Dominic
Present Day
Angel narrows her eyes. “What’s that look for?”
We’re sitting across from each other at an outdoor cafe about ten miles outside Chula Vista.
Coming here was a strategic move to force her out of her comfort zone.
At the bar and her apartment, she had the upper hand.
Now we’re on neutral ground, and there’s nowhere to run.
No Violet to interrupt. No door to throw me out of.
And I’m not leaving without the answer I want.
“Nothing,” I mutter, forcing myself not to stare at her like a fucking pervert.
She doesn’t buy it. Made evident by the exaggerated eye roll as she dumps at least a quarter cup of sugar in her coffee. I watch her lift the cup to her mouth, and she catches me staring at her lips. She pauses, the corner of her mouth curling in a knowing smirk.
Fuck.
This devil-kisses-my-ass vibe she has going on is doing nothing to calm the hard-on I’ve had for damn near fifteen hours. There are only so many times a man can jerk off before his dick needs medical attention.
Angel opened the door before I could knock this morning, dressed to kill in a pair of cut-off jean shorts and a camouflaged shirt with crisscross ties half-way down her chest. On anyone else it would look basic, but on her it looks effortlessly sexy.
Angel clears her throat again, her hands locked tight around her cup. “You were saying?”
I study her, saying nothing. There’s wisdom in silence most people don’t take the time to hear.
After all, humans have two ears and one mouth for a reason, a fact that seems to escape most of Los Angeles.
While the loudest voice usually gets the most attention, sometimes, it’s the most subtle things that make the most noise.
And Angel’s noise is literally a noise. Every time she’s uncomfortable, she clears her throat. I don’t even think she’s aware she’s doing it. And I’m sure as hell not going to tell her.
“I was going to say thank you for hearing me out,” I say.
“You didn’t give me much choice.”
“Have you thought about my offer?”
As usual, she makes me wait for an answer as she takes a thoughtful sip from her cup. The corners of her mouth turn down as she studies the sugary liquid. “Haven’t thought about much else.”
“And?”
There’s a loud clink as she settles her cup back into its saucer. Turning, she digs through a faded canvas bag and pulls out a newspaper, those smoky green eyes flashing as she holds it up to my face. “Have you read this?”
“Is that a serious question? That’s like asking Bill Gates if he follows the stock market.”
“Okay, I’ll give you that. My point is, the public is tearing all these girls coming forward to shreds, Dominic.
” She clears her throat again as she points to the bottom of the page.
“This poll alone claims seventy-two percent of the country thinks she’s dead.
This is a bad idea. We’re going to crash and burn. ”
We’re going to.
Her wording doesn’t escape me. “Does that mean you accept?”
“I’m speaking hypothetically.” The words fall flat, her attention settling on something over my shoulder. Whatever it is causes her to lean forward. When she tilts her chin up and peers even closer, I see the moment aggression and petulance give way to curiosity and intrigue.
I twist around to find a woman sitting at a table behind us. There’s nothing out of the ordinary about that, but it’s what she’s holding that catches my attention.
I watch as she shakes her head at the same paper Angel’s holding, muttering to herself. “Fifteen years later, and they still haven’t found her. Maybe she’s the only smart one in the bunch.”
“Excuse me.” I flash a smile so bright it belongs in a toothpaste commercial. “Are you talking about the Romanov murders?”
Fact number one: a polished smile will hide a lot of rust.
The woman smiles back. “Yes, why?”
“Well, I couldn’t help but overhear, and I’m intrigued with your insightful analysis.”
Fact number two: flattery will get you everywhere.
She blushes and beams and whatever other shit women do when falling for a cheap line. I’m almost insulted. She could at least make me work for it.
Stifling a smile, I cock my head to the side. “So, have you heard about the reward?”
I can’t see Angel’s face, but there’s no mistaking the subtle fury rippling off her in waves. I’ve caught her off-guard, which was what I wanted. She’s too rigid. Too planned. Too wrapped up in that bullet-proof vest she wears like a shield.
Enthusiasm passes over the woman’s face. I don’t know her, but I can see dollar signs spinning like a slot machine in her eyes.
“Well, who hasn’t?” She taps the paper in her hands then motions around us. “We’re in the mecca where opportunity is king, are we not?”
Not, considering we’re sitting in a cafe outside Chula Vista, but I let that one go. “True, and I believe that phrase is ‘crap is king.’ Much like a reward dependent on producing a body that’s been shark bait for a decade and a half.”
Her lips part in shock. She wasn’t expecting that. “Are you telling me you believe she’s dead? That the killer took the time to take one body out of the house and dump it in the Pacific?”
