Page 19 of Merciless Heir
Through the tinted windows, the darkness of the park with its golden muted lights moves past, and I’m way too aware of the man next to me. He takes up too much space. He makes me too aware of him, of every shift and breath and that dark, expensive leather and spice of him with its undercurrent of smoky sweetness winds around me.
I pick at the material of my dress on my thigh.
“Nervous?”
I stop. “Should I be?”
“I don’t know. Depends on what you’re up to here.”
“Where are we going?”
He’s looking at me. I can feel the burn of his gaze and I shiver. “I get why you don’t like those people, and I don’t give a shit if you like me or not—”
“I don’t.”
“But what I don’t get is your playing with this offer. Perhaps you think I’m not a man of my word. That’s a mistake, because I am and if I say I’ll walk, I will. There’s only so far my amusement at your little game will get you.”
“Maybe I want to see the kind of man I might be working with.”
He sighs and we head to the Brooklyn Bridge. “Your beloved morals again.”
“Let me guess, Brooklyn Heights.”
“I can take you to Canarsie if you’d like.”
“The less time in this car with you the better.”
“Your winning personality led you into a life of crime, I see.”
I look at him. “Meaning?”
“There’s no way a little Grinch like you could hold a real job.”
And I start laughing, so hard I think I’m going to cry black tears of mascara. This man is unexpected. “You’ve discovered my dark secret. Yours?”
“Me? I had to become a billionaire real estate mogul because eating baby souls is expensive.”
“Brooklyn Heights it is.” I close my eyes and settle back, not saying anything more until we pull up, because if I don’t watch myself, I just might start liking him.
Brooklyn Heights is the most affluent in Brooklyn. The beautiful buildings and tree lined streets are dotted with upscale bars and restaurants, along with the neighborhood haunts. It lacks the pomp of the well-heeled of Manhattan.
Kingston leads me to a basement bar on the corner of Love Lane and Henry Street.
This is anything but a dive. It’s intimate, expensive, and one of those places that get popular via word of mouth.
Kingston leans back as cool jazz weaves through the place, there to lift the ambience. This is the real deal, no BTS dressed in jazz sounds.
“I’d think,” he says, strong fingers curling around the low ball glass of Japanese whiskey—I can’t remember which one he ordered, only it’s expensive, because of course it is—as he studies me, “that you would snap up this job without the games.”
“And why would you think that?” I pick at one of the olives on the little plate between us, my Empress gin cocktail sitting untouched next to me.
He smiles and takes a sip. “Jewels. A rare piece that carries a story with it.”
“A rumored piece,” I say. He knows he’s got me. Smug bastard. “It might not be worth a thing.”
“But you want to find it, don’t you? And, you want to find that out yourself.”
And damn it, he’s right. I do.