Page 6 of Empire State Enemies

“You just can’t stay away from me, huh?” Deano purrs, his hand inching up my thigh. I swat it away, skin crawling. “People will talk.”

“Cut the crap,” I mutter, staring ahead. “You know why I’m here.”

He tsks. “That’s no way to treat an old friend, Sullivan.”

Friend. Right. Young me thought he was charming. But age brings clarity, unmasking faux chocolates as the turds they are.

Deano thinks he’s some kind of mafia kingpin, all decked out in his black vest, with hair styled like he’s the Godfather and a beard groomed to perfection. But really, he’s just a sad manchild playing dress-up, delusions of grandeur and all.

Self-loathing churns in my gut. I should tell him where to shove it and storm out, middle fingers blazing.

But of course, I remain seated.

“Fifteen grand this time, huh?”

“That’s right.” I keep my voice even.

He whistles through his teeth, leaning back with an exaggerated stretch, hand grazing my seat. I grit my teeth as he drags this out.

Just confirm the damn loan already so I can get out of here.

Finally, he produces an envelope, placing it on his knee. My focus zeroes in on that cash inside.

“Listen, for this amount,” he drawls, “I’ll need a little something extra. A special favor.”

Is he asking me to sleep with him? Damn, am I desperate enough to consider it? I accidentally had drunk sex with him about a million years ago. Now I’d rather deep-throat a cactus.

He lazily taps his fingers on my seat as I eye the envelope. It’s so close yet so far.

Desperation drives you to frightening depths, makes you consider sordid options. I’ve exhausted everything short of selling organs or starring in snuff films.

My credit cards are maxed to the hilt, useless lumps of decorative plastic that mock me every time I try to pay forsomething. I already work long hours at Vallure, desperately clawing my way up a corporate ladder missing crucial rungs.

A second job? I’d love to see where I could fit that into my schedule—perhaps in those fleeting moments between midnight email marathons and my one a.m. weeping sessions into the pillow.

If by some miracle I scrape Mom’s fees together so they don’t wheel her out into traffic, the credit card companies will be at my door next. Then I’ll be right back here choking on panic in six months. It’s a brutal, endless game of financial whack-a-mole.

Is this rock bottom? Because if so, it can go fuck itself sideways.

Deano’s eyes scan me up and down like he’s trying to figure out how much he could get for me on the black market.

I reflexively cross my arms, skin crawling, as he smirks, dangling the cash. I’m not for sale. “If you think I’ll sleep with you, think again.”

“Still lookin’ down that pretty nose, yet here you are beggin’ for my help. Some thanks I get.” He leans in, reeking of cigarettes. “Let’s make one thing clear. I’m not interested in you.”

“What’s the favor, then?” I grind out.

“Just a little job. Some light entertainment for an evening.”

My jaw drops. “Prostitution? Fuck off.”

I can’t believe I once willingly put this guy’s dick in my mouth, but according to that test I took inPsychology Weekly, I have a thing for assholes with good hair.

His brow lifts and that arrogant smirk tugs at his mouth. “Take it easy. We’re not there yet. I just need you to strike up a conversation with some guy at a hotel bar. Easy.”

My pulse picks up warily. “And after this ‘conversation’? What’s the actual catch?”

“You might just end up lifting his car keys and dropping them my way,” Deano explains with a sly grin.