Page 42 of Collateral Claim
I turn from the onlookers, cover the mouthpiece, and whisper-hiss, “I’m going to murder you.”
A pause, then, “Tonight?”
See? Psycho. “I’m not telling you when.”
“Even better. Butter knife?”
“Steak knife.”
“Ah, fuck, baby.” His voice grows husky and deep. “You already know where the kitchen is, so you can get your weapon tonight. On the counter, you’ll find a hand-drawn map of the east wing of the house with directions to my bedroom. I’ll leave the door unlocked.”
Briefly, an image of Endo sleeping in a large bed covered with an obsidian silk goose-down comforter makes my core warm up. I sip the coffee and lean against the desk, trying to remember why I called him. This man took over the conversation so easily, and now I don’t even know what I wanted from him.
“Scar?”
“Just a minute.” Jesus. Wha… Oh yes. I want to tell him I won’t be forced to work for him while I’m his prisoner. That is not why I went to med school. But I turn around and see the faces of the people in the office who are expecting to be seen by someone, anyone who can treat their illnesses. And my protest dies like it never existed.
I’m no dummy, though. I want something in return.
“This is a big ask.”
“I know.”
“You put me on the spot because you knew I couldn’t walk away.”
“Yes.”
“You’re taking advantage of me.”
“In all the ways I can. Absolutely.”
“I hate you.”
“I know. Anything new you called about?”
“I’ll do it for the week while you’re waiting for your new hire.”
“Thank you.”
“I’m not doing it for you.” I ignore his chuckle. “I want my phone back.”
“Deal.”
I push away from the desk. “Deal?”
“That’s what I said.” He groans, and it’s a very sexy sound that I’d rather he didn’t make.
“What are you doing?”
“Stretching,” he says. “Been a long night. I slept in.” A pause. “Missed you at the house, luv.”
“Oh, shut up, Macarley.”
Rie’s eyes widen, and he looks pale and sickly.
Endo laughs. I wish he’d stop making those sexy, masculine noises this morning. What is wrong with him? And why is he flirting with me? He shouldn’t be. He should be mean.He is mean,my brain supplies.
“Are we still on for lunch?” he asks.
