Page 53 of Fiona and the Fixer

“You need to run the shop.”

She shook her head and stepped back, but I snagged her hand before she could bolt. “No, I don’t.”

“Yeah, you do. I had it closed for most of yesterday.”

“Not my monkeys, not my zoo.”

I frowned. “I don’t know what that means.”

She set her free hand on her hips. “It means fuck no.”

Why the hell did I fall for a woman who was so fucking contrary and liked to swear like a sailor? Jack fell for a mild librarian. Why couldn’t she have a sister? Inwardly, I cringed, because she did. I tried to block her out. While Briana Highcliff was probably ridiculously flexible, she was also a nympho lunatic.

I glanced around with the same level of disinterest in romance as she did. “If I can run this place, then you can.”

“Oh, I can run the hell out of a bookstore. But like I said, I’m on vacation.”

“Yeah, I was just peacefully cat sitting and now I’m running a bookstore and being your boyfriend.”

She huffed. “Fine. I want something in return.”

I stepped close and murmured, “Anal? I know all about how a woman likes it.”

Another customer came to check out with three books tucked against her chest and unfortunately overheard. A little whimper escaped her lips.

“No,” Fiona replied. The way her eyes shifted I had to think that thenowas actually amaybe.

The customer cut into our convo. “Honey, if he’s offering that, you gotta say yes.”

I grinned. “Listen to the woman, Fiona,” I added, amused by her obvious discomfort. And turned on, because it meant she hadn’t done it before. Or done it right. I could change her thinking. It was hot as hell, but not a requirement because Fiona was fucking fire as it was.

I took the woman’s books and rang her up.

“He’s the one with something lodged deep in his ass,” Fiona countered and gave me afuck youlook.

Oh, yeah. Fire.

24

DAX

“Shit,I thought you forgot about me,” Jimmy McFee grumbled when I found him in his bar room ninety minutes later. “Had to pick up the shears from the sharpener?”

He was a forty-something, two-pack a day smoker who owed Bones Biggles over eighty Gs. Jimmy was going to be on my pickup rotation for a while.

“No way to forget you, Jimmy.” Except I had, because of Fiona.

“From anyone else, I’d think you were flirting, but then I remember it’s you.”

“Kinda hard to count liquor bottles with your fingers when you’re missing one,” I countered, taking in his left hand with one finger short because I’d chopped it off a fewmonths earlier. This was how Bones got his nickname, wanting fingers and other body parts when someone couldn’t pay up.

Bones wasn’t a fun guy, but I got a cut of every payment I brought in for him and I wasn’t squeamish about his preferred type of persuasion. The life of a fixer wasn’t all unicorns and rainbows.

“Please tell me I don’t have to take another one today,” I told him.

“Why? Having a rough day?” he asked, sarcasm lacing the words. I doubted he wanted to have another finger removed either. In fact, he wouldn’t look so calm if he was expecting the amputation. I rarely dealt with anyone who needed a second reminder. While Jimmy wasn’t the sharpest tool in the shed, he also wasn’t that stupid.

“You have no idea,” I muttered. The scent of spilled beer and cheap air fresheners only added to the shabby feel of the place. This wasn’t where middle managers came for happy hour unless they wanted to pick up some kind of food poisoning from bad chicken wings.

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