Page 4 of Nothing to Deny

“It’s my job to be propositioned,” he said. “If I’m not being propositioned, I’m not getting paid.”

Good point. “Still, you’re a human being.”

“Not a piece of meat?” he asked, opening a door when they got to the top of the stairs. “Women have put up with that a lot longer than men.”

He allowed her through first. This space wasn’t as fancy as the lower floor. Carpet was gray, walls white. Further down, he funneled her into a breakroom. With vending machines, a corner of kitchen units around a small island, and a dining table, this room wasn’t meant for entertaining clients.

Block couches and armchairs without arms were the only choice for sitting. The floor was a gray vinyl that must’ve been chosen for its functionality rather than its beauty.

“How do you take your coffee?” She hadn’t seen him move past her, but he was in the kitchen, poking at a huge shiny machine in the far corner. “It’s supposed to make lattes and cappuccinos, whatever you want.”

He didn’t sound confident he could get it to produce one, but he had his back to her, so she felt okay about smiling.

“Americano would be great,” she said, heading toward the island.

Twisting to peek over his shoulder at her, his eyes were narrow like that meant nothing to him.

She laughed and put a hand on one of the high stools to boost herself onto it. “Black,” she said. “Boring old black coffee works just fine.”

Relief crossed his face before he turned back to the machine. “Ah, a girl after my own heart,” he said, retrieving cups from an overhead cabinet. “That I can do.”

“Not confident in the kitchen?”

“I am confident everywhere.”

After he pressed a button, the machine sputtered to life. While it did its thing, he opened more cabinets, searching for something. Less than a minute later, the coffee dripped through.Once it was done, he switched out the cups, putting a second one in the first’s place.

He served her coffee first, then went back to fetch his own. He didn’t drink any, just put it on the island near hers without sitting down.

“What can you cook?” she asked, turning her cup to lift it by its handle while her other fingertips rested on the opposite rim. He raised his brows in question, she smiled. “You said you were confident in the kitchen, I wondered what you could cook.”

“Not a damn thing,” he said, slipping a hand into his pocket to pull out a bunch of coins. “But I’m good at faking it.”

His attention switched between his coins and the vending machine, so he missed the smile she couldn’t hide.

“I imagine you’d have to be,” she said, amusement bleeding into her tone. “In your line of work.”

Doing a double take her way, his mind caught up with his words, or hers. When his eyes stayed put, she laughed.

Clearing his throat didn’t disguise his smirk. “That’s not what I meant, Little Skit.”

“I think it is,” she said, sipping her coffee. “Unless you’re telling me you’ve been genuinely involved with every client you’ve ever had.”

“Of course I’m genuinely involved.”

Setting her cup aside, she sealed her lips. “Mm, of course you are.” Hopping off her stool, she opened her hand to him. “May I?” Glancing from his closed fist to her open palm, he turned his over to let the warm coins fall into her hand. “I never get to do this.”

“Do what?” he asked, watching her go to the vending machine.

“What number do you want?”

Simple things like vending machines were everyday to other people. To her, they were toys she’d never been allowed toplay with as a child… or as a grown up. Whenever she could, she made up for that lost time.

“Uh…” he said, coming up behind her, so close she could feel his body heat against her back.

But he wasn’t done. Leaning over, he put a hand on top of the vending machine to peruse what was inside. Sandwiched between him and the machine, there wasn’t much room to move. Yet the narrow space wasn’t uncomfortable.

Odd.

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