Page 46 of Diamond In The Rough

Perhaps that’s how he remains alive inside a treacherous world.

“Food,” he repeats. “It’s lunchtime.”

“Anytime is lunchtime if you try hard enough.” I locate his documents and pull them from my drawer with a flourish. Then straightening my back, I turn and lower into my chair.

I don’t offer him a seat. And I don’t intend to, either. “I’ll eat once we’re done here.”

“We won’t be done here until you’ve eaten.” He drops his hands into his pockets, settling back on his heels, as though at ease. “I won’t pay until you’ve had lunch.”

“Okay, well…” I set my things down, open my top desk drawer, and pull out a granola bar only about four weeks past date. I show it to him the way a child might show off a sticker or an award, then I set down the plastic-wrapped meal, making the packaging crinkle. “I have a meal. And I also have our banking details.”

Picking up a business card I keep on hand for exactly these situations, since reading account details out loud feels a little tactless, I slide the information across my desk. “If you could make payment now, that’d be great.”

“These my authenticity certificates?” Ignoring the card, he leans across to take the file instead. After flipping it open, he peruses for only a moment, his eyes flickering from line to line, his lips moving as he speed-reads. “These come with my purchase?”

“Yes—”

“Excellent.” He spins and starts toward the door.

“Hey!” I shove up from my chair, gritting my teeth when it rolls back and hits the filing cabinet. “Malone! You don’t own those documents until you’ve paid.”

He grabs the door handle and swings the glass wide, the sounds of heavy traffic wafting through a deceptively sound-proofed sheet of glass. “And I won’t pay until you’ve eaten something.”

I point at the granola bar.

He snorts. “Something from outside.” He steps through the door and onto the sidewalk. “Move your ass, Ms. Hale.”

“Get out there, Tiia!” Jakeline strides to the threshold of her office, pointing a threatening finger toward his back. “You get those documents back! Flirting is cute, but unless you get me my money, he’s now in possession of something that does not belong to him—something wildly valuable that cannot be reproduced.”

“But—”

“Go!”

“For god’s sake.” I sprint around my desk, leaving everything behind. My phone. My purse. My life and sanity.

Charging across the shop and through the door, I come to a skidding stop when I find Micah waiting just on the other side.

He smiles when our eyes meet, tucks the file under his left arm, and grabs my elbow with his right hand. “Good choice. Any restaurants nearby you’d recommend?”

“Um…” Stunned, my psyche searches for balance, adjusting from the cool, quiet confines of Colby’s Antiques, to the blistering hot, noisy, smelly streets of New York in the summer. “I don’t?—”

“You like Italian.” Confident, he starts along the sidewalk, commanding space so that even those who don’t recognize him in their rush from Point A to Point B still give his expansive frame a wide berth.

Around us, cars honk as they battle Manhattan traffic, and pedestrians chatter—most often into their phones, and not to the person right beside them.

“Busy day at work?”

I look up at him, getting a view of the underside of his jaw. A front-row seat to his stubbled skin. His thick neck and well-established shoulders. And when I realize I’m staring, I shake my head and ask, “What?”

“Work. Are you busy?”

“Uh… not particularly.” I try to jerk my hand free, but his grip is determined, and I’m not nearly strong enough to be rid of him without making a scene. “Colby’s isn’t really a drop-in kind of store. Most clients have already researched what they want, and make an appointment to see the item they’re interested in. You?”

Curious, he glances down. “Me, what?”

“Work.” I’m so dumb. He works for the mafia! “Busy?” Yeah, stupid! Busy being a criminal.

“Just another day in paradise,” he chuckles, loosening his grip on my arm so his fingers become a caress instead of a pinching pain. “Biano’s is still a few blocks from here, but—” He stops on a dime and turns us toward the street, because directly on the other side is a sign with red, green, and white lettering. “Does Barone’s work for you?”

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