My cell buzzes with another text from Corey. He’s been texting and calling me all day, begging me to reconsider, to talk to him first.
No way. I’ve made up my mind. I’m doing this. I’m going to fix myself and move on with my life.
“So…” Riot waves a hand at our surroundings and turns his sleet-gray gaze on me. He grins lopsidedly, a dimple flashing, and although my brain is caught up in doubts and memories, my body tightens, recognizing the sexiness of it. “I’m here. You’re here. Shall we lay our cards on the table? Or rather the bar.”
He taps his large hand on the polished bar, and that earns him an annoyed look from the bartender who’s serving a martini to another customer at the other end.
I shouldn’t be amused. I should be annoyed, too. Turning away from him, I hide the twitching of my lips.
Jesus.
“I told the agency what I want,” I say, turning back toward him, my face composed once more. “I know your price.”
“Right.” He clears his throat, and a flush rises to his cheekbones. “My price.”
“You know what I mean,” I whisper, realizing how it sounded.
“Yeah, of course.” The flush lingers, though, and a strong emotion glitters in his eyes. “I hope they told you that specific details are worked out between me and the client.”
“Details?”
“Conditions. Restrictions. Extras.”
Ah. I knew there would be a catch. After all, they aren’t as costly as some of the other escort agencies out there.
“Will you give me a price list?” I ask.
That hotness in his eyes flares for a second, before he looks away.
“Yeah, I’ll do that,” he drawls quietly. “So you can make up your mind on what comes next. What you want to do with me, and what you want me to do with you.”
Sounds a little dangerous. A little exciting.
Which is bullshit. He’s just spinning his tale, trying to sell me more, get more money. He offers services. I’ll pay for the ones I want.
Simple as that. End of story.
“I’m waiting.” I nod at the bartender who arrives to take our order. I ask for a Strawberry Daiquiri because I can’t pass up anything with strawberries in it, and he asks for a fruit juice. “You don’t drink? Watching your weight?”
It’d make sense, in his line of work.
He blinks at me, brows drawing together. Then he relaxes. “No, it’s not that. I don’t drink when I work.”
“Part of the code?”
“My code, yeah.”
We sit in silence as our drinks are prepared, then placed in front of us. I wait until the bartender moves on to the next customer, then I take a sip from my cocktail.
“You do get paid for sex, right?” I want this out of the way as quickly as possible. “The agency said this is something I need to negotiate with you in person.”
He puts his glass down hard, and liquid sloshes over the top. “Damn.” He ducks his head, then smirks. He looks at me sideways with a twinkle in his eye and very deliberately licks the juice off his fingers. “That’s right. Let’s negotiate.”
My breath goes out in a whoosh. That’s...sexy. It should be gross and off-putting. I mean he’s being lewd on purpose, but damn, those gray eyes, and the dimples, and the smirk...not to mention his scent that’s filling my senses, spice and salt, it all shoots straight to my core, bypassing my rational mind.
And that’s his job, right? He’s playing his gigolo part, and I’m falling for it like an idiot.
Which is...Fine, right? After all, I’m asking for it. Asking to hire him for sex. Even if it’s to cure myself of my affliction, something he doesn’t know. Something he doesn’t need to know about, not if it all goes according to my plan.