Chapter 32
LEONORE
It takes less than two minutes for the buzzer to ring again as I stand behind the reception desk, counting the cash.
Assuming it’s Cian, I stalk back to the door and rip it open, my scalpel ready to draw blood this time. “Listen, asshole, I thought I made myself very clear—”
But it isn’t Cian standing on my doorstep.
It’s Silas.
His eyes drop to the scalpel pointed at his face.
One eyebrow shoots up, and then a dark cloud passes through his expression.
For a moment, we just stand here. Me in my scrubs, with a scalpel aimed at him. And him in a dark coat with his hands in his pockets, his demeanor cool and calm like he doesn’t have a sharp-as-fuck blade pointed at him.
“Interesting greeting,” he says.
I lower the scalpel. “Sorry. I thought you were someone else.”
“Clearly.” His gaze doesn’t leave mine. “Who was it?”
“Nobody.”
“Nobody has you answering the door with a blade?”
“It’s a scalpel, not a sword. Let’s not get carried away.”
“What happened?” he asks again with more bite this time. The last time he saw me, I was riding his cock in his car in front of my house after we went to the club. Then I politely told him I no longer needed him and that it was time for him to leave.
“A client got a little handsy, so I showed him what would happen if he tried it again. End of story.”
His expression hardens. “Define handsy.”
“Define none of your business.”
“Leonore.” He draws out my name through gritted teeth. He very rarely uses my name, so I mimic his tone.
“Silas.”
He shakes his head and casually leans his arm above my head against the doorframe, looking down at me. “What is it with you?” His gaze narrows, and I don’t know what he’s looking for, but it makes me shift uncomfortably.
“I told you I took care of it. No big deal.”
His beautiful eyes search my face. He wants to push.
But he doesn’t because he has already learned that I hold everything close to my chest. He looks good tonight, but he does every night.
I don’t dare ask what he was doing before he arrived here, but the fact that I have no new bodies arriving means that business must be going well or at least orderly for a night.
“You’re very calm for a woman who deals with the kind of clients who need reminding of their manners with a scalpel,” he says pointedly.
I shrug. “It’s part of the job and part of my charm. I know how to handle myself.”
The edges of his lips tilt up. I think about the time he walked into my morgue, and I pulled that very same scalpel to his throat. Ahh, such fond memories.
“My question is, why are you so good at it?” he asks, and I don’t like how closely he looks or what he might see.
“Pure talent. Now are you going to tell me why you’re here?”
“Do you realize you avoid all questions about yourself with a question?”
“Do I?”
Amusement plays on his lips.
“I’m taking you to breakfast,” he announces.
I lean against the doorframe and study him. “Is that so?”
“Yes.”
“What makes you think I’m free?”
“Are you?”
“No.”
“Then make time.”
I try not to smile at his persistence.
But fail.
I don’t know what it is about this guy that makes me smile.
On paper, he is everything I should avoid.
He’s the head of a powerful crime family.
He could make me disappear with little effort, and experience tells me I should run in the opposite direction.
Yet the way he’s looking at me right now tells me he’d find no delight in my pain—unless I ask for it, of course.
He’s not like the others.
Which is a stupid thing to think.
I know a hundred men like him, and I know firsthand to be wary of them.
Don’t fall into the same trap. I advised Tori against doing the same. But Tori and I are different, because fundamentally, I do know how to handle myself.
However, that small voice inside me, unfurling bit by bit with curiosity, makes it hard to walk away.
I mean, exactly how much trouble can I get into over eggs on toast and a cup of coffee?
“Fine,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest. “But you’ll pay for my time.”
An arrogant smile spreads over his lips. “That wouldn’t exactly make it a date if I’m paying you then, would it?”
“Exactly, ten thousand for my time, and you’re paying.” His eyebrows perk up. “I’m a busy woman, you know,” I say as I look at my nails and the scalpel in my hand.
“I certainly hope I’m the only one getting those special friend rates,” he jokes, and I can’t help but smile.
“Don’t push your luck. I still have the scalpel,” I remind him as a new wave of uneasiness sinks into my stomach. Not because I fear Silas when I should; on the contrary. I’m becoming too accustomed to him being around. And I know better than to get close or depend on anyone else.