In the end, however, he won. He won everything.
I strode up to Charming, grabbed his tie, and gave him a tug toward the door. He smirked and followed me.
I turned my head in Allister’s direction. The brunette was still whispering something into his ear and his hand was still on her hip. But his gaze was on me. I swallowed as his eyes drifted to Charming, a lazy flicker passing through the blue before disappearing into vicious depths. Heartless. The look was full of the promise of retaliation. And then he dismissed me, giving all his attention to the brunette, as though I couldn’t be stupid enough not to listen to him.
Anger flared in my chest. I wasn’t going to let him scare me into losing. What could he possibly do, anyway? He was just a lackey of my family’s, and he wouldn’t even touch me.
“I’m not sleeping with you,” I told Charming. “I’m merely using you to make my ex-boyfriend jealous.” The truth would have been a little hard to explain.
“Whatever, baby.”
His slimy response grated on my nerves. Now, I could see this man’s charm was dropped in a vat of oil.
My apartment was only a couple blocks from the club, and I continued my trek, hoping Charming would just drift away. Unfortunately, he followed like a lost puppy.
I stopped in front of the lobby doors. “Well, it was lovely to meet you. Thanks for all your help.”
I turned to open the door, but he grabbed my wrist.
“Wait a minute. I think you owe me a drink, at least.” He grinned. “Or maybe a line or two. I’d like to know what kind of stuff the Russos are shipping out.”
A line of blow was like a glass of champagne in my world. Unless we were at a family dinner—then you didn’t even know what the stuff was. But I couldn’t stop an eyeroll. He’d have known what my name was if he was familiar with my family.
But I did upend his night, and he was obviously more interested in getting his hands on my family’s drugs than me, so I opened the door and let him in.
“Gianna,” greeted the concierge. The seventyish Irishman had called me Ms. Russo until I’d nipped that in the bud.
“Hello, Niall,” I responded. “This is Charming.” I patted the man’s chest beside me.
Niall sized him up. “Charming,” he murmured, but I couldn’t tell if he was greeting him or mocking him. I loved Niall.
“He’s not very deferential, is he?” Charming asked, an edge of disgust in his voice.
Charming was a total loser.
“He’s Irish,” I responded, like that explained everything.
I let us into my apartment, leaving the door open a few inches so he wouldn’t get any ideas about staying. Heading to my room, I grabbed a baggie off my dresser. When I returned to the living room, it was to find him touching my things. “Here,” I said, tossing the 8-ball to him. “For all your trouble.”
He practically rubbed his hands together. “Let’s find out if it’s as good as I hear.”
“It is.”
I groaned internally when he dumped some powder on the marble counter.
Under the bright lights in the kitchen, it was clear his suit was worn, his shoes scuffed. He didn’t have any money and was hard-up for blow. Ugh, why had I let this idiot into my apartment?
His eyes were bright when he lifted his head.
“Told you,” I said, slipping my heels off. “Now, take it and go. A rerun of my show is on in five.”
“Where’s the rest?”
“You get what you get, and you don’t throw a fit.”
His eyes narrowed, but I wasn’t too worried. If he touched me, he’d be found skinned alive in an alleyway by six a.m. tomorrow. And he knew it.
“Fine.” He tried to scoop every last fleck of powder off the counter, and I grimaced at the unattractive show.