Page 43 of Pink Poison

“Huh?”

“Did you hear anything I just said, or were you too busy thinking about fucking your—”

I slap my palm over her mouth, silencing whatever sass she was about to spew. “That’s enough outta you.”

A steady vibration from my phone clinks the cutlery on top of the table. Raising my brows, I give Tee my best,you better behaveface while I answer and put the call on speaker. “Hello?” I ask, having forgotten to check the caller ID.

“Angel,” Creed purrs, raising the hairs on my arms. “You didn’t wear the gift that I sent for you last night.”

Teegan’s eyes widen as she hears his deep, sultry voice. Honestly, I can’t blame her. For asoddas my arrangement with him was, courtesy of Atticus, he wasn't awful company. That, and he's not bad to look at. The worst thing about him is the ridiculous gifts, like he's some sort ofsugar Daddy.Not that there's anything wrong with that, if he is. I've met plenty of sugar babies who also work at clubs. It's a great arrangement for those whowantit.

I just so happen to not want it.

Her lips move slowly, mouthing for me to talk to him. Exhaling softly, I confess, “No, it seems I didn’t.”

“Such a shame.” He sighs. “It was an expensive gift, one I’d hoped to see you wearing.”

Itsoundslike he's fishing for an apology or an offer to make it up to him. Neither of which I intend to give him. My obligation to him ended the second I clocked out from my shift this morning. Atticus may not have specified that, but he didn't give me any further instructions, either. And at the end of the day,heis the one I answer to, whether I wantto or not. Not to mention, he made apersonaldeal with Jameson to leave me alone. If word gets out that he'sstillpursuing, I can only imagine the fallout that will bring.

“I don’t think we’re supposed to be talking,” I say.

He chuckles, as if he doesn't have a care in the world. “Did you think I’d let those bikers ward me off from a slice of heaven such as yourself?”

I flit my gaze back to Teegan, hoping she can guide me through whatever the hell this is. It’s clear that he’s upset about me snubbing him and the club's interference. Myonlydefense is that I thought he got the message when Jameson took me off the table.Fuck.It's not a very good one when he's a prominent client for my boss. If I piss him off, I guarantee I'll be reaping the consequences.

Teegan shrugs while offering me an apologetic smile.Some best friend I have.

I glower at her inability to throw me a fucking bone, choosing to pull myself together and conjure thesweetestdamn voice possible for Creed. “But, didn’t you accept their proposal?”

It's not difficult to sound ditzy when I feel pretty damn dumb for asking a question I already know the answer to. Hedidagree to it and we both know it.

“Oh, angel.” His patronizing tone lights the fuel in my veins. On the clock, I use it to my advantage. It fits my imageandI get paid for it. Off the clock, however…not so much. “Did you see mesignanything last night?”

Frowning, I push my chair out and grab my purse to pay for breakfast. “No, I don’t believe I did.”

He hums an affirmation before softly chiding, “Sit. I handled breakfast for you and your pretty friend already.”

I freeze mid-motion.

Did he just say he paid for our breakfast?

“I’m sorry,” I force a tinkling giggle from my suddenly dry throat. “Are you here at the restaurant?”

His deep laugh sparks a glaring neon-red sign in my mind. All that’s missing is a wailing siren to ward me off from this man. “Of course not. I simply have eyes and ears around the city, and they happened to spot you walking about.”

What in the stalker level fuck?

“How?”

I didn’t mean to say it aloud, but I don't think anything could have stopped the question from piercing my lips.

“You’re a hard woman to miss.” I'm sure he expects a response to that—a flirty giggle or light banter. All men do. But I can’t force a single sound out, not when my stomach is rioting at the thought of beingwatchedby randos on the street. He sighs, moving past my faux pas. “No matter, I called for a reason. I am in need of your services again and Atticus has granted it.”

Nerves take flight in my stomach, threatening to raise the barely digested contents it holds. “Of course,” I manage to mumble.

“I have a package being sent to your hotel room now," he drawls. "It is a requirement to wear it this time, angel. I’ll accept nothing less.”

“Of course, Mr. Hill.”

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