Suddenly, Dalton's suspicions about where his sister was getting her money seemed a lot less intrusive.
“I didn't realize that they only took cash.”
The statement was out of my mouth before I'd really thought about it. As I followed her outside, she threw a hard look over her shoulder at me. I should've stopped, but now that I'd said it, there didn't seem to be any taking it back.
“I don't know if they do or not.” She stopped on the sidewalk and turned toward me, arms folding over her chest.
“I suppose I'm still not used to the way things are here,” I said, trying to keep my voice light. “Most Londoners don't carry much cash.”
She sighed, a tired expression settling on her face. “Just ask what you want to ask, Dean.”
I didn't want to ask it. Not when I knew how pissed she'd be. But she was dressed up and had pulled out an envelope of cash. As much as I loathed the idea, I couldn't help but wonder if she was an escort or something like that. Maybe not the kind who always had sex with clients, but a woman who was paid to look nice and go on dates and provide companionship. I hated myself for thinking it, but it was the only thing that made any sense. At least as far as I could see, and if she had a reasonable explanation, then I needed her to tell me because I couldn't think of one.
“Where were you tonight, Kyndall?”
She glared at me, but even her anger couldn't disguise her hurt. “I don't think that's really what you want to know, is it? You want to know what I was doing tonight. How I got that money, right? How I earned it.”
I crossed my arms. “Yes, I do.”
“I'm getting really sick of people thinking that what I do is any of their damn business.” She held up a hand when I opened my mouth to argue. “But since I suppose asking for people to trust me is out of the question, I guess I'll just tell you.”
I held my breath, waiting for the bombshell that would destroy this thing we were building. But when it came, it wasn't what I'd expected at all.
“I play poker, Dean. That's how I make money.”
What the hell?