Page 17 of Merciless Heir
Then again, maybe she didn’t want it all. Maybe what she does now and who she is, is where she wants to be. We don’t socialize. And I honestly don’t care enough to find out.
And Sadie? I know a little about her, but most of her past is hidden away. Fine by me. I want her to get me my dues, not hand me her life story wrapped in a bow. But I’ll be keeping an eye on her, that’s for sure. We’re a little too alike. And not just in our dislike for those who like to be idle, rest on haunches not of their own making, and rub unearned glory over themselves like some kind of tanning lotion. No, we both have a ruthless streak. And I don’t trust her not to try and rob me blind if she could.
She can’t, though. I’m not a pushover and I’m a different breed from those above.
A woman steps out of the glass and steel foyer, heels eating up the pavement as the cream coat on her lays open and shows me flashes of shimmering curves in black. And her gaze zeroes in on me as she continues, right on up to where I am by the curb.
I want her mouth again.
Just to see if it tastes as good as I remember.
I don’t make a move.
“If I’d known I’d inspire this kind of devotion in you, I’d have gotten you a signed photo.”
“Well?” I ask.
She sighs. “I was working. It’s what I do.”
“Yes, I’m aware of the concept of work, Sadie.”
“Don’t look at me like I’m a criminal,” she says, stopping short of me a few inches. “I’m overhauling her security.”
“And casing the joint?”
A small smile touches her mouth. “I do that for fun. Not work.”
It would be part of the job, though. I can see that. And my needling her isn’t as satisfying as I want it to be. She’s too good at keeping most of her responses under lock and key.
“The clock’s ticking, Sadie. What’s your answer?”
“I still have forty minutes.”
“I’m changing the rules.”
“Your type always does. And I’m thinking. Still.”
She turns to walk away, something I’m beginning to think is a signature move on her part, and it probably is. So I wait until she’s taken four or five steps. Then I speak.
“One last thing, Sadie.”
She stops, like there’s something in my tone. And there is. Slowly she turns, tilting her head to one side.
That scrap of paper.
It’s no coincidence.
“What are you up to with my mother?”
Chapter Six
Sadie
My skin prickles and even though it’s cold, a bead of sweat threatens to trickle down my backbone.
“Your mother? I don’t swing that way.”
“Neither does she.” The cool amusement on Kingston Sinclair’s face belies the steel and displeasure beneath the words. “You’re avoiding my question. Think very carefully before you respond.”