Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
“What are you doing here?”
The question wasn’t rude. More genuinely curious. And I didn’t blame him for wondering, since most of the staff at the Candy Bar—hell, most of the staff at ESP—wouldn’t be able to afford a glass of water at Rutherford’s.
“I had a… a date.” I lifted my chin and tried not to notice the way his suit—possibly custom, definitely expensive—lovingly hugged every inch of his broad frame.
His eyes widened. “A… date?”
The way I’d said it was normal. A reference to a man taking me out to dinner for the purpose of romance.
The way he’d said it was different. A reference to a man taking his boy toy out to dinner before fucking him. For cash.
Locke’s oh-so-serious face wore an oh-so-serious frown like he was concerned… or more likely judging me. I had to wonder if he’d ever had sex for fun in his oh-so-serious life.
Not that it mattered. His assumption suited my purposes since it fit with the cover.
I stood up straight as if trying not to look ashamed. “Yes. As if it’s any of your business. Good night.”
I stepped toward the door before remembering to wash my hands. I had to do an embarrassing little sidestep slink to the basin.
Locke stepped up behind me, his larger body making me feel hemmed in. I refused to meet his eyes in the mirror.
“Is your date someone I know?”
The warm air from his words hit the back of my ear and made me shiver. It was cold, surrounded by all that marble tile.
“How would I know if you know him?” I tried putting a flirty tone on my words.
I was actually feeling a little cheated that I couldn’t flirt with him for real. Fucking straights, always ruining a good time.
“Is it the man from the club?” he asked.
I flicked water off my hands and turned to grab a linen towel from the pristine stack on a silver platter. “As if he could afford me.”
“How much is your date paying you?”
I tossed the towel in the nearby basket and turned to face him. “The same amount you paid me for our bet, babe. Maybe after a few more dates, I can afford this place on my own. Excuse me.”
As I stepped past him, he caught my wrist in his warm, firm grip. “Wait.”
My heart skipped in my chest. Locke didn’t scare me in the least. But he did surprise me. And that scared me a little. “What?”
“You’re going to let some stranger fuck you for a thousand dollars?”
I lifted my chin and met his eyes. They were just as intense and sexy as I remembered. Every cell in my body wanted this man’s attention, even if he currently thought I was a whore.
“Baby, I’m going to suck his dick for a grand. If he wants to fuck me, it’ll be five. And right now, you’re costing me money.”
Not gonna lie, it was a little liberating to get my Pretty Woman on. All I needed was a tall pair of zip-up boots and a killer wig.
The fact that I’d suck Locke Maris’s dick right here and now for free made me want to laugh my ass off. But mostly, I wanted to disgust him enough to get out of there before blowing my cover.
I wasn’t exactly the most experienced operative in the world, and one of our first lessons had been not to bite off more than we could chew. The more lies you told, the larger the cover burden became.
Locke’s nostrils flared, and his fingers relaxed, letting my hand fall. He nodded once.
I left the men’s room, feeling his eyes burn me the whole way out.
Just in case he was behind me, I made a small production out of going to a now-empty table and looking confused and frustrated that my “date” had seemingly abandoned me.
Then I got the hell out of there.
As soon as the frigid night air hit my skin, I shivered for real and pulled my coat tighter. I hung a right and began walking toward the Lower East Side, tucking my chin down inside my scarf and tugging my beanie out of my pocket. Only three blocks later, a sleek, dark SUV pulled over, and the rear window rolled down.
Locke’s frown hadn’t changed but had somehow managed to get even sexier. “Get in.”
“No way. I don’t want a ride.”
The vehicle kept pace with me despite someone behind honking their horn.
He stayed calm. “Get. In.”
This was a very bad idea, but then again, it was fucking freezing out here. Whatever digestive benefits I’d get from walking would be negated by my freezing to death before I made it home.
Besides, WWJD? By which I meant What Would Go-Go-Boy Jethro Do?
“Fine,” I muttered, yanking the door open and climbing in. The air was blessedly warm, and I couldn’t help but groan a little in relief as I slid deep into the buttery leather bucket seat. “Forty-seven Market Street, please,” I called up to his driver.