I text Dominic my plan, and he sends me a bunch of question marks, then says he’ll be in to join me.
We sit at the bar for hours, drinking ourselves into oblivion.
“Are we still grabbing the Princess?” he asks quietly, before we’re both too drunk to speak coherently.
“Meh,” I swat the thought away.
“The apartment is ready, boss,” he says. “Tomorrow, maybe? While everyone is trying to get their cars. It will be chaos.”
My brain feels foggy; my thoughts are sloppy. “If it’s… Lars is negotiating now. Maybe it’s not…”
“Not necessary?” Dom finishes for me. He shrugs. “Maybe not. But come on, you know Campisi. Even if Lars pulls off a miracle, nothing that lands on our side is going to sit right with them.He’ll find some way to screw us. Better to have leverage in hand. We can preempt it.”
I sigh, long and heavy. He’s not wrong.
“Okay. Sure,” I say, slurring my words a bit. “Yeah, okay.”
Dom nods, tosses back a shot of vodka, and smirks. “Good. Ah, speak of the temptress herself.”
My head snaps around, and there she is.
Her hair is in a messy braid that falls over one shoulder, and she wears a simple denim jumpsuit that hugs her torso, her breasts on artful display, before widening into wide legs. She wears several layers of gold chains, and those infernal, sexy heels finish off the look.
“Goddamn it,” I mutter. “Fucking…shoes.”
Dominic chokes on a laugh. “Got the hots for a girl in high heels?”
“Something like that.”
“Well, looks like the match negotiations must be moving along. The skinny nerd from last night is back.”
Indeed, the skinny nerd is back, and Leanna is looping her arm through his as they make their way to a high-top table. She takes a seat, smiling at him as he holds up a finger and bolts to the bar to order drinks like an obedient errand boy.
Her ability to compartmentalize is unnerving, like she didn’t just cry in my arms hours ago. Now she’s polished, dressed to kill, and putting on a show with a man who couldn’t possibly be in her league.
And, of course, he walks right up next to us to place his order with the bartender.
“Two house reds,” he says.
“Fucking pussy,” I mutter into my glass.
“I’m… sorry?” he stammers, turning toward me.
I swivel my head slowly, and he reels backward just a little.
“I said you’re a fucking pussy,” I say, enunciating every word. “Fucking red wine? Get a real fucking drink.”
The nerd makes a face, half nervous, half unsure if I’m joking. His eyes dart to Dom, maybe hoping for backup. I don’t even need to see Dom’s expression to know he’s probably fighting back a grin.
“I don’t… I’m not sure what I did to upset you,” he says carefully. “I was just trying to?—”
“Get drinks for you and Leanna Campisi,” I cut in, my voice dangerously low. “Yeah, I’ve got eyes. I can see. And here’s the thing, you’re swinging way outside your weight class, kid.”
“I’m… what?” the guy stammers.
I lean in. “She’s out of your league. By a mile.”
He glances at Leanna, then back at me. “Listen, you danced with her once, and everyone was on edge. So maybe back off? She might be out of my league, but her father picked me. I’ve got a better shot than you right now.”
