Page 30 of Craved

And I hate myself for it.

“Well, what?”

“Did I pass your test?” My words are laced with real contempt, but I’m not sure if it’s for me or for him.

He looks me up and down. “That wasn’t a test. It was a fuck. A nice one—don’t get me wrong—but it hardly qualifies as an exchange of currency. Besides,” he adds in a voice that is caramel-sweet, “I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about.”

“Bullshit.”

“Your cursing vocabulary hasn’t improved,” he says mildly. “You really should work on your repertoire.”

“Get me in with Killion, and I’ll hire a comedian to write me material,” I say. “Please, Maxim. I need the money. If you have ever loved—”

“Don’t.”

I stiffen. His voice had been as sharp as a knife, and now his finger is right in my face.

“Don’t you dare go down that road.”

I nod. I don’t understand what’s triggered him, but I’m confident the trigger is real. And I’m not willing to risk him blowing.

His brow furrows as he studies me. “What kind of game are you playing?”

I shake my head. “Game?”

“Get you in with Killion? Do you really think that I don’t know the truth? That you’re already years deep with that man? That you’re his go-to girl?”

“That’s not truth. That’s delusion.”

His eyes narrow. “Bullshit.”

I shake my head, racking my brain to figure out why he would think I know Killion Lambert.

“Fine,” he says after the silence lingers. “You say you don’t know Lambert personally. Why are you here?”

“I told you. I’m looking for a payday.”

“And you just happened to think he has a big one coming up.”

I tilt my head, studying him. Something’s off, and I can’t figure out what it is. “Doesn’t he?”

“Where’s your intel coming from?”

I smile. “A girl has to have some secrets.”

“A girl tells her secrets, or she hangs out in this room alone indefinitely. Your choice.”

“Fine.” The word is clipped, and I don’t even have to act to play the part of a frustrated prisoner. “I heard from a guy I used to hang with after you bailed on me. He’d heard about Group Ultra and a guy named Maxim.”

I shrug, hoping he buys the bullshit story. “Not that common a name, right? Anyway, he heard something about a big job. And then I poked around and realized it really was you…” I trail off. “I figured maybe you’d give me a job. To make up for the way you walked out on me.”

“Me? What about how you—”

He cuts his words off, and I fight a frown. That’s not the first time he’s danced around an accusation. But I have no idea what I’ve done that’s pissed him off. Which, unfortunately, puts me at a significant disadvantage.

When he continues to say nothing, I press the point. “You owe me.”

“How do you figure that?”