Page 13 of The Deal

I feel my patience waning by the second. “It’s dark out … it’s not safe.”

This earns me an eye roll. “I’m a big girl, and I can take care of myself. It’s nothing I haven’t done a hundred times before.”

She’s walked the streets alone at night hundreds of times?

I don’t doubt she can take care of herself—there’s a kick-arse side to this woman that I’m very attracted to—but her admission doesn’t sit well with me at all.

I’m not accustomed to being turned down repeatedly, and it takes everything in me to remain seated. Alexander Mancini doesn’t chase after anyone, and I hate that I find myself wanting to do just that.

Fuck!

Chapter 5

Chloe

When I exit the hotel and step into the frigid night air, I wrap my arms around myself in a lame attempt to try and keep warm. I ignore how luxurious the expensive, soft fabric of his shirt feels against my skin. Or how good it smells.

What a crazy night this turned out to be. For a moment, I even contemplated his offer of spending the night, but in the end, I held firm, which I’m proud of. I’m not one to overstay my welcome, and I don’t have the time or energy for a man in my life.

I also refused the lift he offered because I didn’t want him to know where I lived. Am I embarrassed by the dump I live in? Kind of, but it was more about cutting ties. That’s why I prefer anonymity.

Did I enjoy my time with him? Absolutely, but it was never going to be anything more than that. I got my orgasms; I’m not interested in anything else. That might sound cold, but sometimes it is okay to be selfish. He got just as much out of tonight as I did.

It will be a long, excruciating walk home since I have to empty my car and lug all its contents with me. I can’t risk itgetting stolen because I don’t have the funds to buy the new cleaning equipment I’ll need for one of my other jobs.

Since I can’t afford to have the vehicle towed and don’t have the funds to fix it, I have no other option but to cut my losses. Maybe I could get a scrap metal place to come and collect it. I don’t know how that works, but I may be able to recoup some money. Anything is better than nothing.

In hindsight, though, it wouldn’t have killed me to accept money for the cab, but I don’t bode well with handouts. Never have. I’ve had to rely on myself for so long now that I’m stubborn when it comes to seeking help from others.

Strength comes when you learn to fight alone, and you never have to fear what will become of you if you don’t have to depend on others.

When I return to the car, I’m relieved to find it’s still where I left it. I don’t like my chances, but the first thing I do is slide behind the wheel and try to turn over the engine, hoping it might start.

Stranger things have happened.

Like walking into a swanky bar down on your luck, only to leave a few hours later completely satisfied after a chiselled Italian god fucked me within an inch of my life and gave me multiple orgasms—the most intense I’ve ever had. I never anticipated my night ending that way, but I’m not complaining.

“Please, please, please,” I pray as I turn the key. I exhale a frustrated breath when nothing happens. “Damn you,” I mumble.

I briefly remain inside the car, resting back in the seat and reflecting on the last few hours of my night. I’m not oneto dwell on the what-ifs, but I give myself a moment to do just that. I’d be all over that man like a rash if my life were different.

I’ve been with incredibly good-looking guys before, but none of them come close to being in the same league as the man I was just with. Even if you take the money out of the equation … there was something very appealing about him.

He was the complete package. That bad-boy persona that women seem to gravitate towards, with the looks and body to match—he had abs for days—but it was his dominance in the bedroom that I found the most alluring. That knowledge was surprising. It’s not a trait I ever thought I’d enjoy, but I loved how he owned my body and me.

His confidence, masculine charm, and charisma left me weak at the knees. Of course, I did my best to shield that information from him. There was no point feeding his ego further, and I also didn’t want him to think I was after more, because I wasn’t.

His only flaw—aside from ripping my blouse, which I wouldn’t have minded if I could’ve afforded to replace it—was the rosary bead tattoo that curled around his neck, spread across his chest, and trailed down the sculpted length of his torso. It was so exquisitely detailed that it almost looked real, like I could reach out and pluck the beads right off his skin.

The tattoo itself was undeniably sexy, and I caught myself staring at it more times than I care to admit. But every glance tugged at something deeper, something I didn’t want to face. It reminded me of my mother.I hated that.I don’t like thinking about her anymore. It still stings knowing you’re not as important to someone as you once thought.

When I was a girl, we went to church every Sunday. I used to look forward to it—everything about it felt special. My mother always made it an event, and I adored gettingdressed up in my Sunday best. Afterwards, we’d head to a nice restaurant where I was the centre of my parent’s attention. I felt loved, cherished, and truly seen. I miss those days. Life was so much simpler back then.

My faith used to mean everything to me, but that changed when my mother left. My dad was no longer the man he once was. He became a shadow of himself after she walked away, and I wasn’t about to do anything that reminded me of her. She turned out to be a hypocrite, preaching values she no longer lived by.

As my eyes grow heavy and I stifle a yawn, my hand reaches for the door handle. It’s time to pack up my things and move on.

By the time I get home, I’m running on empty. I tiptoe onto the front porch, wincing as the old floorboards creak under my weight, and set down the bucket I’ve crammed all my cleaning supplies into as carefully as possible. My dad’s room is at the front of the house, and I don’t want to wake him.

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