Well, that had always been a long shot.
“Fine,” I gritted out. “But we’re going to have to have a long talk about the terms and conditions. On both sides. Because maybe I’m going to be the one taking your knot and your bite, but that wouldn’t extend to any other aspect of our relationship. I’m in charge. We do things my way. And if you don’t agree to that, then there’s no point to this.”
Pechorin took a step forward, and my bravado drained away like he’d pulled the plug. But shaking knees or not—because fuck, that threatening frown on his already imposing face, and the rest of him looming over me—I stood my ground, lifted my chin, and stared him down.
“Why me?” he asked abruptly, tilting his head and examining me like I was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out. A futile effort given his probable intellect. Okay, I was kind of a bitch inside my own head, and I wouldn’t have said that out loud even if my father retired on the spot. I wanted to live. “Johnny’s not a total scumbag, but he’s not who I’d think someone like you would go to if you were looking for a matchmaker. And I’m sure you ran a background check on me. Not to mention what Johnny already knew. So why me? Because I’m disposable? You get what you need, and then I disappear?”
“You…” I choked, my eyes widening. Disappear? First he thought I wanted to dispose of my brother, and now he assumed I’d want to have him killed too? “How fucking cynicalareyou? No! No, I’m not planning on making you disappear! Is that how you operate?”
Okay, stupid question, because his objection to killing Blake hadn’t been the act itself but rather my lack of caution in trying to set it up.
I had to cling to the idea that he’d been joking. Otherwise, I might simply run away screaming right now.
“If I need to,” he said after a moment. “It’s not my first choice.” He looked me up and down, slowly and thoroughly. I’d have taken it for a come-on if he hadn’t already been so clear that I didn’t trip his trigger in the slightest. “Hmm. Yeah, you’re more the hostile takeover kind of guy, right? Stab them in the back, or the wallet. Not an honest claw to the jugular.”
I flinched, stung and insulted and all kinds of fucking furious. “Fuck you,” I snarled. “You don’t know me. And mating you and then having you killed? That doesn’t sound all that honest to me. Make up your fucking mind, Pechorin.”
“You’re either really stupid or really brave.” A funny little half-smile quirked the corner of his mouth. A real smile this time, though, one that lit up his eyes. “I’m going to guess not stupid, given that you’re really good at what you do. I checked you out too before I agreed to this meet,” he went on as I opened my mouth. “I may not have gone to an Ivy League, but I’m not a total fucking idiot. So I know you’re not dumb. But facing me down like this, when I could rip you to pieces and be gone before anyone could even call the cops? That looks dumb on the face of it, yeah?”
It really, really did. I swallowed hard and tried to sound confident and in control. “But you’re not going to.” I had to swallow again as he stared at me, gray eyes so hard and unblinking. “Right?” And that came out in a weak quaver. Well, fuck me sideways.
“Right,” Pechorin said softly. More softly than I’d thought he could speak. “I’m not. And I’m gonna go with brave. That’s not always a good thing.” He shrugged. “But fuck it, maybe I’m the dumb one. I’ll negotiate. Tell me when and where.”
Feeling like I’d lost control of my own actions, like in a dream or a hallucination, I pulled a pen and a business card out of my inner jacket pocket and scrawled the name of a downtown hotel on it, along with my cell number.
“Tomorrow evening, eight o’clock. Send me your number so I can text you the room number tomorrow,” I said, and handed him the card. Did I even want to go through with this? I couldn’t decide, and it was probably a terrible idea, but I seemed to have built up too much momentum to stop now. Like I’d already jumped off the cliff, and it was too late to do anything but flail my limbs all the way to the bottom. “Don’t be late.”
Pechorin bared his teeth at me in something like his previous grin, only terrifying. “Hotel room, huh?” He waggled his eyebrows. “Classy. And I can tell you’re going to be a barrel of laughs,” he said, and turned and walked away.
Just like that. I blinked at his retreating back.
Christ. What the hell had I been thinking?
Chapter 2
Malicious Compliance
“I’m going to need another few grand this month,” said one of my least favorite voices in the world.
The spreadsheet in front of me blurred into a meaningless grid, and my hand tightened around the mouse, plastic creaking in my grip as I fought the urge to use that hand to push my glasses up my nose. That move would be guaranteed to bring on a flurry of mockery from my asshole brother. I forced my fingers to loosen. Even a werewolf without alpha strength could wreak havoc on computer components.
“Blake,” I gritted out, glancing up and blinking at him. He came into focus, leaning casually against the frame of my office’s door, hands stuffed in the pockets of his stupid designer jeans—if you were going to spend that much money that wasn’t even yours, wear a suit, dammit, and look like an adult—and with a twisted smirk making his handsome face ugly. At least to me. Plenty of other people seemed to find Blake charming.
Well, they found his bank account and his knot charming.
His knot, and our company’s bank account, to which he considered himself entitled.
Asshole.
“So?” he said. “Maybe ten, actually. I thought I’d head to Palm Beach for a few—”
“I could not give less of a fuck about your vacation plans.” My teeth had clenched together hard enough to give me an instant headache. “Not that you need a vacation, since you’ve never worked a day in your life. Also, you have multiple credit cards that get paid off at the end of the month. Use them.”
“Dad canceled the black Amex,” Blake whined. “The others are maxed out. Ten grand, Creek. Come on. Don’t be a dick.”
Blood pounded in my temples. The discreet testing I’d had done confirmed that the genetic flaw that had given me my terrible eyesight and the occasional tonic-clonic seizure wouldn’t lead to further issues, like strokes. Especially since I hadn’t even hit thirty yet. But it sure felt like one.
Creek wasn’t quite as bad as Canal as a replacement for Brook; it didn’t near-rhyme with “anal.”
