Total pages in book: 108
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 509(@200wpm)___ 407(@250wpm)___ 339(@300wpm)
Ronald Gillen was a small fish. A known quantity. Which meant ESP allowed him to keep doing what he was doing.
The man was also an easy mark.
He kept two phones, and neither used biometric security measures—no FaceID or fingerprints for old Ronnie. In fact, he’d once been overheard saying, “They ain’t chopping my finger off to get in the damned phone just to see Sheila’s nagging texts about being late for dinner.”
I’d learned his passcode by simply standing behind him in line at Olivo’s Deli two weeks ago, and it happened to be his daughter’s birthdate. Dumbass.
I finished my spin and lowered into an open-kneed squat in front of Ronald when I saw a new man in his group. He was tall and fit, dark-haired and sexy as fuck. Even though he looked like he was only about thirty, the man oozed money.
Not just money, old money.
Power.
His presence seemed to suck all of the air out of the room and set everything to vibrating.
What the fuck was Locke Maris, the heir to the Maris shipping fortune, doing in a place like this, meeting with a corrupt union boss?
His eyes flicked over me with zero interest, which was no surprise. He probably had a pretty wife or girlfriend at home. I was a little impressed he didn’t seem interested in the dancing women nearby either, though. Maybe he was loyal. Or maybe he was simply focused on something else at the moment.
Like whatever he was here to talk to Ronald about.
Was he aware of Ronald’s petty grifting? Was he involved in it? In charge of it?
Maris was a much larger fish than Ronald or any of his known associates. And now he was in the middle of my op at the fucking Candy Bar.
I needed to get into Ronald’s phone to figure out why.
As I sank further into the squat, opening my knees and rolling my hips, I met Ronald’s eyes and winked. “Please,” I mouthed in a flirty way, tilting my head subtly toward the private rooms.
He tilted his chin up in agreement, then said something to Maris, who quickly shook his head and spoke again. Ronald lifted his eyebrows and made a joke I couldn’t hear over the music. They exchanged a back-and-forth before Ronald finally arranged for a private dance with me. I hopped down from the platform and made my way to the private room, not realizing until it was too late that the man following me wasn’t my fucking mark… but Locke Maris himself.
“Oh, uh…” I glanced behind him, trying to stay in character as a flirty dancer looking for a heavy tipper. “Just one person per VIP dance, baby.”
He narrowed his eyes. “Do you see anyone else?”
“I thought your friend wanted the dance,” I tried.
“Apparently not. And neither do I. If we could get this over with quickly, there’s a hundred bucks in it for you.”
I blinked at him, trying to look stupid and confused instead of annoyed and frustrated. “Why hire a private dance if you don’t want one?”
Maris smiled coldly. “Because my friend, as you called him, thinks forcing me into a lap dance with a male stripper will give him the upper hand in the conversation we’re about to have.”
It was clear from his tone that Ronald had miscalculated. Badly.
I crossed my arms in front of my chest, suddenly less capable of hiding my annoyance. “I’m not a stripper, asshole. I’m a…” I gritted my teeth, wanting so badly to say highly trained intelligence operative. “Dancer.”
Maris sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Can you just get on with the dancing, then? Better yet, don’t. We can sit in here for the duration of a song and call it good.”
Well, that wasn’t happening. If this asshole was going to spend time in a private room with me, I was going to do my best to hack his damned phone instead. Which required getting close to him.
“No can do, baby,” I purred, stepping closer and fingertip-walking my way up his chest to the cleft in his chin, which I tapped lightly. “I’m required to give you a dance. So, sit your sexy fucking ass down.”
He did not look amused, but he sat anyway. I moved over to the music system keypad and selected two songs without asking his preference or how long he wanted the dance for. Let him cut it off early if he noticed the song change. Two songs would give me more time.
If the man wasn’t attracted to me, though, this was going to be next to impossible. No horny haze of distraction to take advantage of. And he’d most likely balk at my touching him.
“You want to pretend I’m someone else, baby?” I asked with a grin, moving my hips and shoulders as the opening notes of Ginuwine’s “Pony” came over the sound system. “Go right ahead.”