Page 93 of The Kingpin's Call Girl

This is who she is. What the fuck was she thinking, stepping into that bar?

A group of college boys pass by her, and one of them—tall, preppy type—clearly checks her out. Something dark and possessive coils in my gut. These innocent, doughy boys have no idea what she’s capable of or what she needs. They’ll never appreciate her sense of right and wrong or the way she’ll go to war if you fuck with her people.

Not that I’m her people.

These college kids are her people.

I follow at a distance as she heads into the library. Through the windows, I watch her claim a spot near the stacks, spreading out books and notebooks with careful precision.

She tucks her hair behind her ear as she reads, biting her lower lip in concentration. That mouth.

I think about the way it felt against my skin, the way she gasped when I touched her and tried to pretend she wasn’t unraveling under my hands.

I thought it was an act. I fucking ate it up.

I sit there a while, watching her through the windows like the predator I am. Memorizing her movements, the way she takes notes, how she absent-mindedly twirls her pen when she’s thinking.

Getting my fill.

And then it’s time. I head back out the gates and down the two blocks to where Storm waits in the Range Rover.

“Let’s get out of here.”

He pulls out, taking 116th Street to Morningside. Twenty minutes later, we’re over the Madison Avenue bridge.

The familiar streets of the South Bronx fold me back into their shadows, but my mind stays in that library, thinking about Edie and how that fuzzy sweater would feel against my face.

Chapter Thirty-Six

EDIE

It’s a miracle that Bender hasn’t called by now. Am I off the hook? Is it possible?

Bad Bunny is blaring from Odetta’s phone, and she’s standing in front of our couch, wearing the mega-sexy, off-the-shoulder dress we refer to as Teal Tango. She got it for almost nothing at a resale shop due to a rip in the bodice, which she craftily sewed up.

“Thank goodness you’re here!” she says breathlessly. “Are you good to zip it with that arm?”

“Of course!” I zip her up. “But don’t you think it’s a little dressy for movie night?”

“Noooo! I’m so sorry. Chad made a massive sale, and the client just threw in a weekend getaway in the Hamptons—at Gurney’s! Five-course meals, couples massage with ocean views, hotel sex. The limo picks us up in like two seconds. Rain check?”

“Of course,” I say, trying not to sound too devastated. “Oh my God, of course!”

“With or without the necklace?”

I focus on her outfit, glad for the distraction from stressing out over what happened with the big Milaga Hotel meeting, hoping that Luka got out of there in time.

“Are you wearing those earrings?”

“Yeah.”

“Take them off. Less is more with Teal Tango.”

She takes them off. “I’m so sorry I forgot about our night.”

“I have to work on Iconic Regret anyway.”

She winces in sympathy. “Worst weekend ever! Is your poor arm going to hold up to write with that thing?”

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