Page 108 of Keep Him Like Secrets

“You’re not making any sense.”

“Well, if you’d let me finish,” I said, tugging some of her hair playfully. “Once I got the program from him, I went over the code with a fine-tooth comb and found the trainer button. Then changed it on the business end to add on a shot. To every single order.”

“But—”

“To the servers and bartenders, the button supposedly just confirms that they checked for ID.”

“Wouldn’t it look suspicious, though, thateveryorder has a shot?”

“I mean, it is a club. But no. Because if you’ve ever seen how busy bartenders are at a club, you’d know that some of the time, they are forgetting to hit that button. It is probably sixty-forty.”

“How much money could that clean, though?”

“If the club is reasonably busy, a hundred grand. Per club.”

“That’s not bad.”

“You need to clean more than that?” I asked, wondering how much money organized crime made. At the Italian mafia level. Because that limit was more than enough for Alen and his little drug empire.

“Maybe. I never talked abut the math with Renzo. We had time.”

“There’s also the cover charge,” I said. “Which is always cash-only. It’s very easy to manipulate that amount.”

“You’d be willing to do all of this?”

“For you? Yeah, darlin’, I’d be willing to do it.”

“What if, six weeks, months, years from now, we decide we hate each other?”

“Not possible.”

“Be rational. I’m not an easy woman to love. I’m hardly an easy woman tolike.”

“Says who?”

“Oh, just about every man I’ve ever known.”

I raised our clasped hands, looking at our fingers.

“I’m thankful that you slipped through the hands of everyone who had no idea how to hold you,” I told her, turning our hands so I could bring hers to my lips. “Because now I get that honor. And, Saff, there’s not a damn thing about you that is hard to love, let alone like.”

“Nothing?” she asked, turning to shoot a smirk up at me. “Not even my hatred of paprika?”

“Well, if we’re going to nitpick,” I said, getting a little laugh out of her.

I leaned down, pressing my lips softly to hers.

“I can learn to live without paprika if I get to have you,” I told her.

“I also despise nutmeg,” she said, making me pull back a bit.

“That might be a dealbreaker,” I said.

Her laugh was muffled by my lips.

“I’m willing to substitute nutmeg for more cinnamon,” she said, nipping my lower lip.

“I might be able to work with that.”

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