They enjoyed their martinis together, admiring a painting of a cherry blossom.
“Are you going to buy anything?” she asked, sliding an olive into her mouth. Her Camorra-assigned bodyguard stood only a few feet behind, hands clasped at his front, face impassive.
“Probably,” Tucker sighed. “I’m trying to get Baron Spencer to invest in my new venture. Making a purchase might put me on his radar.”
Baron Spencer was the billionaire CEO of Fiscal Heights Holdings and Emilia Spencer’s husband. Also, the biggest asshole to grace this planet.
“You might want to buy the entire room, then.” Tierney laughed. “I hear he’s hard to impress.”
“I’m not sure my apartment can accommodate thirteen pieces.” He glanced around, grinning. “Can I buy you one?”
“Sure. I had my eye on that one.” She pointed her martini in the direction of a gorgeous black-and-white painting of a man smoking. Emilia’s son, Tierney guessed. Vaughn Spencer.
Tucker’s lips quirked upward. “If I buy it, can I at least come and admire it on your wall?”
She shrugged. “I’ll need someone to hang it up, anyway.”
“Happy nailing, everyone.” Baron ‘Vicious’ Spencer himself slid between them, his icy, pale eyes trained on his wife’s art. “Just as long as we’re clear that nothing of this sort happens on my property.”
Tucker offered him his hand. “Mr. Spencer, good to finally meet you. I’m Tucker Reid.”
“I know who you are.” Spencer eyed his outreached hand like it was a warm bowl of shit, hands still linked behind his back. “I hear you came about your fortune because your ex’s husband gave you a million dollars to evacuate their lives permanently after your stint in prison.”
Tucker slipped his hand into his front pocket. “I didn’t peg you as a gossip, Mr. Spencer.”
Spencer’s lenient smile was so mocking she felt the secondhand humiliation all the way down to her little toes. “Get off my property, Mr. Reid, before I exercise my Second Amendment rights—and those index and thumb muscles.”
Tucker Reid sounded like a piece of work.
And that made him just perfect for Tierney’s plan.
She didn’t look for a boyfriend. She looked for a man corrupt enough to deserve a good beating, if Achilles decided to get territorial. This guy had served time in prison. He could hold his own.
“We’ll be out of your way,” Tierney chirped, throwing her dazzling smile at Mr. Spencer. As expected, it stirred absolutely nothing in him. He was a one-woman man, incapable of even noticing anyone else.
“You stay. I can take out the trash myself,” Spencer drawled.
“No need. I was on my way out, anyway. Send your wife my warmest regards.”
Tucker shrugged and followed Tierney to the elevators. He knew when to cut his losses. Spencer wasn’t going to work with him. His ex’s husband, Rhyland Coltridge, was as vengeful as he was influential. He had given him a million dollars to sign away any claim on his mutual spawn with his ex, but the bastard failed to mention it wasn’t just his annoying kid he was giving up.
Tucker truly was cut off from polite society in every capacity now.
That he managed to sneak into this exhibition was a miracle in itself.
When a brawny man entered the elevator with Tucker and Tierney, the handsome man finally turned to his hookup. “You know this guy?”
“He’s my bodyguard,” she explained cryptically.
“Are you a big deal or something?” Tucker narrowed his eyes. Maybe tonight wasn’t a dud after all. If this woman was rich and influential, she could help him.
“Or something.” Tierney popped open a compact mirror she extracted from her bag and checked her makeup.
The trio entered a black Escalade. Tucker’s spirits lifted. Having her own driver was a positive sign. But when the vehicle stopped in front of a gothic-looking church in a crime-ridden neighborhood, he faltered.
If she was so rich and famous, how come she lived in this shithole?
But she was beautiful, and her body was killer. If nothing else, he’d get a good lay out of it.