“Maybe, maybe not.”
“Well, there were rumors, you know.” Folding her arms in front of her, she leans forward. “Drugs, sex, vendettas. I mean even royalty can’t screw people over without eventually getting screwed themselves.”
“What does that have to do with Alexandra?”
Both of us turn to see Angel, her lips pressed in a tight line, and her eyebrows drawn together in concentration. She’s invested. It’s not just words on a page anymore. It’s real.
And it’s about to be payday.
I have to bite the inside of my cheek to keep from smirking.
“The girl was eight years old,” the woman blurts out. “Some people claim seeing that stuff day in and day out really did a number on her. Messed with her mind.” She taps her finger against her temple and shakes her head.
Behind me, Angel clears her throat. “They think she’s crazy?”
Setting the newspaper down, the woman reaches for her coffee. “I think that girl is out there getting a good laugh at the media frenzy she’s caused.”
Mic-fucking-drop.
I couldn’t have set it up any better if I’d planned it.
Tipping my chin to the side, I hold Angel’s conflicted stare. “And what if she came forward?”
The woman takes another sip of coffee. “I’d say it proves my point.” Nodding toward Angel, she lets out a huff. “Crazy? More like crazy like a fox.”
I can’t hold back the smirk any longer. Shifting back around in my chair, I soak in the sight of Angel, mouth open, eyes blazing, and fists clenched.
I’ll pay for this. But it’s worth every dime.
Angel’s mouth snaps shut. Heat radiates off her. It starts at the base of her neck, and spreads like an erupting volcano up her throat, painting her face the color of lava. I’m getting ready to get my ass handed to me, and sick son of a bitch that I am, the thought makes me hard as fucking stone.
Bring it, baby.
She cocks her chin. “What the hell is that smirk all about?”
“Nothing.” Nothing but me reading you like a book, cupcake. “It’s nothing. So, did that answer your question?”
Glancing down, she runs her thumb along the edge of the newspaper. “You think one woman in a cafe is an accurate representation of popular opinion?”
“Jesus Christ,” I groan, slumping back into my chair. “What more do you want from me?”
She shrugs, those full, sinful lips curling in an amused smirk. “Do you really want me to answer that?”
Yes.
No!
Fuck.
This meeting has gone so off the rails it’s barreling into oncoming traffic. Damn this woman and her evasive bullshit. “So, let’s discuss the logistics of how this will play out.”
“Let’s not,” she growls, her flirtatious tone hitting an acidic note.
I’m not surprised. It’s the response I expected. She’s been more than uncooperative and somewhat hostile all morning. “Angel, come on, this is ridiculous. Most people would jump at the opportunity for this kind of fame.”
“And how should I do that, Dominic?” she hisses.
“Telling Alexandra’s story in her own words. Your words,” I add.
“My own words, right.” She snorts, throwing the phrase back in my face. “So, if I refuse, you’ll let this whole thing go?”
“No, I’ll eventually find a more cooperative and less argumentative girl to accept my offer. But it will be a lot more work and take a lot more effort on my part.”
“And why is that?”
Because you’re an impassive time suck, that’s why.
“She won’t have your talent. She won’t have your natural ability or charm.” I play games with people. I stir the pot and watch it boil. And yes, I use words as weapons, but I’ve never been more honest than when I lock eyes with her and admit, “You could sell water to a drowning man.”
Her cheeks flush. “I thought you said I was uncooperative and argumentative?”
I wink. “Only to me.” When she scowls, I spread my palms on the table. “You heard that woman. The public wants your words. They need your words. Where you’ve been. What you’ve been doing. How you ended up in Chula-fucking-Vista for God’s sake.”
“You.”
“What?”
“You keep saying ‘you’ instead of Alexandra.”
“That’s because as of right now you are Alexandra. Forget Last First Kiss. This is the role of your life, Angel. Play it well enough and you’ll leave this world a legend.”
“After a lifetime of lies.” Angel’s face tightens, and I can’t explain it, but she just looks sad. Exhausted. As if she’s lost in the struggle of her own web.
I don’t know what makes me do it. Raw instinct? Lingering lust? Satan and his sick sense of humor? Whatever the reason, I reach across the table and grasp her hand. “Living a lifetime of lies is better than suffering one more day of your truth.”
“Says the man who hides his face behind a computer screen.”
I give her an irritated look. “Okay, cut the shit. If you don’t plan to cooperate, why agree to meet me today?”
She stares down at our still joined hands. “To ask you to let this go.”