Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128307 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 642(@200wpm)___ 513(@250wpm)___ 428(@300wpm)
Her hand freezes halfway to the doorknob when a trickle of jealousy makes me speak before thinking. “They have oils for that, freckles. You don’t need to settle for a man’s company.”
She stares at me for several long seconds, her chest thrusting, before she briskly shakes her head. Then she pulls open the door, exposing her date to my unrequested judgment.
In less than a nanosecond, I can tell that he isn’t Macy’s type. He’s tall, his head the height of the door, but he’s overweight and has dark hair and sleeves of tattoos.
Macy has never gone for dark and brooding men.
I thought I was more her type.
A villainous sneer crosses her date’s face when he mistakes my shock at my inner monologue as disapproval, and it makes his appearance even more brutish.
Since his dart didn’t entirely miss the board, I wink at him, doubling his snarl before Macy’s abrupt closure of the door steals his retort.
As fast as Macy ushers him down the corridor, I enter the kitchen to scan his handwritten credentials. As expected, Macy’s background check is thorough, but it won’t stop me from saying, “Get me everything you can on Samuel Newark from San Diego.” His social security number ends my reply.
Brandon remains quiet, not wanting to out himself for spying on me.
It is a pointless endeavor.
“I know you’re watching, punk. I’ve felt you scrutinizing me since you disconnected our call.”
A huff rustles through the speakers of the television before Brandon banishes any theories that he isn’t a snoop. “Good? That was the only word you could come up with? Let me guess, you’re also one of those people who fish without a worm on the hook?”
I narrow my eyes before shifting them to the now switched-on TV. Brandon winks with the same arrogance I used on Macy’s date before he asks me to recite Samuel’s social security number again.
8
MACY
The twinkling flicker of a lit candle dances over the pristine white tablecloth of an elegantly set table. This restaurant is in one of the city’s most prestigious hotels. With crystal chandeliers hanging from the ceiling and a live pianist playing a gentle melody in the corner, I can see why it has a five-star rating.
My date, Samuel, sits across from me. His eyes scan the menu as often as they appreciatively absorb the only portion of visible skin high on my thighs.
He has no idea that I’m here undercover, and I intend to keep it that way.
Sammy, as he asked me to call him when he opened the passenger-side door of his ride for me and fastened my belt, is a known gang affiliate. His extensive criminal record indicates that he is involved in a range of illegal activities. My aim for the past seven weeks has been to gather enough evidence to bring him down, and tonight’s date is a crucial part of that mission.
I didn’t tell Grayson about the real purpose of our date because he would have stopped me from going. Or worse, he would have helmed my undercover sting, making the situation even more awkward. Instead, I lied to him, saying I was going out to avoid childbirth with a vagina no one has touched in years.
Since there was a heap of honesty in my concerned expression when I fumbled out my comment, Grayson accepted my excuse.
As I glance around the restaurant, a pang of guilt hits the middle of my chest. Even while working on opposite coastlines, Grayson has always been there for me, supporting me through thick and thin. But this is something I have to do on my own. It is impossible to fake an interest in someone when the epitome of your type is instructing your every move via an earpiece.
The hue Grayson’s voice causes my cheeks convinces our targets that we’re seconds from a tumble between sticky sheets. Although I want Sammy to believe the same tonight, I still think it was best to leave Grayson in the dark—for now.
I take a deep breath, steadying myself for the task at hand as Sammy looks up from his menu. A wolfish smirk spreads across his face as lust fires in his hooded gaze. “Have you decided what you want to eat?”
He thinks my dilated eyes are a compliment to his needy smirk.
I’ve yet to reach the same conclusion.
I muster up a fake grin, striving to appear as flirtatious as possible. “I’ll have the filet mignon.” After closing my menu, I set it aside. “How about we save our dessert selections until we’ve had the chance to fully peruse the menu?” I graze my teeth over my lower lip, hiding my wish to gag, while my eyes do the same slow rake of his body as he did to mine earlier.
“Excellent choice.” He signals for the waiter to come over before placing our orders for entrées. “We will have two filet mignons, medium rare, and a bottle of your finest red wine.”