Page 9 of Dangerous Devotion

“I can’t figure it out. Face value is you’re here because you’re helping out a friend even though it’s clearly beneath your pay grade. I mean, look at you. You don’t spend a lot of time in places like this.”

“Why do you say that?” I ask, more eager to hear her assessment of me than I care to admit.

“Your suit for one thing. It looks like something a celebrity would wear like, oh here’s Austin Butler or Ryan Gosling or somebody just striding through a fancy hotel lobby in a Tom Ford suit,” she shrugs. “You look like a million bucks, but you’re slumming here. Why not send one of your underlings to look after the place? Why sit at a table and wait for me to take your order every night? I stay awake thinking about it.”

“You lie awake thinking about me?” I say, my voice slow as a cat toying with a mouse. She realizes what she’s said and rolls her eyes.

“Yeah, I just said so. It’s not like I’m fantasizing about you or something.” she groans. “You don’t have to look so pleased about it. You’re good-looking and mysterious. I can’t be the only woman wondering about what makes you tick.”

“You’re the only one I’ve bothered to ask about it,” I point out. “Why don’t you tell me what you think about exactly?”

“Despite what it looks like trying to waitress off my dad’s gambling debts and barging into your office to blurt out personal things to you, I’m not actually stupid enough to answer that question. My break isn’t that long, and I came in here for a reason. And that reason wasn’t to tell you how hot you look with your sleeves rolled up or how I think about you when I should be thinking about other things. Practical things,” she is so flustered and so clearly furious with herself that she rambles on in a way that’s almost adorable.

“If you want to cut straight to the point, be my guest,” I say.

“What do I need to do?” she said, her hands spread as if she’s hoping a solution will fall from the sky and into her open palms. Her shoulders sag and she seems to droop all at once like she’s wilted. No longer animated by the brightness of interest and challenge in her eyes, not propped up by some strategy or hope.

“About what?” I ask, because I’m not clear on whether she’s asking how to clear her father’s debt faster or what to do about lying awake thinking of me at night.

“All of it,” she says. “The debts, how to keep him from doing this again, how to finish nursing school and have a life of my own that’s more than just cleaning up after—” she breaks off, and I can tell she said too much.

“You decide what the plan is, follow through with it, and let your dad know this is the last time you bail him out. Otherwise, he will go on expecting you to rescue him so he doesn’t have to face any consequences.”

“You mean, so you won’t kill him.”

“I don’t kill anyone.”

She narrows her eyes at me and blows out a breath that says she doesn’t believe me but says nothing.

“I get my hands dirty when it’s called for. I’m not sitting in some ivory tower while my minions—as you call them—do all the work and take all the risks. My position in the organization is more administrative than it once was,” I say with a trace of pride. “You need to talk to Philly.”

“I kind of doubt that he’ll let me put my dad in layaway and pay a little bit each month until he’s paid off and I can take him home.” She puts her hands on her hips, squares up, and huffs out an aggravated breath. “Besides, if I wanted to talk to Philly, I’d be spending my break with him and not you.”

“I’m not the one you owe money to,” I point out.

“No, but you’re the boss, Jack,” she says, and I don’t miss the way she says my name.

“What were you hoping I’d say?”

“I don’t know—” she says, looking away.

“Yeah, you do. What were you prepared to offer me?” I’m baiting her.

“I really don’t know,” she says.

“Were you going to offer me one night with you to wipe out the debt?” I ask.

“What? No! I’m not a whore!”

“So what else do you have to offer?” I goad her, ruthlessly enjoying her fire.

“I can use my nursing skills.”

“You already offered to patch up the wounded in my organization and keep it discreet.”

“I know it’s not much,” she says, then lifts her chin, “but it’s not nothing.”

“I didn’t say it was nothing. It could be a valuable asset,” I agree.

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