“There’s a thin line between love and hate,a chuisle.”
I stare out the window the rest of the car ride so he doesn’t see my smile.The fucker.
Chapter eighteen
When She Falls
Cash
Harlowisfunny.Sheloves to give up control, but will also fight ’til her nails are bleeding for a single shred of it. I tell her to get on her knees and suck like a good little slut, and she holds her tongue out ready and waiting.
I tell her I like her hair long and light, and she walks into the kitchen the next morning with hair a shade away from black and cut to her shoulders.
She saunters in, her brows slightly raised as if she doesn’t know why I’m staring, but her lip twitching gives away how amused she really is. My baby’s got some bite.
“You know what they say about eye-fucking…” She purses her lips and takes her seat at the island. As our habit has become, she rests her elbows on the counter until I slide her a fresh mug of coffee.
“You’re still hot as hell and make my dick just as hard.” I swirl the soy milk she likes into the hot coffee, and she bites back a smile. I pat the counter in front of me. “Why don’t you hop up on here and spread your pretty legs and I’ll show you.”
She takes a sip of her coffee and rakes me with her gaze over the rim. Her eyes catch on the gold crucifix hanging between the open buttons of my black dress shirt. She scoffs. “Interesting choice in jewelry.”
“And why’s that?”
“There’s nothing holy about you, Cash Fox.” Her taunting use of my full name makes my cock jump in my matching black slacks.
“Except for when I’m making you see God. What would you call that if not holy?” She chokes on her coffee, and I relish the blush creeping up her cheeks. “Do you doubt me,a chuisle?”
“I’m going out today,” she states, seemingly picking up my habit of ignoring questions I don’t want to answer.
“Okay, I’ll come with.”
“No. If the Bratva is no longer a threat to me, I’m going by myself. I can’t very well show up to a client meeting with a babysitter, can I?” My brain quickly processes every barely perceptible clue that she’s lying to my face.
Her pitch raises uncharacteristically high on her question. She flits her gaze to my forehead and back to my eyes—she’s trying to maintain eye contact but physically can’t. There’s an added level of sass, which she must think is convincing when it’s really a dead give away.
“How did you make a meeting without your phone?” I know she never retrieved her old phone after the shooting because I cleaned out her locker myself.
“I grabbed my laptop from my apartment the other day.” Another lie. Her laptop was left wedged into a couch cushion when I snuck into her apartment.
“You know you don’t have to work anymore if you don’t want to.” She stares at me like she's waiting for a punchline to follow.
“Right.” She laughs. “Because relying on you for physical security isn’t enough, I have to rely on you for financial security too.”
I act like I don’t hear her and pull out my phone. After a minute or two of silence while I look like I’m ignoring her being on my phone, she stands with a huff. “Okay, great talk. I’m gonna go now.”
“Done,” I say, and slide my phone back into my pocket. She cocks her hip and stares at me to elaborate. “I think five million should be good for now. What do you think?”
She gapes. “Five million what?”
“Dollars, of course. Paid direct deposit to the account you gave for the Den. It’s yours. I can’t take it back or hold it over you or any other idea you have.”
“You’re kidding.” She runs her hands through her cropped hair.
“Serious as a heart attack.”
Her eyes expand like she was just told she won the lottery—and I guess she did. But then she clamps her expression down and fixes me with a no-nonsense look. “This doesn’t mean I’m not going out by myself.”
“Fine. Roman will go with you.” I cross my arms and ignore the fluttering in my stomach at seeing her get all flustered.