Instantly, anger infuses my veins. I was too surprised and hurt last night to register anything else, but now, with Nico standing, judgmental, in front of me? I’m pissedoff all over again.
My steps slow as I near him, adding a little extra sway into my hips.Let him look.
“Mr. Price,” I say with a sweet purr. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”
His throat moves on a rough swallow. “Can we talk?”
I cock my head to study him. “I assume whatever it is you want to talk about isn’t something you want to be public knowledge so…should we go inside?”
He looks…nervous? His gaze drops down to my dress again before he nods.
Maybe I should care more about Nico seeing my apartment for the first time right now, especially since this was supposed to happen very differently in our original after-gala plans. No one’sever been in my apartment besides Amara. It should feel more vulnerable, shouldn’t it?
But I’m so focused on Nico, so frustrated and curious about what he’s doing here, that none of those feelings register. I unlock the front door and sweep into the apartment without any hesitation.
“Would you like anything to drink?” I ask over my shoulder. “I have water, water, or water with ice. Take your pick.”
When I pull a bottle from the fridge and spin to face him, he’s wide-eyed, looking at me in a way he never has.
Fair enough. I feel a little crazed right now, too.
“So…what can I do for you, Mr. Price? Here to book another night?”
That seems to snap him out of it because he takes a few big steps forward into the kitchen.
“Don’t call me that,” he begs. “Don’t talk to me like I’m a client.”
“But youarea client,” I remind him with a quirked eyebrow. “You paid me for every date, remember?”
“Only because it was the only way to get you to talk to me!” It explodes out of him, and for a moment, I wonder which outburst was his true subconscious: this, or the one last night.
I can’t tell, and that’s the problem.
“Men don’t usually pay me totalk, Nico.” The name slips out of me before I can think better of it.
“Then men are fucking idiots,” he snaps back. Then he sighs. “And I’m one of them.”
I narrow my eyes at him before taking a sip of my water, my chest tightening. “No argument there,” I mutter, more to myself than anything.
With a shake of his head, Nico says, “Okay, look. We need to talk. About last night.”
I slowly close my water bottle and place it aside. Then I lift myself up on the counter, crossing my legs in a way that the slit of my dress exposes my thigh.
“Fine. Pay me.”
Nico’s eyes widen. “What?”
My stare never wavers. “You just said it was the only way to get me to talk. So pay me.”
“Scarlett, that’s not what I?—”
“Pay me or get out.”
I think my words—and my tone—startle both of us. I haveneverordered a man around. I’ve always done my best to smooth things over, to make any situation I’m in as stress-free as possible. Even as an escort, demands have never been a part of that.
But there’s something welling up inside me, something demanding to be heard.
Nico must see it in my face, because even though he looks like he wants to push back, even though it takes him a few seconds to make the decision, in the end, he reaches into his pocket. Pulling out a wad of cash, he slams it on the kitchen counter.
