“Hold on there.” Kluge stepped in front of him, disrupting his line of sight. “I was here first. You wait your turn.”
“Wait my turn?” Asher snarled.
Who the fuck did this guy think he was?
At least Kluge had the grace to back step a little, holding his hands up all let’s-play-nice and dropping his voice.
“Look, I just want her earrings. Then you can do whatever the hell you want with her.”
Asher focused on the diamonds in Duchess’s earlobes, trying not to think of the way they’d sparkled while she’d thrown her head back in ecstasy last night. The gems were dazzlers, sure, but he didn’t see what the big deal was. Duchess was far more valuable.
“Fine.” He shrugged, taking a step back. “I’ll wait then.”
The look Kluge shot him held both malice and glee and it took everything in Asher to back off. But what else could he do? He’d already assaulted a member of one of the most powerful tech tycoon’s staff. So the guy wanted Duchess’s earrings, big deal. He could wait for the exchange and send Kluge on his way before having a heart to heart with Duchess. God knows, he didn’t need any witnesses for his heartache.
And it would definitely come to that.
The defiance on Duchess’s face was clear as day.
Shit, he was so fucked.
Even though his gaze suggested she was probably in mortal danger, the fact that Asher had found her buoyed Clea somehow. Damn, even pissed off, he was handsome as hell.
“Right then.” Kluge clapped his hands together, drawing her gaze. Shit, how could she have forgotten about him? “As I was saying before we were so rudely interrupted, I’d like my earrings back.”
Clea shook her head, holding her ground. Sure, she could just hand them over, but with the way Asher was glowering at her, she wanted him to know the truth. She may have stolen a few things, but those earrings were hers legitimately.
“I believe you meanmyearrings,” she drawled with more confidence than she felt. Damn, what Asher must think of her. “These were a gift. And after all the shit you put me through, I’m not giving them back.” She tapped a finger on one of them. “Asshole tax, remember?”
“Come on, Cookie—”
“I’m not your Cookie, Kluge, I never have been. And you’re not getting these back. We’re done, remember?”
Kluge gritted his teeth and Clea fought back a satisfied smirk. No need to let him see how much fun she was having taunting him with his own name.
“Look,” He took a deep breath, holding his hands out to the sides as he went for calm, “I can have new ones made for you.”
“Why would you do that when these are perfectly fine?”
Clea cast a glance at Asher, who was glaring daggers at Kluge, wondering if he thought this situation as sketchy as she did. The guy had tracked her down over earrings? She’d been wearing them for months. Why now?
“Because I need those back.” He spoke slowly, clearly fighting back irritation as he explained to her like she was a kindergartener. “I know you like those, so I’ll have new ones made, exactly like them. I’ll even call the jeweler right now and place the order.”
“What’s the big deal, Kluge?” She dropped her arms, resting her hands on the back of the chair she planned to hit him with if necessary. Somehow, with Asher in the room, she didn’t feel as trapped. But she wasn’t about to take any chances. “I get you want them, but why these in particular? We both know you can afford whatever the hell you want.”
He dropped his arms on a sigh, his shoulders curving in.
“They’re not mine.”
“You gave me stolen goods?” Clea laughed at that one, hard. Talk about the whole pot and kettle thing. “Who’d you get them from? The Bratva? ’Ndrangheta?”
“Worse.”
Clea froze at that comment, racking her brain for pertinent intel. Whoever was worse than the Russians and Italians was still probably going through Botswana for traffic. Maybe she could reach out to her contacts and—
“Just give me the earrings, Aëtos.” The steel in Kluge’s voice sent a chill down her spine. Whoever had his balls in a vice was obviously not someone to mess with.
“Who?” she pressed.
