Page 7 of Black Sheep
It’s not difficult to imagine Cannon Freeman strolling through a room packed with women, his hands in the pockets of his tailored suit pants, surveying the offerings. He’d stop in front of one and give her a chin lift and say something like,“Come on. You’re coming with me tonight. All night.”
For some stupid reason, my thighs clench together at the image. The man has enough power and presence to pull it off, regardless of the cheesy line.
“I can see that,” I tell her, sipping like the information is nothing but anecdotal.
Randi’s sparkling brown eyes snap to my face. “You want to fuck him. Don’t deny it. I knew you would.” She pumps her fist in the air like she won a prize.
“What? No. Of course not.”
I deny it vehemently, even though part of me did consider using seduction to get the information I need, but only one night isn’t going to do jack. Cannon Freeman isn’t the kind of man who would spill everything in pillow talk after a single killer orgasm. No, he needs to trust me implicitly before he’ll tell me anything worthwhile. You don’t live this long in a mob family by being stupid or indiscreet.
“Psh. He’d fuck you. Maybe even more than once. God, wouldn’t that be the tits? If you were the woman to break the one-night spell?”
I roll my eyes at her. “Like he’s Sleeping Beauty waiting for a kiss from the prince?”
“If Sleeping Beauty were a guy with a big ol’ dick waiting for the right pussy to fuck twice,” Randi says with a laugh. “Damn, that’d be a good story. I should write that shit down.”
She untucks her phone from where it’s trapped between her black lacy bra and her right boob, and her thumbs fly over the screen as she makes notes.
As soon as she puts it down, I can’t help but ask, “Anything else you want to share that you didn’t mention before the interview? Anything that’ll help me keep my job?”
Randi taps a nail against the side of her phone, and the glitter flashes in the light of the bar. “I’ve heard he fucks everyone who works for him, but that’s not wildly surprising. How could anyone resist? Hmm ...”
“How’s his relationship with his dad?” I ask, leading her away from the sexual topics that make me want to squirm in my seat.
Randi’s eyes widen, and she ducks her head down toward me and the champagne flutes. “Don’t say that out loud. Not in public, and for God’s sake, not that loud.” She scans the bar as if looking for a hit squad coming to kill us.
I lower my voice and lean closer. “It’s not a secret, though. At least, I thought that’s what you said when I applied for the job.”
“It might be the worst-kept secret, but it’s not something you wanna be talking about ... if you know what I mean,” Randi whispers.
I know exactly what she means. Because people who get caught digging too close to the Casso family end up six feet under. If they’re lucky.
As my celebratory mood fades with that thought, a man comes up behind Randi and covers both shoulders with his hands.
“Watching you over here is killing me, babe. You and your friend want to come join us? We’ll show you both a real good time.”
The guy is about as tall as Randi is while seated, but she glances down at his hand on her left shoulder—his massive hand—and looks up at him from under her eyelashes. “You’re pretty bold for a little guy.”
“I ain’t little everywhere. Promise.”
I avoid the awkwardness of overhearing their flirting by staring down at my almost-empty champagne glass. After about five minutes, I decide my presence isde trop.
“I gotta go, Randi. Big day tomorrow with the new job. Thank you so much for the champagne. You’re the best.”
Randi and her friend both watch me slide off my stool and slip my bag over my shoulder. Once I’m on my feet, he scans me from the top of my blond wig to the toes of my black leather boots.
“You’re more than welcome to join us, babe.”
I’m five foot five, and I can look him directly in the eye. Not exactly what I would have pegged as Randi’s type ... until I remember that her self-professed type is pretty much everyone.
“Thanks, but I’m heading home.” I round the table to slip an arm around Randi’s shoulder and give her a halfway hug while avoiding touching her date. “Be safe.”
She catches me against her even tighter. “Always. No glove, no love. Talk at you after your first day. Knock ’em dead.”
As I walk out of the bar, I feel a sting of remorse that I’ve forged this friendship with Randi under false pretenses. She’s good people. I vow to myself that whatever happens next, none of this will blow back on her.
5
