Page 14 of Crush (Deadly Hearts 1)

Too bad I have to turn him down.

“I don’t date employees. You know this. Everyone does.” I drop the washcloth in the basin and scoop my hair up into a ponytail, snapping the hair band around my wrist into my hair briskly.

“I’m not talking about dating you,” he says gruffly. “And if that’s the case, then I quit.”

I grimace at him and brush past him to walk back into my office. “Don’t be an idiot,” I snap. “I need you on the door. You’re one of the best.”

“One of?” he asks, a comically disappointed expression on his face.

“Need an ego stroke right now?” I ask. “Fine, you’re the best. I refuse your attempt to quit, are we clear?” I fold my arms over my chest to glare at him.

He clenches his jaw, glaring back at me, those dark eyes simmering with frustration and disappointment that I’ve turned him down.

Well, tough.

I don’t need him or anyone to distract me from my goal, my need to stay on top. The second I let my guard down, I’ll be wiped out and I’ll be damned if I let that happen. Relationships are a no-go for me. I don’t want one. I don’t need one. I’m happy with casual encounters and my arrangement at Giselle’s.

I growl, concerning Ramsey further.

Formerarrangement at Giselle’s.

“David!” I yell.

He rushes in with Layton behind him, who has clearly been informed of my situation because he looks like he is about to murder someone.

“What is it?” David asks.

“Can you find out everything you can on Giselle Marchand. Both personally and her business. I mean a deep dive. I want to know what she fucking had for breakfast on July 1st, 1996, got it?”

He nods. “On it.”

I let out a sigh of relief that he didn’t question me over the whos and whys. He just did it. It’s one of the reasons I love him.

“Let Layton drive you home, at least,” Ramsey says quietly, seemingly brushing off my harsh rejection of him.

“Fine,” I say, just to end this conversation and so that I have an excuse to get out of here. “Give me a minute.”

I head back into the bathroom and close the door. I lean against it, eyes closed, taking a few deep breaths before I push off and walk over to the basin. I pick up the bloody knife and stick it under the hot tap. I turn it on and the water gushes out, rinsing the blood off for it to swirl down the drain along with all of my feelings over today’s shitshow.

When I look up again into the mirror, I’m back.

I slip the blade back into the holster, snatch up my bag and head out. “Let’s go,” I say to Layton, ignoring Ramsey and David as I storm out of my office and into the parking lot at the back of the club, Layton trailing after me.

I wait, tapping my foot impatiently for him to catch up. It occurs to me belatedly that Nate will be expecting my call to Uber me home. I pull out my phone and send him a text as Layton extends his arm and clicks the remote key to a sleek black Merc SL that makes me giggle.

“That’s your car?” I ask, almost mocking him.

“What of it?” he growls, opening the passenger side door for me.

“Nothing for someone like me. You? I had you pegged as a biker.”

He grunts. “Who says I’m not?” he asks. “Just get in.”

I do as bid, and slip into the vehicle, waiting for him to join me.

“Where to?” he asks, gunning the engine.

I give him my address in Prestbury, one of the most exclusive places to live in the Greater Manchester area. I adore my house, but I’m on the verge of needing a place in the city so that my commute is less of a chore.

I sit back, glad that Layton is the strong silent type and enjoy the ride home.

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