Page 25 of Wicked Lies

After Nick left the room, she stripped off the wet tank top, gave herself a quick bird bath, retrieved another one from the drawer, and slipped it on. She left the bedroom, unsure if Nick was still in the apartment.

“Why don’t you join me for a drink.” His deep rasp stopped her cold. “I think we could both use one.”

“I need to get back to work.” No matter how hot and irresistible Cheryl found her new boss, she was determined to keep their relationship professional, especially since this job and her life in Brooklyn had an expiration date.

“You can take a break. If Tina gives you a hard time, tell her to talk to me.”

Right, exactly what she didn’t want. Her co-worker thinking she was fooling around with the boss.

“No, I—”

He held up a tumbler of ice and then filled it with a generous amount of tequila—the one alcohol guaranteed to get her into trouble every damn time.

“C’mon, you’re not gonna make me drink alone, right?”

Every street-smart instinct blared out a warning, especially since Frank was Nick’s boss, and who knew where his alliances lay. She opened her mouth to refuse, and he hit her with a sexy grin that undoubtably worked for him every time.

He motioned to the cushion next to him on the couch. She crossed the room, paused, then perched on the edge of the couch, tugging down the hem of her short skirt.

He handed her the glass, then settled against the couch cushions. “I’m curious. How did you end up with Jimmy?”

Nick didn’t believe in leading into a subject.

“Long boring story.” With a disastrous ending. “Anyway, we’re not together anymore.”

“You broke up with him?”

Was that the proper term for leaving your dead boyfriend bleeding out in an alley? She doubted there were any love songs with that theme.

“Yes,” she mumbled, then rubbed her palms against her lycra skirt.

“Good move. The guy’s a loser.” Nick scrubbed a hand over his jaw. “He’s into everybody for money.”

Interesting how he talked about Jimmy in the present tense, like maybe he didn’t know he was dead. “Did he really owe you ten thousand dollars?”

“Not me directly.”

Right, he owed your psycho boss who slit Jimmy’s throat without a second thought.

“Are you all right?” Samson asked.

“Just feeling a bit warm.” Cheryl pointed to the glass. “Must be the tequila.”

“You hardly drank any of it.”

Nick’s eyes locked with hers. She swallowed hard and tempered her expression determine to detour the conversation away from herself.

“She glanced at his arm. “Does thatcuthave something to do with collecting money too?”

His jaw tightened, and she braced for a scathing comeback, but he reached for the tequila with his good arm instead. When he lifted his glass the slight tremor in his hand told her she’d hit a nerve.

“I really should be getting back downstairs.”

“Don’t go.” His fingertips brushed against her arm. “Drink up.” He pointed to her untouched shot glass.

For a split second, the hard-edged tough guy disappeared, his black eyes melted a bit, and she saw a glimmer of compassion—the same look that intrigued her the other night at the Oasis. A soothing warmth flowed over Cheryl along with an instinct to run.

She pushed the shot glass aside. “I have a feeling your partner Samson wouldn’t agree.”

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