Page 21 of Dirty Deal

Is that why we’re here tonight? To keep me away from the Merritt? To reassert the distance between us?

Or is there some upcoming torture that I haven’t spotted yet?

“We’re here to scout for new talent,” Weston goes on, like this truly is a friendly explanation with no lurking dangers within. Ha! “And since you worked in that resort, I figure your input will be extra useful.”

Is that…

Thatisa compliment. What on earth?

Snatching for my glass, I take another shaky sip. Weston is the last man I should get tipsy around, but none of this makes any freaking sense. Maybe vodka will help.

“Yesterday, you made me clean your apartment,” I say slowly. Obviously, I took no shame in that task—why would I?—but Weston clearlywantedme to feel bad about it. “The day before, you had me polish shoes all night.”

The tip of Weston’s finger traces one of my polish-stained knuckles, and I jump at his touch. The stain on my hands fades a little every time I wash them, but it’ll be weeks yet before they’re back to normal.

“And you did an admirable job,” Weston says. Everywhere he touches me, sparks race across my skin.

“So what’s tonight’s thing?” I demand. My spine is ramrod straight, pressed against the booth. “What’s the twist? How are you going to try to humiliate me this time?”

Because the band is good and the aerialist is talented and my drink is cool and refreshing—but I won’t be able to relax until we get to the punchline.

Weston takes a large mouthful of whiskey and sets his glass down with a thump. “No twist,” he says, voice rough.

“Nothing?”

“Nothing,” Weston says, frowning as the aerialist slides into the splits in midair, each ankle wrapped in silk. His gaze on her is clinical—nothing like the hungry way he stares at me sometimes. “This is your task for tonight, Lena. Telling me your honest opinions about the performers.”

Huh.

You know, after all those years the Merritt was owned by my family, this is the first time anyone has asked my opinion about the casino business. If my parents hadn’t already crushed my heart into dust last night, that realization might sting.

“Cool,” I say flatly. “Well, I like them both so far. The aerialist and the band. Do you have the infrastructure you need for aerial performers?”

“Yes.”

“Then I guess you’ve got it all figured out.” God knows why he needs me.

Finally, for the first time in what seems like hours, Weston turns to face me. Even in the decadent gloom of the club, his ice blue eyes are piercing. He stares at me, intense and unreadable.

“You know, Lena—” my name in his deep voice sends a shiver down my bare arms “—you seemed happier when I was barking orders at you. Is it so awful if we get along?”

My laugh is shocked.

“You don’t want toget along.You want to get even.”

Those eyes glitter in the darkness, still pinned on me. “Circumstances have changed.”

Pfft. “Because I sucked your cock?”

I’m too wrapped up in this argument to lower my voice, but luckily this club is designed for intimacy. This booth is our own private little alcove, one where we can hiss and spit and swipe at each other like alley cats, and no one will be any the wiser.

Weston’s gaze narrows. Turns dangerous.

“There was more to it than that,” he says, his voice silky and low. “Don’t cheapen it.”

My laugh is pure scorn. “How can it possibly get any cheaper? I’ve already sold my soul to you for a price.”

Weston breaks eye contact abruptly, sitting back in the booth to scrub a hand down his face. He shakes his head, staring out at the band on their stage, but his eyes are unseeing. For a moment, he looks… lost.

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