I ignored him. Normally, I would’ve had a smart remark. I had an endless store of them. Today, I’d keep them to myself. I didn’t need to get in any more fights, thanks.
Tapping out a quick text to Sabrina, I explained I had to visit an ATM—
Oh, that was a good point. I needed to establish a US bank. Not that I had any money yet. Just as the little I’d had in England had gone to rent and necessities like food and electricity, not to mention alcohol.
Simon should’ve learned at least that about me, and then he would’ve known for sure we came from the same addictive bloodline.
I rewrote the text and asked for a minor loan, half expecting her to tell me to fuck myself.
Worst of it was, I didn’t think I could even get the job done right now. My right hand was in rough shape from the punches I’d thrown.
All of me was in rough shape.
Instead, she sent back a terse “I’ll be right down” and left me sitting there with the rude bloke who was humming an annoying tune that sounded a lot like the Jeopardy theme song I’d heard in countless vids.
Sabrina walked out of the building and came straight to the car, her movements quick and purposeful. My driver made a sound close to “umphuggg” and nearly shat himself when she opened the passenger door and leaned in, bringing with her the scent of honey.
Honey?
I rubbed my aching belly. Then again, I was hungry.
“How much do we owe you?”
“T-thank you for coming to me. I mean, coming down. So fast. On those heels.” My driver still seemed to be in some sort of distress.
I smirked at his fluttering until I remembered my own predicament with Zoe.
Surely I had more game than this chap. He was pathetic.
“I manage.” Sabrina smiled thinly. “The fare?”
“Oh, yeah. Right. Uh, look, on the house if I can get your number.”
“You can’t.” Delivered with a polite, slightly feral smile. “Now what do we owe you?”
The driver frowned. “You can’t be banging pussy-eater back there? He’s not even American.”
“Every man should be a pussy-eater, so I don’t take that as an insult.” Though I’d never been considered a poster boy for the act before.
Were American males truly against such an enjoyable pursuit? If so, I should be very popular on these shores.
Not with Zoe, however. I’d probably get further with her if I told her I hated sex. She seemed to distrust me and everything I stood for.
And she didn’t even know the half.
Sabrina ignored us both and withdrew a couple of bills, tossing them on the passenger seat. I was quite certain it was more than my ride and a healthy tip. “Come along, Ian.”
I didn’t appreciate her tone, but I was ready to get out of this car. “Thanks, mate,” I said automatically as I disembarked.
Once we were in the lobby of Ripper, I turned to Sabrina. “Thanks. You saved my bacon. You can just deduct that from whatever you’re ponying up to sign me.”
She said nothing at first, just eyed me up and down. “What have you been doing since I saw you last?”
“I just came from Zoe’s. We were on the beach, that’s why I’m probably pink.”
Her eyes narrowed at the mention of Zoe. Hers weren’t the only ones. Christ, I hadn’t meant to bring her up.
“What about the bruises? The cuts? You had some the other night, but at least those were nearly gone and easily disguised with makeup. Now you look like a street brawler. Minus the kitten wear and the…bedazzled sunglasses?” She plucked them off my head and pursed her lips. “What are you on right now?”