“Fine. I’ll do ten.”
She seems skeptical and I wonder if I should have negotiated, but she finally pulls away and heads back into the kitchen. “You’ve got a deal,” she says. “And now you may leave. I’m going to eat this, shower, and sleep for ten hours.”
I get up and turn to the door. “There’s cream cheese in the refrigerator and some milk. I wasn’t sure if you took it in the coffee.” I say it as casually as I can, because if she knew I got that stuff mostly so she’d have more food to eat, she might dump it out of spite.