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I glanced beyond him to Dad, who looked broken as he stared unfocused at our cracked fireplace. But looks were deceiving. He’d only look so fragile until he had the bright idea to place another bet or return to the gaming tables at La Petite Mort.

A shiver raced through me, and Dupont’s face tightened like my sudden, private fear meant something to him.

And they were both clearly holding back information. Deals like this one didn’t exist. But Dad was right about one thing—we were desperate.

“So, it seems you have a choice.” Dupont looked as though it took some effort to relax as he addressed me. “I can either take everything that’s legally mine.” He gestured, his one arm wave presumably encompassing the house and even the bar. “Or you simply agree to the sub-clause, a one-month term with me, and you can retain the other collateral. I’d ensure the deeds would be put back in your name, and…” He spared a glance for Dad. “No one could ever gamble them away again.”

I struggled not to gape at him, my muscles aching with the strain of holding my mouth closed. “Mine?”

He nodded. “You have the power to fix this.”

I waited a beat. “Maybe, but why do I also feel like I don’t have much say?”

He gave an elegant shrug, that of a patient man, a predator. “No one is forcing your hand.”

“Only offering me everything I’ve ever wanted while certainly not telling me everything.”

He only shrugged again like he was completely unaffected by the turmoil in my head—turmoil he’d induced. I exhaled slowly. Maybe I didn’t need to be conflicted over this. It wasn’t like I was being offered up for sacrifice.

It was a business arrangement with a businessman. Escort to functions, nothing physical, one-month time limit. Put like that, it didn’t sound so bad. Especially considering all I stood to gain.

Which was why there had to be something else—something I was missing.

But was that missing thing enough to prevent me from saying yes?

I just had to negotiate carefully, that was all. “Okay. And what if I have some conditions of my own?” I pressed my lips closed against a sigh of frustration. I hadn’t meant to weaken myself at the start by making my additional demands into a question, something he could refuse.

But he nodded. “I’m willing to listen.”

Okay. Okay, if he’d listen, I’d talk. I kept my sigh of relief in my chest. I wanted to look confident and assured.

“First.” I ticked it off on my finger then glanced at him to check if he was aware this meant I was actually making a list. “I won’t sleep in your bed. I want my own space with guaranteed privacy. Second, I won’t do anything degrading or horrible.”

He lifted an eyebrow.

“Like wear anything I deem too slutty or kill anyone or something like that,” I expanded, waving a hand like this was something I was used to discussing. Negotiations I could do, although they were usually with the brewery or the utility companies.

“Got it. No killing.” He sounded faintly amused, but I didn’t regret actually stating the no killing condition. If he took women as payment, God only knew what else he was up to.

“Anything further?”

When I nodded, Dupont’s jaw tensed briefly before he returned to looking relaxed.

“Two things. I can’t be away from The Pour House for a month. It’s too long to leave it closed up—there’s no point retaining ownership to a business that’s gone out of business due to being closed for a month, right? So I want a temporary manager. Someone to oversee it and keep it running while I can’t be there. It isn’t something I can trust Dad to do.”

Dupont nodded. “Done. And the final thing?”

I rolled my eyes. I would have maybe tried to insert another last clause, but it looked like his desire to humor me was wearing thin.

“I want my Dad checked into rehab for his addictions and I want him to be unwelcome in La…in your casino.” I couldn’t say the name, although his eyes seemed to flicker slightly, like they could burn me, just from the fact I’d even considered it. But I pushed on. “I want him to be persona non grata all over Baton Rouge for gambling.”

“There are other cities.” Dupont dismissed my concern with a quick wave, but I glared at him, and he inclined his head. “But I’ll talk with the others in my network, and Jean will no longer be welcome at La Petite Mort.” He lingered over the last three words, his mouth and tongue seeming to caress them as he watched me. “Is that all?”

I ran my requests back through my head. “I covered privacy, dress, The Pour House, and Dad, so yeah. That’s all.”

“Don’t forget no killing.” His eyes gleamed with momentary amusement again, but there was a cold edge, and I shivered under his gaze. “Perfect. Done. I agree to your terms.”

He held his hand between us.