Chapter Four
CHAPTER FOUR
DOMINIC
Normally, I have a one-track mind. If my mind is on business there’s no room for pleasure. However, there’s something about this girl’s whiskey-soaked molasses voice that hits like a punch straight to my dick.
“Mind if I sit?” she asks, slipping into the vacant chair beside me.
“A question usually asked before a person sits down.”
Her eyes flicker to my cheek and the corners of her mouth twist up. “How’s your face?”
Great, comments from the studio audience. “Mind your own business, lady. I’m kind of having a bad day here.”
She drums her nails on the table. “Aren’t we all?” As I narrow a hard stare at her, she extends her hand. “I’m Angel by the way.”
I don’t want to know her name. I want her to shut up and leave me alone. She’s claimed way too much of my personal space, and it’s fucking with my ability to make rational decisions. Still, there’s something about her. A presence that radiates off her in waves.
“Good for you.” I drag the drink toward me, thinking she’ll leave, but she doesn’t budge, keeping her hand shoved in front of my face like I owe her something. I tell myself she doesn’t know who I am. She doesn’t know just how short my fuse is right now. Because if she did, she sure as hell wouldn’t be poking a stick at it.
“Usually, this is where you tell me your name,” she prods. “Or, it’s cool. I can just make one up for you.” Cocking an eyebrow, she leans back in her chair. “I’m thinking you look like a Dick. So, pleased to meet you, Dick.”
“Dick, huh?” Despite my shitty mood, I smirk and take a drag off my cigarette. “Keep it up, cupcake. I like my women bratty.”
Her answer is to glare at my hand. “You’re not supposed to smoke in here.”
And she’s not supposed to waltz over here and shit all over my night.
I ignore her, hoping she’ll get the hint to move the fuck along. Instead, two fingers pluck my cigarette from between my lips then drop it in my drink.
“What the hell is wrong with you, lady?”
Springing to her feet, she lifts my glass and taps her fingernail against the edge of it while motioning to the purple-haired bartender. “California smoking ordinance states you have to be twenty feet away from a building to light up, champ. Besides, those things can kill you.”
“Dare to dream,” I grumble.
Angel’s subsequent laughter irritates me even more. “Well, aren’t we the angry, brooding con man.”
“Is that an educated guess, or are you throwing shit out to see what sticks? ”
“Oh, I had your number the minute I laid eyes on you.” Giving a slight roll of her eyes, she tips a hip against the worn table. “If you think you’re the first one I’ve run across, you’re mistaken. However, I’ll humor you.” Nodding toward the now defiled whiskey, she adds, “Next one’s on the house.”
“Your boss is okay with you handing out free liquor?”
Her smile widens as she stares at my cheek again. “Let’s just say the free show was enough payment.” She turns to leave. “Let me know if I can get you anything else.”
“Your number would be nice.” I have no intention of using it. I’m just a bastard.
The smile fades into a scowl. “Wow. I’ve never heard that one before.”
This girl has a bite, a fact that invigorates me way more than it should. I love a good challenge, but it’s not just the thrill of the chase egging me on. It’s the fiery olive-green eyes staring back at me. Deep and rich and familiar . Like the color of earth waking to life after the dead of winter.
“Have we met before?”
“You mean did you take me home, fuck me stupid, and never call me again?” A low chuckle rumbles in her throat. “Oh, Dickie, I have higher standards than that.”
More important people have gone down in flames for much less than calling me Dickie, but I’m bending my own rules and letting it slide. I’m not usually one for sass, yet I find myself giving this girl a free pass.
A charged silence falls between us. “I suppose you think you’ve got me all figured out.”
She leans over, the ruined whiskey in her hand. “Maybe.”
“What are you really after, cupcake? A big tip? Here’s one; don’t try so hard.”
She lifts her chin. “I’m not after a damn thing you have. ”
“Is that right?” I don’t think about what I’m doing as I dig in my wallet and slam a handful of bills down. “Care to put your money where your mouth is?”
“Excuse me?”
“This is a roadside bar in Chula Vista. What’s your average tip? A dollar? Two dollars?”
Her jaw tightens. “I don’t need—”
“We all need, sweetheart. Some of us more than others. But don’t get your apron twisted. I’m not offering anything but a friendly wager.”
I wait. For what? I don’t know. Maybe for her to dump the rest of the eighty-proof ash water on my head. I wouldn’t blame her if she did.
“I’m listening.”
I hold out my hand. “Give me your order pad and a pen.” She does, and I waste no time writing down the first thing that pops into my head.
Cosmo.
Do I seem like a cosmo-drinking motherfucker? Hell no. That’s exactly the point.
Ripping off the ticket, I fold it twice and hold it up between my index and middle fingers. “This is what I would’ve ordered if you hadn’t spent the last ten minutes insulting me. Since you seem to know so much, bring me what’s on this piece of paper, and all that”—I nod toward the wad of bills—“is yours.”
Scowling, she snatches her pad and pen off the table. “And if I’m wrong?”
I don’t hide my smile this time. “You have to give me your number.”
She won’t. Even if she loses, there’s not a chance in hell this girl will give me anything but the first seven numbers that pop in her head. That doesn’t make it any less entertaining .
She pretends to think, which I’d find amusing if I weren’t so focused on the pen tapping against her full lips. “You’re on,” she says in a sultry, thick tone. “And don’t worry. I know exactly what a man like you wants.”
Nodding, I slip the folded ticket underneath my wallet. “Oh, I’m counting on it.”
I stare at her ass until it disappears behind the bar, then drop my face into my hands. A pretty face and a nice ass have been a pleasant distraction, but I still have to figure out what the hell I’m going to do. Producing Alexandra Romanov wasn’t just my contingency plan. It was my only plan. Now that it’s hit a brick wall, it’s time to formulate plan B.
Rubbing my chin, I stare back at her as she catches my eye. She’s above-average looking. A little brash, but anyone can be taught class. After a few more discerning glances, plan B begins to form.
And she’s not gonna like it.