Page 3 of Dirty Deal

“But you can’t—”

“Princess—”

I hold up a hand, and they both cut off. Thank god. This hurts me too, more than I’d like to admit. All my childhood memories are in this house; my whole identity formed within its walls.

“You’re going to take that money and pay off your debts. Start with the people who are threatening you. We’ll worry about the legitimate lenders later.”

“But… where will we live?” my mother says, clinging to the marble island for balance.

“It won’t be enough,” my father says, shaking his head as thoughI’mthe dumbass here. “Nowhere near enough, Lena.”

Each inhale makes my head swim. For all that my parents begged me to come and save them, they’ve never told me the exact figure they owe. I’m not sure eventheyknow, but if selling every valuable item they have left won’t even scratch it, they’re in more trouble than I thought.

This townhouse can’t sell soon enough.

“I will rent us an apartment,” I say. My throat is tight, and I sip more coffee, relishing the burn as I swallow. “It will be cheap and small and probably noisy. You can complain to each other, but not to me.”

Thanks to my parents’ poor judgment, I’m here instead of Switzerland. Back in this hectic, crowded city, speaking English rather than practicing my French, picking up after other people’s mistakes.

I had a life, damn it. I was building my own life, far away from here, somewhere I could pretend that Weston James didn’t haunt my dreams at night. Somewhere no one ever called meprincess.

“You’ll give every cent you possibly can to the men threatening you. If it’s not enough yet, you’ll promise them the rest is coming. And I…”

My mug creaks in my hand, and I force my grip to relax before the handle snaps off.

“I will go to see Weston, and I will beg for his help.”

So long, pride. It was nice knowing you.

Two

Weston

Growing up, I always told myself that once I made it, I could relax. Bouncing around the care system, working throughout high school, getting my first full time job as a valet at the Merritt Casino—all those years, that’s what I kept telling myself.

Push on, get through this, and one day, West, one day you can sleep through a whole damn night.

All that fighting and striving. Living off beans and rice; fixing my own bike chain for the millionth time; living in a shoebox apartment with four other roommates. Working all those hours, and studying in the gaps in between.

All of it was meant to build to something, to pay off one day, and now I’m sitting in my private office at the Merritt, gazing out at the city skyline. It’s gone midnight, the sky is inky dark, and the lights out there glitter like gold.

Has it paid off? I roll my stiff neck, pondering. There’s no fear of ever missing another meal in my life, and that’s not something I take for granted.

Still, I didn’t expect victory to feel this hollow. Most days, I’m bored out of my skull.

A knock at the office door interrupts my brooding. My desk chair swings around as my right hand man, Ariq, slips inside. He’s impeccably dressed in a three-piece suit, complete with a lilac pocket square, and he’s freshly shaven even though it’s nearly midnight. Though it may simply be that my assistant is still too young to get some decent late night scruff.

“Another incident, sir.” Ariq shuts the door softly behind him, like letting it slam might disturb my evil lair. “Lord Frayton lost at the roulette table and made a scene. When security approached, he threw a punch. Now he’s complaining that the security guard manhandled him, and that he’ll sue for damages.”

It takes a moment to digest this latest update, because my brain snags on a single detail.

“LordFrayton?”

Ariq shrugs, forgetting his perfect posture for a split second. “British, I think. An aristocrat.”

I blow out a harsh breath. Ariq and I share alook, one that gives away our shared background. We may both be dressed in fine suits and discussing aristocrats tonight, but we both clawed our way up from the same gutter. Some feckless British lord will never get special treatment in this casino. I couldn’t stomach it, and neither could any of the staff I hired.

“Throw him out, then add him to the list,” I say. “He’ll never step foot through those doors again. And give whoever he punched the rest of the night off, along with a doctor’s visit if they need one.”

---