Page 8 of The Woman in the Garage

“Dasha, nice to meet you,” I said. “You know what? I am going to go ahead and let you settle in, figure out… all that,” I told her, gesturing toward the desk. “Then we can have a meeting.”

I was absolutely not making that offer just because I wanted an excuse to meet with her again. Because that would be fucked.

“Are you sure?” she asked, though her shoulders sagged in relief. She was clearly overwhelmed by everything.

And it wasn’t like their protection money would make or break the Family anyway.

“Yeah. How about I come back next week?”

“Sure. That would be great. I promise I’ll be less of a mess then. Or, at least, I will know your name,” she said with another big smile.

“I can settle for that.”

And maybe a nice, slow fuck on top of her desk.

Christ.

I had to get out of there.

“I’ll see you next week then.”

CHAPTER THREE

Dasha

Something was off with the books.

I mean, if you can even call them ‘the books,’ that is.

It was more like a disorganized stack of receipts and notes in such horrible chicken scratch writing that I could only make out every third or fourth word.

Still, the numbers just weren’t adding up.

True, math had never been my strong suit. Or even my third—or fourth, or, fine, fifth—best subject in school. Still, I did know how to add. And double-check my results with the handy-dandy calculator app on my phone. Even when I rounded up the numbers, assuming that my uncle didn’t want to nitpick on change, it didn’t even come close to adding up.

I was just coming to that realization when David knocked, threw open the door, and let a strange man into my office.

I mean, I wasn’t complaining. Because, dang, what a man.

He looked like he stepped out of a magazine ad for some designer watches or cologne or something. All tall and fit under an expensive-looking suit, with one of those classically handsome faces with a strong jaw and somewhat brooding brow,warm honey-brown eyes, and dark hair that was cut a bit longer than you would expect for a man in a suit.

Everything about him dripped money and confidence and sex appeal.

Then there was the scent of him. Rich coffee and creamy cocoa. It was the most intoxicating scent I’d ever smelled before.

I usually kind of hated men’s cologne. It was too spicy for me. But whatever this guy had on, it was delicious and subtle, begging you to lean in closer, maybe press your nose into his neck…

Okay.

Yeah.

I needed to focus.

On literally anything other than how good he looked and smelled.

Or, you know, that smooth, sexy sound of his voice when he spoke, and how his mouth moved around the words.

Good God.

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