Page 34 of Four Seconds to Lose

I hesitate. “Six fifty.”

“Huh, what a coincidence. Same here. Right, Tanner?” I almost laugh at the deadpan manner in which he says that.

“Yes, sir,” Tanner confirms too quickly, averting his attention to the light-switch panel on the wall.

That’s a load of bullshit, if I’ve ever heard one. Dear God... I’ve managed to get myself a pimp. Of course. I knew Ginger’s ravings about this guy were too good to be true.

Tanner holds up a key on a ring. “The place comes furnished. There’s a bed, couch, and kitchen table arriving shortly. All new. Part of the renovation.” Sure it is. “Thanks, Tanner. This is... perfect,” I finally offer with a gritted-tooth smile. It’s not Tanner’s fault. He works for a pimp, too.

He grunts in response and then proceeds toward the door. “Gotta get back to my burgers.” It’s a valid excuse to leave, and yet I’m getting the impression that the awkward man is more anxious for solitary time than he is about his food.

Cain turns to look at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just couldn’t in good conscience leave you there. This place is cleaner. Safer.”

I bite my lip to stay quiet.

Cleaner and safer for whom? My future clientele? Could Ginger be flat-out lying to me? She doesn’t strip, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t secretly sell herself. Look what I do, secretly! At 650 bucks a month in rent, Cain’s going to want compensation somehow, and apparently it won’t be by having sex with him. Ginger could be lying about that too, though. Or just oblivious?

Something doesn’t add up. I guess I’ll have to take this day-by-day. I have a job at Penny’s and a decent apartment. For now. I’m going to make a lot of money, fast. I’ll stay, but when the first customer shows up at my door, I’m out. Until then, I have to stick to my plan.

¦¦¦

“How about over here?” Ginger says, her hands gesturing to the long wall in my apartment. The living room is small and yet she’s managed to make the movers lift, drag, and drop the soft, gray microfiber couch to five different spots. All it has taken her are a few winks, “my-what-big-arms-you-have” touches, and a slice of her homemade peach cream pie. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is seconds away from asking the blond guy back to her apartment to “move” her bed. I’m certain, by the way he’s dogging her around, that he’s hoping for the same thing. The woman is almost as deceptive as I am.

Ginger hasn’t left my side all afternoon. She insisted on going grocery shopping with me, doing laundry with me, waiting on furniture with me, unpacking with me. Either she’s lying and she really is hoping I swing her way or that whisper I caught from Cain to her earlier was a directive to not let me out of her sight.

I follow the movers, begrudgingly handing them a thirty-dollar tip on account of Ginger’s demands, and stay a few minutes to look out over what she told me is called the commons. Beads of sweat instantly form on my skin from this crazy Miami summer heat, and I remind myself to be thankful for the air conditioner in my apartment. It’s almost six and Tanner is out there—his plaid shorts showing off those knobby knees—spraying a flaming hibachi with a two-handed children’s water gun. He looks absolutely outrageous but quite content. The air smells of burgers again. I’m guessing Tanner is one of those bachelors with a very uncreative meal plan comprised of grilled meat.

I’m still watching him when an apartment door across the way opens and a dark-haired man strolls out.

My breath hitches.

Cain.

He doesn’t look my way, so he doesn’t see me as he strides quickly past Tanner with a half-salute, seemingly in a rush to get out of there. When I glance back to the apartment he left, I find China leaning in her doorway, in the tiniest, tightest pair of short shorts and tank top, watching his retreating back, her hair tousled, a secretive smile softening her features.

She turns to go back into her apartment but stops, her stony eyes locking on mine. A wide smirk of satisfaction spans her face and I assume she has figured out that I saw Cain leave her apartment. Stretching her arms over her head, she slowly turns and saunters back inside. I’m instantly hit with an image of a cat, gratified after devouring a can of salmon and ready to mosey over to bathe in a patch of sun.

“Never, my ass, Ginger,” I mutter. I’m pretty sure Cain was her can of salmon.

China may be unfriendly and arrogant, but she’s probably very talented. I’m not surprised and yet I can’t ignore the heaviness of disappointment, knowing that Cain would be interested in someone like her.

“Hey! Why do you have all these wigs?” I hear Ginger call out. I deny my panic from surfacing as I spin around and stalk back in, finding her prancing around with my long black wig on her head.

Bloody hell! At least she hasn’t found my gun yet. “I’m in theater. Those are props,” I answer simply.

“Huh... theater. You know, I have a thing for dark-haired women,” she says with an exaggerated wink.

I sigh.

chapter eleven

¦¦¦

CAIN

Charlie doesn’t trust me.

Though she kept her face carefully controlled, she couldn’t hide the hard look in those eyes as we stood in her new apartment.

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