Page 13 of Wicked Lies

“You’re a lot alike.” He sipped the smoky liquor, enjoying the hot burn in his throat as he headed toward the bathroom.

She stepped in his path. “You remember when we first met?” Her hand clung to his arm.

“Taking a shitload of Frank’s money to the Caymans, and you were scared of flying. You had me in a death grip until I got a couple of shots of tequila in you.”

She arched her back. “I did not.”

“Yeah, you did.” He teased.

“We were young then.” Her manicured finger traced the front of his shirt.

“We were never young.”

Angela’s trip down memory lane was her way of dragging him backward so they could move forward.

Nick watched as she undid his belt buckle, rigid and tense with arousal, but instead of Angela’s brown eyes, he saw Cheryl’s green ones. She slid her hand inside his pants and stroked him. His hips jerked, but he didn’t know if it was from Angela’s hand or visions of Cheryl.

“Sometimes I miss the old days and that hot, wild, tough guy who was so wound out.”

“Things change.” He hadn’t meant to say it. He should’ve given her the answer she wanted. Samson was right. Keeping Angela happy was good for business, but lately . . .

“Someone saw Bambi go up to the offices tonight.”

“Maybe she didn’t feel good and had to lie down.”

“As long as she wasn’t lying under you.” Her grip on him tightened.

He gently removed her hand. “I thought we said a long time ago we weren’t gonna ask each other those kinda questions.” He stepped back, refastening his belt.

“What if I did? What would you say?” She lifted the tumbler to her lips but didn’t drink.

“I’d say we don’t ask each other those kinda questions.” Game over.

She lowered the glass, her eyes sharp. “What are you saying?”

“Nothing, forget it.” He finished off the scotch in one gulp.

“If you have something to say, just say it,” she challenged.

Nick refilled his glass and then turned to face her. “It’s just not working for me anymore.” Why the fuck did he start this at three in the morning?

“What’s not working?” Angela slammed her hands on her hips.

“We had a good run, but—”

“A good run?” She banged the tumbler onto the granite bar top. “What am I, a goddamn horse?”

“It’s just—”

“If it weren’t for me keeping all those bitchy women in line, your club would fall apart. You need me.”

“Calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down.” Angela glared at him, her eyes dark and dangerous.

His casual shrug lit a fire under her. She blasted into the bathroom and returned a few minutes later, fully dressed.

“I’m gonna chalk this up to it being late and you being tired.” She swiped up her purse. “'Cause there’s no way I’m letting you go. We both have too much at stake.”

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