I undo the roll, straighten the cash, and make quick work of counting it—it's all twenties, but because the paper is rolled up, it only adds up to $160. "Huh. I'd have expected more."
“Rolling cash gives the impression of more than there is," Jakob says. "Back when I was young and dealing with various nefarious types, I saw it often. usually, there'll be a hundred or two on the outside, a couple of twenties, and the rest nothing but ones, but when you whip out a fat roll of cash like that, it's an effective illusion."
"It’s empty posturing."
He snorts. "To those familiar with true wealth, yes. But in a world where image and reputation are everything, it can be important." He juts his chin at me. "So. Does that buy me what you were thinking about?"
My cheeks flame. "No."
The twitch of his lips is very nearly an actual grin. "Ah. I see."
"You see nothing."
"I see that you're refusing to answer a simple question, which means you were definitely thinking about me."
"How very egotistical of you," I say, not looking at him.
"But am I wrong?" he asks, now fully smirking at me.
I look away rather than outright lie, because I'm a terrible liar; I'mfantasticat omission, obfuscation, and diversion, but if called upon to bald-faced lie, I can't do it without giving it away via my expressions. It's a personal failing of mine.
“Come now,” he cajoles. "You know you want to tell me."
"Fine, I'll tell you, but you have to trade me."
He nods, glances at me. "Okay, I'll play. Trade what?"
"A piece of equally damning, personal, or otherwise revealing information about yourself. Not 'I've never been to a Mets game' or 'I once shoplifted a candy bar and got away with it.' I'm talking real intel. Something no one else knows."
“Hmmm,” he hums. "Not sure I want to know what you were thinkingthatbadly. Must have been pretty damn personal." A pause. "How do I know the intel I give you will be of equal value?"
"You don't."
"You drive a hard bargain, Miss Bennet." He extends his right hand toward me—the one I was looking at, wanting to hold. "But you have a detail. I'll share mine first, as a gesture of good faith."
He lets out a long, slow sigh from puffed out cheeks and pursed lips. "I once ran a…hmmm. I suppose the most accurate term would be escort service."
"You were apimp?" I sound horrified, scandalized, and fascinated—all equally accurate.
"No," he snaps, his tone sharp. "I wasnotapimp."
I hold up my hands. "Okay, my bad. Didn't know there was a difference. I'm not exactly experienced in the sex work industry."
He closes his eyes, sighing. "I apologize for my tone. I have strong feelings on the topic."
"By all means, Jakob, say more."
"You first." A hard look at me. "The truth, if you please."
I swallow hard—this man has a strange way of pulling things out of me. Like the truth. "I was thinking about holding your hand."
5
A SIN-BLACKENED SOUL
JAKOB
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