Page 35 of Savage Lover

“I hope not. Gray hairs are good for business,” Fergus says, smiling. “Nobody trusts a young man.”

“That’s not what I hear,” Papa says, turning to shake Callum’s hand, too. “I hear you’re getting all kinds of things done.”

“Yes, we are,” Callum says.

The other half of that “we” isn’t Fergus—it’s Aida, my baby sister. She kisses Papa on both cheeks.

I never thought I’d see the day, but Aida actually looks really fucking professional. She’s wearing a man’s dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up, tucked into high-waisted trousers. She’s got on heels, and earrings, and even a little swipe of lip gloss. It’s not totally conventional, but she looks chic.

“What the hell is this?” I say, letting her kiss me on the cheek as well. “Where’re your sneakers?”

“Oh, I’ve still got ‘em,” Aida says, tipping me a wink. “If you want to race me.”

“I do like racing,” I say.

Aida’s eyes gleam. “Got any good stories for me?” she says.

She’s been down to the street races a few times. I never let her use my car. That would be like handing a spear gun to Jason Voorhees—it’s just begging for mayhem.

“Bella Page tried to race Camille Rivera,” I tell her.

“I don’t like Bella,” Aida says, making a face.

“Who would?”

“I dunno. Maybe those people who like eating weapons-grade hot sauce.”

“Masochists,” I say.

“Right.” She grins. “So what happened?”

“Bella almost rolled her G-Wagon.”

“Ugh! Can’t believe I missed that. Who’s the girl that won?”

“Camille?”

“Yeah.”

“Her dad owns that auto shop on Wells.”

“Hm. Is she a friend of yours?” Aida says, her sharp eyes scanning my face.

Goddamnit. Aida is like a heat-seeking missile. If there’s some information you’re trying to hide from her, she’ll hone in on it with breathtaking precision, then hound it out of you.

And I’m not even hiding anything. There’s nothing to tell.

“I sort of know her,” I say.

“In the biblical sense?” Aida teases me, in her most annoying and persistent way.

“No.”

“A girl you haven’t slept with? What, does she have three eyes? No teeth? What’s the problem?”

Jesus Christ. I’ve already given Aida too much ammunition.

The truth is that Camille isn’t my type at all. But I sort of felt like we might be becoming friends—a little bit. I kind of liked her. And I don’t like anybody. I barely like my own family. In fact, right now, I’m only 50/50 on Aida.

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