Page 13 of Mess With Me

I’ve never seen this man before in my life. Yet the coolness crawling over my skin tells me things just went from bad to much worse.

CHAPTER4

Sasha

My date looks to be in his early forties; tall and slim and wearing a black suit and shirt. His tie is wider than I’d consider fashionable, though it’s expertly knotted. I recognize his suit’s designer. If I’m right, that’s a thirty-thousand-dollar garment he’s wearing. My eyes dart back to his face. Slicked-back dark hair reveals ice-blue eyes set over a hawkish nose. He could be considered handsome, but his features come together in a way that makes me shiver, and not in a good way.

He looksmean.

“I’ve heard so much about you, Sasha.”

My skin crawls at the sound of my name on his lips. How the hell does Sam know someone like this?

The fingers on the man’s extended hand are smooth and long, with a bend in his right index finger, like it was broken and set incorrectly.

All my instincts tell me to run. My muscles even tense, preparing to do so.

But Sam’s text flashes across my vision like a lonely motel sign.

Life or death. Life or death. Life or death.

“I guess you already know my name,” I say brightly, keeping my grip firm and confident, even if I feel completely the opposite. I’ll just be my bright and cheery self. Maybe this guy just comes across as creepy. Maybe he’s actually a barrel of laughs.

“I’m Vince.”

Sam hadn’t named him. He only called him “a business associate.”

I nod. Despite forcing myself to think positively a second ago, I find myself unable to saynice to meet you.

Vince arches a slick black brow and smiles widely. I catch a glint of gold at the back of his teeth.

A sick feeling coils in my stomach. This man is not a barrel of laughs.

I expect him to ask me to sit, but he doesn’t say that. Instead, he says, “You’re sharp, aren’t you, Miss Macklin? Don’t miss a thing?”

I already dislike him based on what I’ve seen, but now my hackles go way up at the way he seems surprised about me being more than an inanimate object.

Even though I’ve got a master’s degree from a London college, apparently, I still can’t shake the old chip on my shoulder, borne of being the child of the beauty queen mistress-turned-second wife who was told to be quiet and look pretty from birth to…well, now.

I force myself to at least attempt to maintain my smile, strictly for Sam’s sake. I do know how to pretend to be coy. Thanks, Mom. “I don’t think you know me well enough to assess me like that,” I say, trying for a little friendly pushback. “But I can hold my own.”

Vince’s smile glints. “You look especially charming when you’re trying to work something out.”

I ignore the deeply patronizing tone and words, but my smile can’t hold on any longer. “I think I’ve got everything sorted, thank you,” I say. “Shall we sit?”

“There’s no rush. But you should know I don’t like distractions at dinner.” He glances at my phone, still gripped tightly in my left hand.

There’s no way in hell I’m putting away my safety net. “Sorry, I never keep my phone out of sight.” I try to force another brief smile to let him know I mean what I say but I’m not being argumentative. But I can feel it coming out as a grimace. “You understand, right?”

He laughs. The sound makes my skin crawl. “Feisty, too.”

Life or death.

There are two place settings at the table on the far end of the balcony.

I move past him before he can say anything more and before my feet can take me on a U-turn out of here.

I sit stiffly in the chair closest to the exit, making a point to set my phone on the tabletop next to my hand. One wrong move, and I’m fucking out of here.

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