Page 50 of Keeping Kasey
A wicked smile is my only answer.
“So, I know what your job is,” I say with a finger pointed at James, then move it to Matteo, “but what doyoudo?”
“A little bit of everything,” he says between sips. “I’ve only been at this base since Logan took over. I was in Detroit before then, working with my father.”
“That doesn’t answer my question.”
“My expertise lies in family trade, within our territory and out of it.”
“Doesn’t sound like much of a job to me.”
Matteo’s lips twitch in an exasperated smile. “I have a feeling you could easily track a day of my work.”
“I did,” I confirm. “It just doesn’t seem like enough of a job to qualify you to be a capo.”
James stifles a laugh.
“You’re a hard person to like,” Matteo mutters.
I wave a dismissive hand and sip the drink that blissfully burns my taste buds and every nerve along my throat.
He shakes his head as he studies me, but I don’t care enough to wonder what conclusion he’s drawing. I scan the club—not for the first time.
It’s a small place, not overly crowded like the clubs I’ve been to before, and much cleaner. The building is full of Consoli soldiers, and it seems like the only other people they’ve let in are women in revealing dresses.
Once again, I’m wildly underdressed.
None of the soldiers approach me, and I’m sure it has to do with the two men flanking me. Either that or the show Logan put on by dragging my chair to his during family dinner.
Regardless of the reason, I’m glad to be left alone.
I watch the crowd of people dancing, but I haven’t seen Logan anywhere.
I’m not sure I could articulate what it is I want from him, only that the idea of him not showing up brings on a sense of disappointment.
But what was I expecting? It’s not like I came here to spend time with him.
The only reason I’m here is because I wanted to piss him off at dinner.
I’ll give it another half hour before asking James to take me back to the manor.
“Okay,” Matteo says. “What about popular brands? McDonald’s? Coca-Cola? Honda?”
“No, no, and yes.”
He lifts an eyebrow, and I answer before he asks. “One of my first clients was suing over a manufacturing issue. They hired me to plant evidence.”
He shakes his head. “Do you take any job you’re offered?”
“Hardly. I only accept a few of the jobs I’m scouted for.”
“Why?” James asks.
I look over my shoulder to where he’s leaning casually against the bar and shrug. “Only a few clients can pass my test.”
“And what about your test makes someone a worthy candidate?”
Instead of answering, I ask, “What was your first impression of me when we met?”
