Page 8 of Wicked Lies

“You’re dismissing me?” Bambi struggled off the floor, pulling her silk robe around her enormous tits. “I can’t believe you’re—”

Nick silenced her with a lethal glare as Jax flanked her. Bambi shot Cheryl her own deadly sneer and then huffed out of the room.

“You could at least say you're sorry.” Nick twisted his lips in an annoying smirk.

“Okay, I’m sorry I had to see that bimbo half-naked with your dick—”

“All right, don’t be a wiseass.”

“I just innocently entered your office.” Cheryl cocked her head and widened her eyes in a practiced way and waited.

“I have a feeling you don’t do anything innocently.”

Although she was enjoying their banter, the couch on the other side of the office looked very inviting. At two a.m., Cheryl was exhausted after the night she had.

As if reading her mind, he flung his arm in the direction of the couch. “Sit, you look like you’re gonna drop.”

Cheryl hobbled across the room and gratefully sank into the soft leather couch. Every tense, taut muscle and nerve in her body relaxed for the first time that night.

Nick stared at her for a long minute, then turned to the bar in the corner of his office. A very nice office. All plush carpet, dark wood, and glass. He returned and handed her a glass filled with bourbon. “I guess you decided to ditch that deadbeat Jimmy and take me up on my offer.”

“Something like that.” Another flash of Jimmy bleeding out made her swallow hard.

“What’s that on your shirt?”

Shit, a trace of Jimmy’s blood. She’d washed her hands but stupidly forgot to examine her clothing. “Ketchup. I had french fries earlier.” She’d rather he thought of her as a slob than an attempted murderer.

Nick’s gaze lingered on the stain, so she shifted and motioned around the room. “I can’t believe this is the same place that looked like it was one windstorm away from collapsing.” She casually sipped at the bourbon, hoping to divert the conversation.

“Amazing what can happen when you pour a shitload of money into a place, but thanks.”

Cheryl marveled at the softness of his voice, so different from his demeanor at the Pit. She guessed this man had many different personas.

Nick ran his finger along the rim of his glass. “I don’t think you walked seven blocks in those shoes to talk about the success of the Oasis or its decor.”

His ebony eyes flicked to her stilettos, then slowly made their way up her legs and body until they were eye to eye once again.

“Well, you did say to come see you anytime, right?” She grinned, forcing herself not to look away.

“Why don’t you start with your name; then you can tell me why you’re really here?” Nick knocked a cigarette out of the pack on the coffee table and offered one to her. She waved it away. Smoking had never been one of her vices. He took his time lighting it and drawing in that first drag while staring at her, almost daring her to tell him all her truths.

“Cheryl Benson.” She smiled sweetly in an attempt to win him over because if he threw her out, she’d be spending the night on the corner bus stop’s bench, cowering every time a cop car passed. “And the reason I’m here is really very simple.” Moment of truth. At this point, she’d be grateful if he let her stay on this glorious comfy couch for the next few hours.

His silence forced her to forge ahead.

“This is going to sound a bit strange.” She ran her hand over the black leather. “I got locked out of my apartment, and I just need a little money for a room tonight, which I will pay you back tomorrow.”

His dark gaze unnerved her, so she babbled on. “Actually, if I could sack out on this couch for a few hours, I’ll be gone before daybreak, and you’ll never lay eyes on me again.”

“Hmmm.” Nick sipped on his bourbon, and her heart pounded in anticipation of his next words. “In other words, you and that loser Jimmy had a fight, or you wanna hide out here either from the cops or that loser, or maybe a combination of both.”

Cheryl schooled her expression, but she couldn’t control the perspiration popping out on her forehead or the fear that somehow he knew her secret.

“I’m guessing from the beads of sweat that I’m right about one or both of those observations.”

This man’s perception was spooky.

“I’m pretty good at reading people. Helps me separate the takers from the givers.”

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