I shook myhead.
“Then you have nothing to worry about. Now, why don’t you take a seat on that other lounge chair and tell me all the things I should change aboutmyself.”
“I’m fine standing.” My tone wasshort.
He flicked his gaze to my footwear. “In thoseheels?”
I leaned my hip against the rough stone handrail. “Tell me about how tomorrow works. What sort of help do people come to youfor?”
“It varies, but it usually involves some form of physical retribution or monetarydonation.”
“People come to you forhandouts?”
“You seemsurprised.”
Begging in a subway station was one thing, but sticking a cupped palm out to the Mafia lord was quite another. Not to mention Jarod’s money was probably tainted by blood. “What do you ask for inreturn?”
“Nothing.”
If that were true, it would mean he was generous, and generosity wiped sinner points off scorecards. Ever since he’d been recorded in the Ranking System, his score had neverwavered.
It hit me then why this must be—the money wasn’t his to give. Dirty money expunged any good act done with it. “And the physical retribution? What does thatentail?”
“It varies from beating up spouses to frighteningbosses.”
“Do you do the beating up or thefrightening?”
“What sort of savior would I be if I didn’t do anyrescuing?”
There he went with his Robin Hood complex again. “Do you do background checks to verify claims before you go in gunsblazing?”
“I know you think me amoral, but I didn’t think you thought mestupid.”
I sighed. “I don’t think you’re stupid, Jarod. Conniving, calculating, controlling, but notstupid.”
“Thankyou.”
I shifted, because the stone was digging into my joint. “Those weren’tcompliments.”
“My uncle was all of those things, andmore.”
“I take it you idolizedhim?”
Jarod moved his linked hands to the back of his head. “He came from nothing. Dropped out of school at thirteen, then worked at a stud farm outside of Paris for six years. He started by shoveling horse shit before working his way up to training them. One of the horses he coached ended up breaking every racing record two years in a row, making his stables millions. The owner gave my uncle five thousand euros to thank him. Five thousand euros—” Jarodsnorted.
“He could’ve been givennothing.”
“Ah . . . forever the voice ofreason.”
“I wasn’t implying he didn’t deservemore.”
“No, you were implying he should’ve been grateful for hiswinnings.”
I shrugged one shoulder. “So, how did he go from horse trainer to”—I nodded toward the courtyard—“this?”
“Why don’t you sit down? You’re giving me a crick in myneck.”
“I’m sure your neck is fine,” Isaid.
