After handing her a glass, I pour myself one before setting it on the counter. “First, I’ve never drugged anyone. Two, I can’t take advantage of the willing. And last, I wouldn’t have been seen in public with you and brought you back here if I meant you any harm. I’ll drink mine first so you know you’re safe.” She eyes me skeptically as I drink the entire glass and pour myself another. “Happy?”
She smiles widely and lifts her glass to her beautiful lips. “I’m satisfied.”
“I don’t get you, Kennedy. Something about you doesn’t make sense. What’s with the fake names and wigs? I don’t understand why you’re hanging out with Hassan either. He’s dangerous, and you don’t seem the type.” I’m dancing around the topic, hoping she says something that will fill in some blanks without my coming right out and asking.
“What type do I seem?” she asks over the rim of the wineglass.
“If I’m going off what I know and what I’ve observed, I’m guessing you’re a bored little rich girl looking for trouble.” My words hit a nerve because she snarls, but I continue. “Or you’re looking for attention from your father by associating with the worst criminals in the country.”
“Maybe I’m looking for a career.” She takes a gulp of the wine, but she keeps her eyes pinned on me.
I busy myself with finishing our dinner instead of staring at her and fantasizing. Sometimes I know it’s easier for people to talk openly when they aren’t being studied or lusted after. “You want to get into the same line of work as Hassan?”
“Hell, no. I thought I could learn a thing or two by getting close to him.” She refills her glass and holds the bottle up to me, but I shake my head. “But so far, he just wants to get in my pants.”
“He thinks women are only useful for one thing. If you’re looking to learn the business, Hassan isn’t the one to teach you, kid.”
She starts to cough, and wine dribbles down her chin before she sticks out her tongue and licks it away. “Kid?”
“You’re twenty-three, Kennedy. You’re too young to be part of Hassan’s world.” My voice is surprisingly even given that my insides are jumping after watching her tongue swipe against her skin. I wonder how the wine tastes on her lips and if they’re as sweet as I imagine them to be.
“I may be younger than most, but I’m cut out for this, Nix.”
“Fuckin’ women in my life,” I mutter as I pour the pasta on the plate and wonder how I now have two clueless women trying to stick their noses where they don’t belong.
“You don’t sound any better than Hassan.”
“It’s not that. This life isn’t cut out for everyone. You’re too high profile with your family tree to get involved in the world I live in. You obviously haven’t thought this through.”
Her back straightens as I slide the plate in front of her. “I have,” she says.
Taking the seat next to her, I pour myself another glass and top hers off before taking my first forkful. She’s still twisting the pasta around the tines, deep in thought and probably pissed off by the statement I made about women. Between her and Coco, I want to shake some sense into them.
“This is great,” she says after swallowing the first bite. “Where did you learn to cook like this?”
“I know a few dishes, but this one my grandmother taught me.”
“She did good.” She dabs her lips with a napkin I’d slid her way.
The Eva I met in the club is nothing like the woman sitting next to me, slurping up pasta sauce in the most uncivilized manner. The conversation is easy between us as I get little tidbits about her life. Her relationship with her father is almost nonexistent after the affair became public knowledge, but she’s close with her siblings, including a sister from her father’s marriage before she was born.
“What about you, Nix? Any brothers or sisters?”
I shake my head and push my plate forward, done with food and wanting to get to the real main course. “Just me.”
“How about your parents?”
“Alive and well in Boston.”
She smirks because she already guessed the Boston piece by my almost imperceptible accent. “What made you get into this business?”
I study her and scratch the hairs on my chin. “Is this a job interview, Kennedy?”
“Just making small talk.” She pushes her plate next to mine and turns to face me. She rests her chin on her hand and stares at me. “You aren’t who I thought you were.”
“I don’t seem like a criminal?” I tease, because everyone thinks of the way we’re portrayed by Hollywood. Dark, angry, and hotheaded. Sure, I’m those things when necessary, but most of the time I’m just me. Calculating and collected Nix Ash. The one who never overthinks anything and usually doesn’t take a risk without a lot of thought.
“You’re nothing like Hassan.”
