Page 6 of The Price of Forever

“Somebody hired me. And I’m doing the job I was hired for.”

She lifted her chin, staring at me in a way that made the thing with my balls happen again. There was something about the hipster clothing paired with the stripper makeup and the no-fucks-given conversation that had me short circuiting. Jordan was an anomaly. One that had me deeply intrigued.

“Who hired you?” Her question landed like a knife.

“Axel and Damian Fairchild.”

At this, her eyes fluttered shut and she visibly crumpled. Her jaw flexed and she pressed her magenta-tipped index and middle fingers to the center of her forehead.

“You have to be fucking kidding me.”

“They want to ensure your safety, which is no laughing matter to them.”

She laughed, but it was brittle. “Oh, I’m sure they are very concerned about my safety. Now that they remembered they even have a sister.”

I wasn’t ready to wade into that family dynamic. I knew the Fairchilds’ side, and couldn’t even claim to know the whole picture. But the whole picture didn’t concern me. I was only invested in the picture I was hired for.

“Why don’t you just go home now?” she went on. “I’ll buy your drink. You can stop wasting your time.” She leaned in closer, inspecting my soda. “What the fuck are you even drinking?”

“Root beer.”

“Odd choice for a Saturday night in Manhattan, but whatever.” She pulled out a bifold wallet from her backpack and thumbed through the fattest stack of bills I’d seen in recent history. Whatever she did inside the club walls, it paid well. She pulled out a twenty and patted it against the bar. “Okay? You’re dismissed.”

“Do you typically take the subway at this hour or do you call for a private ride?”

A cocky grin curled her plump, pink lips. “Why the fuck would I tell you?”

“You don’t have to. But the way you get home has degrees of risk that would be helpful to assess. Including your level of intoxication.”

“I’m a single girl in New York City. You think I don’t know about the fucking risks?”

“Do you carry pepper spray?” I asked.

She blinked once, tipping her head. “I’m not an amateur. I have three different ways to defend myself on my body at all times, including eight-inch heels that double as harpoons. I hear they work best on close protection officers. They’ll touch your brain Egyptian-style. Are we done here?”

I lifted my palms, trying not to show my amusement. A prepared woman was absolutely an aphrodisiac. Not that she’d ever hear that from my lips.

“And don’t follow me,” she added. “If you even try, I’ll make sure you know just how risk aware I am.”

“Noted.”

She sent me another long, level look before pushing off the bar and heading back to her friend at the opposite end. Jordan popped on a bright smile and received her gin and tonic. She settled into a chair, clinking glasses with the other woman before taking a sip.

This was my cue to leave. But after seeing those soulful blue-gray eyes up close, it was hard to leave. Even though she’d come over with fangs bared, she still managed to sparkle. But I couldn’t stick around to see anything else.

The unconventional approach to the security assessment had failed.

I left the rest of my root beer untouched, along with Jordan’s twenty, and wove through the crowded bar for the front door. Jordan’s eyes scorched a hole through my back as I left the bar and paused on the damp sidewalk outside. I twisted to look back through the window, and her gaze flicked away from me.

She was smart. Vigilant. Good qualities for a twenty-five-year-old to have. But she could do so much better. There was no way in fuck I should have been able to waltz right into her apartment building. She needed upgrades or at the very least, someone to show her where the rotting joints of her existence were.

I booked it to my M5 parked in the corner garage. Nights like these, I didn’t mind driving through the city, when I knew the traffic would be calmer. Normally, though, I took the Fairchilds up on their offer to send a vehicle. I had no problem bathing in the luxurious life they offered, like handing off annoying city driving to someone else; I’d come to prefer it, even. But sometimes, a man just needed his BMW.

As the car hummed with power and the cold leather seat beneath me warmed, I sent a text to Damian.

SEVEN: She took a detour after the club and ran into me at the bar across the street. She recognized me from the coffee house and approached me. Didn’t go terribly well.

DAMIAN: Fuck. Where are we at now?

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