“Seems short-term.”
“I have a little nest egg I’ve started for retirement, don’t worry. I know I won’t always be in possession of these hypnotic breasts.”
His gaze flickered to her breasts, but to his credit, he came back to her eyes immediately. No matter. That was enough time for her to work her magic. She shook her other hand, and revealed the quarter, safe and sound.
“Impressive.”
“This is amateur stuff. You should see my other tricks.” It was habit that had that invitation coming out breathy and suggestive. Totally habit, and not at all desire.
Not that Krish seemed to notice. He took the coin and placed it on top of his other cash, though the bill hadn’t come yet. “I need to go to the bathroom.” He hesitated.
Sejal lifted an eyebrow at him. “Thank you for announcing.”
“Do I need to tell you not to run away again?”
“I told you, I wasn’t running away yesterday. I couldn’t sleep.” And she’d hated to admit to even that vulnerability. Imagine if she’d told him the truth.
A real badass wouldn’t care who they were sleeping next to. Like Krish, who had shut his eyes and fallen asleep in a chair. He wasn’t affected by silly anxieties. He didn’t need to see how weak she was inside. Better to let him think she couldn’t sleep in jeans.
“You did tell me that,” he said, without inflection.
“You have the car keys.” She gestured to the vast nothingness outside. “Where could I even go here? Not a bar to be found.”
“I assume you can hot-wire a car.”
“Actually, that’s not one of my skills,” she lied. She didn’t need to steal any cars right now. “Some of us aren’t hotshot FBI agents.”
He glanced around. “Keep your voice down.”
She didn’t need to. The place was fairly quiet after the lunch rush, and nobody was paying attention to them sitting in the corner. “Go.”
He slid out of the booth. “I’ll be back in two minutes.”
“Take your time.” She ate another big bite of pancake. The second he disappeared from view, she put her fork down and pulled out her secret phone. Or at least, she assumed it was still a secret.He’d definitely rifled through her belongings when she went to the bar last night, which she wasn’t upset about—she would have done the same. But she’d had the phone on her.
She’d been planning on texting Kenneth, but now, with the phone in her hand, she hesitated.
Do your parents or aunt say their crimes are victimless, too?
She ran her tongue over her teeth, wishing she could get those words out of her head, but it was impossible. They were too close to Mira’s accusation from decades ago.
You’re just like Dad.
She wasn’t. She wasn’t the same as the rest of her family.
You’re the eldest daughter of two thieves. And you’ll never be anything more.
Mira was more. She’d escaped. Went to college, became respectable, married an attorney, probably thought long-term and diligently maxed out her retirement accounts. If Mira could do it, could escape their upbringing, Sejal could, too.
But you haven’t. Not yet. Krish is right.
She opened a message and put in Mira’s number. The third number she always programmed into every phone, after her aunt and Ken, though she’d never used it.
Sejal had seen her little sister exactly three times since she left home at eighteen. The last time was at Mira’s pre-wedding party, which she’d semi-crashed and lurked at out of a misguided sense of familial longing. The time before that had been when Mira rescued her from their mother’s clutches by trading that diamond necklace for her. And the time beforethathad been when Mira was in college. When Sejal had been running from Alexei and his mafia ties and she’d shown up at her sister’s door for help and been rebuffed.
You’re just like Dad.
Sejal bit her lip, and typed.
