Page 37 of Emerald

“Another satisfied customer,” I say, stepping out from the shadows.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Ellie. What the fuck?” Nash curses, jumping out of his skin. “How long have you been there?”

“Not that long.”

He blinks at me. “Did you …?” He looks between the couch and me.

“You look like you would have had more stamina than you did, but she seemed to be happy even if her screams were a little fake. Who am I to yuck someone’s yum?”

He runs his hand over his shaved head. “You watched me fuck her?” I shrug. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“You’re not an exhibitionist I gather?”

He stares at me as if I’ve sprouted a second head. “You … I … I fucking need a shower.” He grunts, then gives me his back as he starts to leave the living room.

“Really? You hardly worked up a sweat,” I yell back as I turn and head toward my own bedroom.

Next thing I know, his hands are on me. Instinct kicks in and before he has a chance to touch me further, I kick out his legs and have him on his back with a knife pulled from my thigh to his throat. “Don’t ever walk up on me like that unless you want me to end you.”

His eyes are wide as he stares at me. “Who the fuck are you?”

“No one,” I say as I start to release him, except he catches me off-guard and flips me onto my back, and the knife is now against my throat. Not like I haven’t been in this position a time or two. He probably thinks that because of his strength and size he has what he thinks is me in a vulnerable position, that he’s in control.

“Who the fuck are you?” he asks again through gritted teeth.

“Like I said, I’m a journalist.”

He shakes his head. “You just took me out and then pulled a knife on me.”

“I take self-defense classes.”

He shakes his head again. “You don’t learn that in a self-defense class.” As he pushes the knife against my throat, the sharpness of the blade pushes into my skin, but it hasn’t yet punctured it. “And you don’t seem afraid of this knife against your throat.”

“Brooks told me I could trust you, so I am.”

His brows pull together as he glares at me. His eyes then move to where he is holding the knife against me, and he releases it. The weapon falls to the floor with a clang, and he jumps off me quickly. “I need a shower.” He disappears from the living room.

I hop up and head back to my room.

A little while later, there’s a knock on my bedroom door, when I look up, I see a freshly showered Nash. “I’m sorry … about before.”

“Thanks,” I tell him, but he ignores my answer, lost in his own mind.

“I shouldn’t have scared you like I did,” he says, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“You didn’t scare me.”

His brows rise high on his face, he’s about to say something but then shuts his mouth. “The Dominguez family is hosting a charity function next week. I got an invite to the gala.”

“Is that why you were fucking that girl?” I question him.

“Yes,” he answers seriously.

“I appreciate the effort, going over and above for me.”

“It’s costing me five grand for the effort,” he snips.

“You paid her five grand to fuck her? You got ripped off, you could have got a better fuck for that price.”

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