Page 27 of Sixth Sin

“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?”

---