I shrugged, buying myself a second. “I don’t know. I don’t charge hourly.”
Her eyebrows lifted, curiosity sparking. Of course. I shouldn’t have said that. Now she’d just dig deeper, and I wasn’t exactly in the mood to discuss my financial details. Or maybe it wasn’t the finances bothering me. Maybe it was the realization Valentina was interested at all.
“Then how do you charge?”
I hesitated again. Usually, I’d evade, deflect, throw up a wall. But Valentina had this infuriating way of climbing over those walls, so what was the point?
“Yearly retainers,” I finally said. “Usually around five million per family. More if they’re particularly difficult.”
Her eyes widened slightly, the number sinking in. I could see her calculating what that meant. Maybe she was finally realizing why I didn’t have sugar or personality cluttering my apartment—I didn’t have time for much beyond work. Didn’t need much else either.
“And Max?” she asked, curiosity brightening her eyes even more.
I gave her a dry look, not bothering to hide my amusement. “Max pays double. But he’s worth the headache.”
She laughed softly, the sound unexpected enough that it actually made me pause.
Shit, when did I start liking the way her laughter sounded?
“You said families,” she pointed out, leaning forward a little. “How many others do you work for? I figured Max would want you all to himself.”
It was fair—most people assumed Max monopolized my time. Max liked people to think that, liked them to believe his pockets were deep enough to buy loyalty. But loyalty wasn’t what I was selling. Loyalty was messy, complicated. Loyalty got you killed. Or worse, it got other people killed.
No—I didn’t sell loyalty. I sold discretion.
“I don’t care for ethics, Valentina,” I said plainly. “I defend whoever pays me enough to make it worth my while.”
She studied me quietly, taking that in. It felt strangely exposing, laying out my principles—or lack thereof—so clearly. But I didn’t look away. Couldn’t even if I wanted to.
Finally, she smirked again, shaking her head slightly. “So you’re loyal to the paycheck, not the man? You make disloyalty sound so charming.”
“It’s not disloyalty,” I objected. “It’s business. Loyalty is reserved for people who deserve it.”
“Does Max deserve it?”
“Max deserves discretion,” I clarified quietly, watching her carefully. “That’s different.”
“And what about me?”
My head fell back. “Clarify.”
“Do I get loyalty or discretion?” she asked.
“You get whatever you want. You already do, don’t you?”
“That’s not an answer.”
“I think you already know what my answer is, yeah?”
She smiled sweetly. “Yeah.”
“Then spare me.”
“Fine. Just this once.”
Valentina looked down at the card again, spinning it between her fingers like she was debating whether to keep it or toss it back in my face. Either option wouldn’t have surprised me.
“So,” she began with a cunning smile, “does this mean I can get Louboutins?”
