“No, because they are scared of me. I’m the boss.”
“Well, then my perception of you stands. Unapproachable, broody, and I’ll add that you probably don’t frequent clubs like this unless you’re working.”
“And you do frequent clubs like this?” I eyed her again. Her outfit downplayed her figure but she wasn’t hiding that she was good looking. Admittedly, if you got past her belief in horoscopes, she was probably one of the better women in here tonight, lower maintenance with a body that was real, curvy, and appealing to most.
She shrugged and turned, leaning her elbows on the tall bar table behind us. We both stared at the clubbers buzzing around. She tapped her boot on the ground. “I probably shouldn’t wear shoes like this in VIP, especially when I’m standing on glass that overlooks two floors of people.”
“Are you concerned that we’re on glass?”
“Maybe more concerned that we think we have the right to be standing on others.” She shrugged and scuffed her boot back and forth. “I’m just wearing cheap shoes and I have a good friend who has a connection. What makes me so much better?”
Her words shot through me. I’d said it time and time again to my father growing up. I was just like everyone else. Yet he’d reminded me that I wasn’t. I was an Armanelli and I’d take his place one day. That made me much more important in his eyes.
In mine, I’d wanted equality. Always.
Yet here I was, standing over Miami, ready to take on another business deal. This one would solidify a power shift that I already knew was coming. I’d become the most powerful man, equaled only by my partners and I wouldn’t be mixing with people like her. I frowned at the physical discomfort I felt as my gut twisted thinking about it.
“Your shoes are fine.”
“Your shoes probably cost more than my car.” She pointed to my Italian leather Oxfords.
They’d been custom made and shipped directly. “They’re just shoes.”
She wrinkled her nose. “Come on, how much did they cost you? More than five grand?”
I scoffed at the small number and her eyes widened.
“Oh, my God. They do. Why? What is wrong with you?”
There wasn’t a reason for me to be defensive and yet… “Most women in this club would be happy to hear I’m well dressed.”
“Most women in this club are looking at you for just your money.”
“And what are you normally looking for at a club like this, Morina?” My eyes narrowed on her, not because I questioned her identity anymore. Dante normally reached out to our tech guy and my brother who was able to hack into any criminal database. I knew she was clean and a real person.
Still, I couldn’t pin down her motives for being here or her intentions in talking to me. She didn’t fit the mold of the normal woman out. She was beautiful in a unique way with her wavy hair askew and not properly brushed. Her curves were real and I knew her ass would barely fit in my hands if I gripped it now.
My dick stirred more than it had with the women who’d made their way over to me earlier tonight.
Interesting.
And she was interesting in a weird, ridiculous way and yet, I guess, hadn’t been interested in much in a long time.
Her gaze darted around the club though, like she was looking for Dante again. “I’m looking for a nice guy who gets me to have fun for a night. Nothing more and nothing less.”
“A one night stand?” I murmured, surprised.
“So?” Her head snapped back to glare at me with cold fire in her blue eyes. This look on her was straight out of a fucking magazine. She was one of those brilliant-when-being-fucked-with types.
“And you think Dante is going to do that with you?” I pushed her to see where this was going.
“He seems laid back enough to have a good time. And, frankly, I have every right to a good time. Don’t I?”
She didn’t know my friend whatsoever. “You realize he’s my security, right? So he has to be trained to fight someone if they were to approach me aggressively.”
“So he’s got a banging bod?” She shrugged and then took a deep breath. When she breathed it out, the fire in her eyes had extinguished. She hit me with a big smile and waggled her eyebrows at me. “I could get down with a good bod.”
Why did I suddenly want to prove to her that I worked out too? “You do this a lot?”