I whirl around, and there’s Connor Quinn, swaggering through the bar. He bumps into some dude hard enough to almost send him flying, but doesn’t even pause or look back. Theguy’s complaint dies on his parted lips the second he realizes who bumped him.
Quinn’s heading straight for a stunning blond at the far end of the bar. Every woman in here is laser-focused on him. He dishes out smiles to the prettiest ones, boyfriends be damned.
He slips an arm around the blond and leans in close, saying something that makes her giggle like a schoolgirl.
When she turns around, I can see why he picked her—it’s safe to say she doesn’t look like the rear-end of a bus.
Fuck.
I finish my drink, grimacing as ice smacks against my teeth. If Deano thinks I can push through Quinn’s herd of fangirls and just bat my lashes to get his keys, he’s on another planet.
I wish Grandpa was the target now.
My odds are less than zero. Quinn is way out of my league. I’m squinting from the bleachers while Blondie scores touchdowns on the field. I’ll have better luck seducing the Moet ice bucket.
The guy grins like he doesn’t have a care in the world—probably doesn’t—as he hits on Blondie. He slugs back his drink then slams the glass down, missing the bar completely. It shatters on the floor. His new friend startles but Quinn just leans closer, like it never even happened. Charming.
So he’s an asshole. It’s not entirely unexpected considering the rumors. Apparently he’s broken up marriages left and right without so much as batting an eye, putting fools who dare cross him in the hospital, then miraculously making it all disappear. He hardly notices the bartenders sweeping in to clean up after him. Is he drunk?
Our eyes meet for a heart-stopping second before he looks away, dismissing me entirely.
No way this is happening. I don’t have the guts to approach Quinn. I’m screwed, well and truly screwed.
But this isn’t some silly game. This is nasty real-life business. Deano and his gang don’t mess around, and I’m up to my neck in debt to them.
I grab my shawl, bolting for the bathrooms, butVoguecover lookalikes are laughing and blocking the way.
Fuck. I can’t deal with people right now.
Then I spot a unisex bathroom tucked away in a less crowded area of the bar. Good enough for me.
I scurry back in the direction I came and swing open the door, finding it empty.
Tucked in a stall, I dial Deano, my hands trembling.
“What?” he barks over the line.
“Are you out of your fucking mind?” I whisper-yell into the phone, glaring at myself in the mirrored walls. “Connor Quinn? Absolutely not!”
“Mind the mouth, honey. He likes classy chicks.”
“My mistake, I’ll start curtseying immediately. Like seriously, are you stupid? No way. He’s too powerful. You looking for the fastest route to jail? ’Cause I’m not tagging along for that ride.”
“Calm down,” he growls. “Quinn’s been off his game, drinking too much. That’s why we’re doing this now.”
“I can’t do this. I’m out.”
“Not your call anymore, sweetheart.”
I’m borderline hyperventilating now. “Can’t I swipe someone else’s keys? Did you see the old bald guy sucking olives? I bet he has a lovely car.”
“Has to be Quinn’s ride.”
I close my eyes tight.
“Pull this off, or the boss will make you regret it. Got people outside your place ready to visit Grace.”
The stall tilts around me. I plant my forehead against the cool mirrored wall, embracing numbness.
