Page 15 of Mess With Me

He knew.

I pick up the menu again, surprised it doesn’t light on fire with how hard I’m staring at it. My only focus now has to be getting the fuck out of here. I just need to figure out how. Do I just drop everything and run? What if he runs after me? What if he has people downstairs? Criminals have entourages, don’t they?

Think, Sasha.

This isn’t my first encounter with a creep. Maybe never someone quite so dangerous, but I’ve slipped away from shady men before. Criminal or not, we’re in a mostly public place. My phone is a half inch away from where my hand rests on the table.

I could try to make eyes with the server, but the server will barely look at me.

And Vincent won’t look away.

A distraction. That’s what I need.

“I think that’s about enough time,” Vincent says, his words dripping with the tone of someone whose child is acting up. “She’ll have—”

“I’ll have the flank steak,” I blurt out. “And the lobster. And the pasta starter, too, please.”

Vincent’s eyebrows raise, but he doesn’t say anything, just cocks his head sideways and back again.

“Penne Vodka,” he says without taking his eyes from mine.

The waiter nods and practically sprints away from us.

Time. I need to buy time while I figure out how to distract him.

“Vincent,” I say, picking up my wineglass. But what if he’s drugged it? I set it back down, willing my hand to keep steady as I set it on the table, my pinkie brushing my phone.

Vincent’s eyes drop to where I’m casually trying to slide my whole hand over my phone.

I lower it back down next to it instead.

“So. How do you know my brother?”

What? Why would that be a good question? What can he answer to that?

We do crime together.

I grab my water, taking another gulp.

Vincent arches a brow as he sips his wine. “This is an 1842 Bordeaux. I was led to believe you enjoy Bordeaux?”

Of course he acts like I didn’t say anything at all. Anger flares—the familiarity of being ignored sits like a flame in my chest. I grasp on to it. It feels much better than being scared.

Then I register what he said. How does he know what kind of wine I drink?

It doesn’t matter. I set my water down. “You didn’t answer my question.”

Now I really do know what he’ll say about him and Sam.

Vincent’s lips quirk again, but there’s a flash of something in his eye. Irritation. He’s not used to being talked back to.

I mentally blow on the flame. Talking back to assholes hasn’t been a problem for me yet.

Finally he sets his glass down. “Your brother and I do business together.”

“Really? What kind of business? I thought he was exempt from participating in business activities as an elected official.” I’m talking out of my butt—I don’t know if that’s true, but Vincent seems to buy it, because he evades the question.

“I’m surprised to see so much fire in you, Miss Macklin. Feisty’s one thing, but this is foolish. Of course, I’m quite enjoying watching you play this little game. I knew I would.”

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