“That’s the gist of it,” I mutter.
“You don’t think I have the power to say no to you, do you?” she accuses with her lower lip stuck out. It makes me want to bite it.
Even though that’s exactly what I think, I don’t admit it. Instead, I just stare at her.
Wait her out.
Finally, she sighs and drops her arms. “Doesn’t matter, anyway. I work nights at Joe’s, so I can’t be your companion.” She holds up air quotes to emphasize her offense at the word. “I can’t give this job up.”
In my mind, I thought it would be cool if I could have access to Hannah a few nights a week. I figured that would appease this insatiable need for her that I’ve developed somehow. But now a different sort of thought takes hold.
“I’ll pay you double whatever you make at all three of your jobs combined. If you quit them, then you’re available to me.”
Hannah’s mouth drops open into a perfect “O,” and I have a clear fantasy of what I’d like to see filling that space one evening.
As if she could read my lewd thoughts, she narrows her eyes. “You’d pay me double what I’m making at all three of my jobs, just to accompany you to the Wicked Horse on some evenings where I have the right to say ‘no’ to your advances?”
My lips curl up in an evil grin. “No. If I’m going to pay you double what you’re currently earning, I expect you to quit all three of those jobs and be at my beck and call, not on ‘some’ evenings, but ‘all’ evenings.”
Hannah worries at her lower lip, her gaze casting off to the side as she thinks.
I add gravy on top. “I’ll give you a fifteen-thousand-dollar signing bonus up front.”
Her gaze slams back into me, eyes wide with surprise. “Awful lot of money for a whore,” she murmurs.
Fuck… I just actually made her a whore if she accepts this. But I press on.
“Again, your word, not mine. Besides, you can—”
She beats me to the punch. “Say ‘no’. Yeah… I heard you. But if I say yes, then that makes me a whore.”
She sounds glum, and I wonder if it’s because I’ve basically given her a guilt-free way to accept this deal or maybe because she doesn’t have the willpower to say no to me.
“How about I hire you as my full-time house manager?” I add, hoping to add some legitimacy to the offer.
“What the hell is a house manager?” she gripes.
“You’d manage my home. Keep it clean, well-stocked, make meals, handle my dry cleaning. Stuff like that.”
“And go to the Wicked Horse with you.”
“We could stay in at my apartment some nights,” I say with a mischievous grin.
She doesn’t smile back.
Instead, she gives me an apologetic grimace. “As much as that sounds like an amazing deal for any woman, I’m afraid I’m going to have to say ‘no’.”
The emphasis she puts on the word ‘no’ isn’t lost on me. She’s showing me that she has resolve.
I step into her, causing her to back up against the dirty stucco exterior of the building. Putting my hands near her head, I dip my head so my face is near hers. “You’re being stubborn, Hannah. But I like it.”
Her mouth curves in amusement.
I bring my lips near her ear. “Besides… I’m quite confident you’ll change your mind.”
She snorts, and her hands go to my chest to push me away from her. Giving her a wink, I turn to leave.
I look left and right as I walk away, considering it safe to cross the road back to my car. Holding my hand up, I wave at her, knowing without even glancing back that she’s staring at me.
Raising my voice slightly, I say, “Call me. I’ll be waiting.”
“Don’t hold your breath,” she yells, and I chuckle.
Yeah… she’ll change her mind.
By the time I get in my car and start it, Hannah has already disappeared into the bar. A message notification comes up on my dashboard screen, which is synced to my phone through Bluetooth. I press a button on my steering wheel. After a soft tone, I say, “Play voicemail.”
There’s a short pause as I back out of my parking spot, then I hear my father’s voice. “Asher, call me. I think you’re making a mistake on the Tyndall property. There’s no way you’ll get investors to bite at it. It’s going to fall flat, and you’ll look bad. If you look bad, Knight Investment Group looks bad. So call me.”
Rolling my eyes, I press the button on my steering wheel to delete the voicemail. I make my way back toward the nicer part of town to my apartment. As I drive, I consider what to say to my dad when I call him back, and have no doubt, I will call him back. No one disregards a summons from Carlton Knight.
My dad and I have always had a strangely unusual relationship. He’s arrogant, self-centered, and ruthless when it comes to business. I’ve been told by many that I’m just like him, but perhaps a tad more ruthless.
We get along fine because our worlds are centered around making insane amounts of money. When my father passed on the mantle of CEO of Knight Investment Group to me, it didn’t mean he was going to keep his opinions to himself. It means nothing to him that I’ve doubled our wealth and holdings since I’ve taken over. He’s still going to give me advice whether I want it or not.
He’s lucky I usually want it, because I respect his entrepreneurial acumen. It doesn’t mean I’ll always follow it. Regarding the Tyndall property, I’m absolutely going with my gut instinct on this. It’s the one significant difference between us. I’m willing to take risks he never would have in business, and it’s hard for him to understand that about me.
Regardless, I respect the man greatly, which means he still has tremendous influence over me.
But I choose not to call him back tonight. I don’t feel like butting heads with him. It will totally ruin my surprisingly good mood after spending just moments in Hannah’s company.
Instead, I call someone who is usually a pleasure to talk to.
My twin sister Christina.
She answers on the third ring with an affectionately irreverent greeting. “What’s up Ash-hole?”
“You know, after twenty years, that nickname is a bit overused,” I reply drolly.
Christina’s laugh is husky and mischievous, and it sounds just like our mother’s laugh, which causes my chest to ache. While I’m everything like my father, Christina took after our late mother. She’s kind to everyone and focuses all her free time on philanthropy.
Like me, she’s ivy-league educated—I went to Penn, and she went to Yale—but she disappointed Father and forever endeared herself to Mother when she decided to become a public-school teacher.
“Are you back in town?” she asks as she munches on something crunchy, which crackles loudly over the phone connection.
“Just flew in a bit ago. Headed home now. Just thought I’d check in and see how you’re doing.”
“I’m good,” she replies with more crunching in the phone. She does it to annoy me as only a good little sister—younger by almost three minutes—can do. “Met with the venue manager this morning, and everything is a go.”