Page 8 of The Devil She Knows
“Offer you won’twantto refuse,” Daphne corrected, as if the semantics were what mattered here.
“At the end of the day, doesn’t it amount to the same thing?”
“It really doesn’t.” Daphne laughed. “Unlike some of my … let’s call them colleagues, I’m not in the business of coercion. Now, persuasion, that’s a horse of a different color, but every deal I’ve ever made? Was entered into willingly.”
Sam applauded, extra slow, imbuing each clap with as much sass as she could muster. “A salesman with ethics. Wonders never cease.”
“Saleswoman.” Daphne sniffed, nose rising haughtily into the air. “With that attitude, I am beginning to wonder whether you might be more trouble than you’re worth, SamanthaMarjorieCooper.”
“Join the club, you absolute—Wait.” Sam frowned. “How the hell do you know my middle name?”
“I’m psychic.” Daphne tapped her temple. “That, and until an hour ago you were dating an influencer who can’t burp without broadcasting it. Half the internet knows your name and the other half is sure to know it after your now ex inevitably makes herstory-timevideo about tonight’s epic gaffe, thereby hard launching her new single status. You are about to be the most pitied person on the planet.”
To Sam’s absolute horror, tears pricked at the corners ofher eyes. She worked hard to blink them back, practically choking on the lump in her throat.
She hadn’t said anything Sam didn’t already know, but hearing it put so plainly was akin to having salt poured in a still-fresh wound. “You’re a real bitch.”
Daphne winced. “Okay, maybe that was a little harsh—”
“You think?” Sam scoffed.
“Fine.A lotharsh. Sorry.” There was a genuine edge of contrition to Daphne’s voice that convinced Sam to meet her eyes. Daphne had the decency to look abashed, and that was … something. “Look. What would you say if I reallycouldhelp you win your girlfriend back? That I could offer you a solution no one else can?”
Oh joy. It wasfinallytime for the value-proposition stage of the sales pitch, the part where Daphne explained what all the fuss was about.
Sam would bite. Not because she was interested, but because she didn’t have anything better to do, stuck for the time being in this godforsaken elevator, too weary to keep arguing when she really just wanted to curl up into a ball and cry. “In that case, I’d ask how you intend to do that.”
Daphne’s eyes brightened. “Youreallywant to know?”
“You’re the one who keeps goading me.” She gritted her teeth. “So, sure. Hit me with it.”
Daphne beamed and scooched closer, abandoning her unspoken half of the elevator in favor of kneeling beside Sam, legs tucked up under her poofy skirt. “Okay.” She cleared her throat and quickly brushed the hair out of her face, practically vibrating with excitement. “Oh, I justlovethis part. Are you ready?”
Sam rolled her eyes. “I’m ready. I’m riveted. I’m on the edge of my—”
Daphne smacked her arm.Hard.“Hush. This is the part where I monologue.”
“Fucker.” Sam massaged her arm, scowling sullenly. For being so petite, Daphne sure packed a whopper of a punch. “You know, so far, this sales pitch of yours is leaving something to be desired.”
Daphne glared flatly back at Sam. “Are you done being a smart-ass?”
“Said the pot to the kettle.” Sam swept out her stillthrobbing arm. “By all means,monologueaway, Dr. No. Tell me all about the bridge you want to sell me. I’m a captive audience.”
Literally.
“What if I told you,” Daphne began, choosing to ignore Sam’s cheek, “that for averynominal fee—”
“Youjusttold me you weren’t trying to sell me anything. I hate to break it to you, but I’m pretty much one paycheck away from broke. I don’thavemoney.”
“Money?” Daphne laughed and batted at the air between them. “I don’t deal in anything as common as that. Think of it more like … bartering.”
“Bartering,” she repeated, skeptical. “Before you ask, I’m pretty freaking attached to both my kidneys.”
“Yourkidneys?” Daphne wrinkled her nose. “You seriously believe that I”—she gestured down at herself—“am some sort of black-market organ dealer?Me?”
When she put it like that … no, not really. But better safe than sorry. “Maybe that’s the genius of it. Who would suspectthe pretty blonde in the pink dress to be performing back-alley nephrectomies?”
“Aw.” She beamed, dimples bracketing her ruby-red lips. “You think I’m pretty?”
