Page 7 of Dirty Deal

So why does my body tingle all over in response? Why do I have to fight not to squirm in this armchair, sudden slickness tickling between my thighs?

“Not… notthat,” I rasp, my cheeks burning hot. “I’ve never… I’m not offering that. But anything else.”

And Weston, the vicious bastard, rolls his eyes and looks away. “Bold of you to assume you have anything else to offer, princess.”

His words lodge an arrow of hurt in my chest, the point slipping between my ribs to jab at my squishy bits. I puff out a pained breath. And it’s ridiculous to be so hurt by a man who Iknowhates me, yet for a moment, I’m light-headed with misery.

What would I give for Weston to respect me, to admire me—hell, tolikeme, to think of me as his equal?

I’d give anything, but it wouldn’t work. If he knew I wanted that, he’d respect me even less.

Those blue eyes pin me again. His dark eyebrows pinch together, and I force my expression to smooth out. Weston James isn’t the only one who can wear a mask when necessary, and I learned from the best. When he frowns at me, I smile back, placid.

“There must be something else you want from me,” I say, like we’re discussing the weather. “You’ve hated our family for years, and we both know it. I can be at your mercy in other ways. Youcan put me to work on the casino floor; make a laughing stock of me among the staff. Humiliate me like you’ve always wanted.”

Weston tilts his head, considering.

“You can order me around,” I press, sensing that my words are working. He’s tempted by the picture I’m painting. “Whatever you order me to do, I’ll obey. Anything except…”

I trail off, cheeks burning impossibly hotter, and I can tell from the flicker in Weston’s eyes that we’re both thinking of the same thing. The initial misunderstanding in my offer.

I can’t even make myself say the words. Partly because it’s too mortifying, and partly because I’m not sure it’s even true.

Here’s my dirty secret: Weston could order me to my knees right this second, and I’d hit the floor so fast my head would spin. I’mdesperateto obey this man—to touch him, to taste him, to please him.

I’ve craved him since the first day we met, and the only thing worse than never having him would be Weston realizing the power he has over me. So embarrassing.

My pride is all I have left. That’s why this offer costs me, and that’s why Weston is tempted. He senses the weight behind my words, the way they chip away at my soul.

“How much?” Weston asks, his deep voice even rougher than usual. “How much do your parents owe?”

I name the figure. A muscle leaps in Weston’s jaw, but he keeps watching me, considering. Compared to his own wealth these days, it’s chump change.

My palms sweat worse than ever, and I stroke them up and down my thighs, trying to dry them on the fabric of my trench coat. Weston’s gaze lowers, tracking their movement, and I stop.

Outside the office windows, the city skyline glitters and headlights swoop along the streets. The moon hangs low over the rooftops, waxy and full. There’s a whole world out there, a whole city full of people watching movies and having argumentsand raiding the refrigerator for late night snacks, all living their lives completely unaware of the battle of wills happening in this office. If I’d grown up in a normal family, if things had been different, I could be one of them.

My chest throbs.

I stuff those thoughts down deep before they can smother me.

“Five nights,” Weston clips out at last, and he sounds angry even as he makes the offer. Like he’s pissed at himself for folding. “You come here and you obey my every order for five nights, everything except…” Weston waves a hand at my body, and I shrink back into the armchair. “Then I’ll pay off the debt. On two conditions.”

My heart is lodged in my throat, beating a mile a minute. I can’t believe this negotiation actually worked. Can’t believe Weston would pay such an eye-watering sum all for the chance to humiliate my family.

He must well and truly hate me, I realize, and a wave of sorrow crashes over me, dampening the triumph. Why else would he agree?

Whatever. If it works, it works.

“And those are?” I ask, but whatever his conditions, I’m obviously going to agree. My parents’ kneecaps are at stake, and I can’t afford to quibble.

“One,” Weston says, “you tell your father exactly what kind of deal we’ve struck. You make sure he knows exactly how badly he’s failed his darling princess.”

My teeth grit together, but I give a crisp nod. I swear, if I never hear that nickname again, I will die a happy woman.

“And two,” Weston says, leaning forward in his armchair. He waits until I meet his gaze, until he can watch every harsh word find its mark. “After the five nights are over, you never contact me again, Lena. You never set foot in this casino; you never evensay my fucking name. After this, your whole family is dead to me, you included. Do you understand?”

My neck is stiff, but I force another nod. Weston thinks he’s humiliating me with that demand, but it would be even worse if he knew how deep the hurt goes. How much I’llmisshim, pathetic as that is. Longing for a man who thinks I’m dirt.

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