Page 76 of Any Means Necessary

“Dinner is served,” she announces, drawing me from my spot leaning in my office doorway. I join her at the table, pulling her chair out for her before taking my own seat. The first bite melts in my mouth, just like the first time.

Just like her.

The phone in my pocket buzzes audibly against my chair, amplified by the silence of our chewing. Whatever Liam said can wait, I’m too busy enjoying this sirloin.

“Who’s got you glued to your phone tonight? Roscoe?” Lexie asks.

“I’m waiting for Liam to report back on a job.”

“The Harris job?” Her voice is curious.

“Yes.” I don’t lie to her, but I don’t expand. She doesn’t need to know the nitty gritty details.

“If I’m coming with you, we’re saving every single little girl in that container. We can’t let them be sold,” she says looking across the table at me, her expression determined. Her bleeding heart is written all over her pretty face, and I know exactly how this conversation is about to go.

“I’ve been paid for Lottie, not any of the other girls,” I state, taking a gulp of my water, looking pointedly at her glass that’s still half-full. She rolls her eyes, but picks up her cup anyway. I track the way her lips caress the glass as she sips, more than pleased with her obedience.

“I’ll pay you,” she says naively. So sweet and considerate, my Lexie thinks that saving this shipping container full of little girls fixes the whole problem. Like there aren’t fifty shipments of girls for every one little girl saved. Like girls aren’t being stolen from their beds everyday, never to be seen or heard from again. This little girl just happens to have parents rich and powerful enough to make a ripple. One that led to me.

“You can’t afford me, Dewdrop.” I lean back in my chair, arms crossed over my chest as I gaze at her. Her pretty white top has little pink flowers on it that bring out the rosieness in her cheeks. The wide neckline displays her creamy decolletage and frames her gorgeous breasts.

My pretty pink nurse.

I can see her question before she asks it, and I know just what my response will be. I’ve led her exactly where I want her. And that look in her eyes tells me she knows too.

“Name your price. What do you want?” She leans forward, her breasts pressing together and enhancing my view of her already distracting cleavage. She knows exactly what she’s doing and she’s good at it.

“You, Dewdrop.” My eyes roam over her as the possibilities flash through my mind. The many ways I can have this woman. “Spread out for me wearing nothing but lace and a pair of heels.”

“Give me your word that you’ll save them all, and that can be arranged.” She negotiates. I can pretend to mull it over, but there’s no point. Lexie’s won, there’s no way I can deny her this. .

I’ll give this woman the world.

Chapter Twenty-Eight: Lexie

“I’m gonna have to start wearing pants more. Or at least longer dresses,” I mumble, mostly to myself, shifting against the car seat. The leather sticks to every inch of the exposed skin of my thick thighs, making each movement uncomfortable. Not to mention a little sweaty.

Callum pulls his eyes away from the road to flash me a look of disapproval. “Why?” he asks, like the idea is offensive.

“My legs stick to the leather in my short skirts.” Lifting one of my legs to cross it over the other, the seat clings to the surface of my skin like it’s proving my point. So annoying. A line forms between his brows, but his cellphone starts to ring before he has a chance to respond.

“Yeah,” he answers mildly, listening to the person on the other end of the phone. “I’m pulling up to the gallery now. Meet me here in twenty minutes.” As he hangs up we’re pulling up to an elegant white brick building with tall arched windows accented in gold, turning into a parking spot right out front. How this man always manages to get VIP parking, I’ll never know.

I wait for Callum to climb out of the car to open my door to help me get out—something I’m grateful for with my dress. I’m not sure when I got used to having men drive me around and open the door for me. Between Callum and Roscoe my hands haven’t touched a car door in weeks.

Callum’s hand presses to the small of my back as he leads me through the door into the high-end art gallery. We don’t stop to admire any of the displays or art pieces, instead navigating towards the back of the gallery. A series of hallways and frosted glass doors take us into a private room.

The room is both modern and serene; with cream walls, black velvet furniture, and gold and glass accents. The luxurious simplicity of this environment screams money, which I’m assuming is intentional. Nothing loosens purse strings like feeling the desire to belong.

“Mr. Russo, good to see you.” A slender woman greets him, her red hair swept back into a classy French twist, professional dress perfectly tailored. I don’t miss how her eyes move over Callum, sparking irritation inside me. That’s not how a salesperson looks at a client.

“Genevieve.” Callum’s greeting is all business, but that doesn’t seem to deter her in the slightest. The smile she flashes him holds something more than friendliness, turning sour when her eyes move to me.

“And who’s this?” If Callum notices the condescension in her voice, he doesn’t show it. But I notice, not even bothering to give her my friendly smile when her judgmental gaze moves over me. Instead I hold her gaze boldly, lifting my brows in question. This bitch isn’t going to make me feel badly about myself.

“She’s with me.” Callum makes the statement with an authority that leaves no room for questions. There’s no denying the butterflies in my stomach when I look up at him to find his eyes already focused on me, his hand never leaving my back when Genevieve clears her throat.

“I have the piece you’re here for.” She motions to the doorway with the heavy black velvet curtain. The hand on my back has me stepping into the adjoining room with Callum only a half-step behind. Genevieve follows closely behind, closing the curtain to give us even more privacy.

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