Page 22 of Dark Alliance
“Dane…”
My insides shrivel as my tinny recorded voice spills from his speakers. I slump back to the bench, all the strength zapped from my limbs.
Connor smirks. The bastard couldn’t appear more smug as the recording of our night together at the Desmond plays on his phone.
Shame and rage swirl together in my chest, inseparable. I can’t decide if I want to die or kill Connor. Maybe both.
Though the park is empty, I smother the phone’s speaker with my hands and hit him with the dirtiest glower I can muster. “What do you want? You’ve had your fun. We’re done.”
Connor slips his blessedly silent phone into his coat pocket. “They agreed to the prisoner exchange, not the alliance.”
I keep my face neutral and my eyes on my food.
Shit, shit, shit.
Father said as much on the voicemail, and I realize that’s probably not all Nino’s got planned. He’ll likely reject the Kings in some grand way.
WhatdoesConnor know?
If we’re lucky, nothing more than this.
Connor subjects the sandwich in his lap to a curious once-over. “The deal’s not off entirely, and I’m a patient man. I can play the long game. In the meantime, either agree to spend time with me, or else this baby goes viral.” He pats his pocket.
This man is evil incarnate. How the hell did I let this happen?
“What’d I ever do to you?”
Oops. I intended for that comment to remain inside my head.
My father and Nino still set up the prisoner exchange?
They’re testing him? No, that’s not Nino’s style.
It’s an ambush.
“Come on, Cat. Don’t be such a sourpuss.” He touches my chin, pulling my eyes to his. “Penny for your thoughts?” His fingertips leave tingles on my skin.
I push his hand down and plaster on my biggest grin. “Just imagining jamming a stiletto through your balls.”
Those brown eyes glitter with interest. “That’s the spirit.”
He inches closer, orange and woodsmoke invading my nose. I cross my legs and shift away from him. Though I’ve lost my appetite, I take a big bite of my sandwich.
I don’t have time for liars.
He drapes a long, muscled arm along the bench behind me. “Hostile posturing’s not going to hurt my feelings, but Dane Ryder would appreciate a little respect, especially if his J. Rochelle, a piece Curator Pruitt creamed his pants over, remains with the Cosmopolitan.”
I whip my head around to glare. “Do you ever shut up? I’m trying to eat.”
He grins and leans back, just a little.
Asshole.
My boss did love the piece.
And art dealing is my second favorite pastime, next to swimming. I won’t let go ofRain on Jupiterunless we exhaust all other options, and I sure as shit refuse to allow a video of my sexcapades to go viral.
I can play nice. A little. As long as Connor behaves.
