Page 4 of Trust Me

I wave his correction away. “This is why I need you there. I don’t give a shit about art. But the brown nosers who’ll be there do. You’ll help me butter them up, and I can focus on getting Waterson to sign the damn contract. You love those exhibits.”

He’s holding out, but he’s been to Miami multiple times for this event. I know he’ll cave.

A muscle in his jaw flexes as he grinds his teeth. He peers at me over the glass in his hands. A smile hits my mouth as I see the moment he makes his decision. His eyes are the giveaway.

“Thanks, cousin. We’ll pop a bottle of champagne once Waterson signs the paperwork.”

“That will be a huge accomplishment, indeed.” A silky voice invades my eardrums, sirening my full attention.

I peer up from the tumbler in my hands to see a woman standing before me. She’s not our private waitress.

No.

The woman in front of me is certainly not who’s been pouring our drinks for the past thirty minutes. This woman’s cinnamon brown skin is glowing underneath the low lighting of the club, full lips painted an unnatural shade of red. On her, the color sets off the red undertones in her skin.

From my seated angle, she’s tall, probably around five-nine or five-ten. Her hair cascades over her shoulders, fanning down around her face. Her coffee irises dance with interest as she peers down at me.

Before I open my mouth and demand to know how the hell she got so damn close, a distinct clicking sounds. The woman’s eyes widen as she realizes someone has placed a nine-millimeter to her temple.

I sit back in my chair, crossing an ankle over my knee, and study her reaction. She doesn’t cower or beg for the gun to be put away.

Interesting.

The usual groupies who invade my space would’ve had at least one tear fall by now.

I keep my eyes trained on her as I say, “We’ll have to discuss why it took almost a full minute for my security to do their damn job.” That’s when I pin the security guard holding the gun to the woman’s head with a glare. I often keep security with me when out in public spaces such as this.

He visibly swallows. This woman should’ve never gotten this close.

“If you ask me, their reaction time is pretty good,” she says as she moves to sit in the chair beside me.

“In case you hadn’t noticed, the gun pointed at your templeisn’tan invitation to stay,” I tell her.

Those red-tinted lips spread into a dangerous smile. “That wasn’t necessarily an invite to leave, either.”

She’s bold. I’ll give her that. I peer over at my security, who looks completely fucking confused about how to handle this. I wave him off.

He puts the safety on his gun and steps back into the shadows of the VIP section. I’ll deal with his ass later.

Movement from across the table catches my eye. Diego, who’s been silent throughout this exchange, glances between me and the woman. He stands.

“I’m in,” he says, agreeing to Miami. His eyes slide over to the woman next to me. “I’m going to make some rounds.” He smirks and saunters off.

“I thought he’d never leave,” the woman beside me says.

“Now it’s your turn.” I don’t bother sparing her a look as I down the rest of my drink.

“But we’re just getting acquainted. I was interested in the Waterson deal you’re working on.”

I grit my teeth. That she’d overheard even a part of that conversation pisses me off. I keep tight control over my surroundings for this reason. The VIP section of The Black Opal is supposed to be secure from outside distractions.

I turn to the woman, my eyes scanning her face. “If you were looking to suck my dick, there’re better ways to go about it. I don’t talk business with strangers.”

“But you’ll talk about your dick with one?” Her smile grows as she slow blinks at me.

An involuntary sound escapes my mouth.

“Don’t worry. It’s not your bed I’m interested in, Mr. Townsend.”

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