Page 24 of Tank
“You need money. I have money. Let me help.”
My stomach twists. A familiar panic claws at my insides. “No.”
Tank lifts an eyebrow. “Didn’t even hesitate.”
“I don’t take money like that,” I say, even though what I mean is I don’t take money from men like him.
“I said I’d help, not that I was looking to buy you.”
My face goes hot, embarrassment quickly turning to anger. I scowl at him, trying to regain ground. “You’re insufferable.”
His grin widens. “You keep showing up, though.”
I can’t handle this. He’s getting too close, and I need to shut this down before I end up in over my head. I move to grab my pastries and coffee, eager to escape.
Then Tank, all casual, says, “I should cater it.”
I freeze. “What?”
“Your fundraiser,” he says, sipping his coffee. “I make damn good food. People pay good money for good food.”
I narrow my eyes at him, trying to pierce through his calm exterior, trying to find some hint of an ulterior motive. “And why would you do that?”
He meets my gaze, steady. He shrugs. “I like a challenge.”
"It’s just baking. Is baking a challenge for you? Because, if so, this probably isn’t the gig for you.”
He gives me a pointed look. “I didn’t say baking was the challenge.”
I fold my arms. “I don’t make deals with people I don’t trust.”
Tank smirks. “And here I thought you trusted me already. What with all the flirting and the coffee dates.”
I scoff, but I don’t deny it. Instead, on impulse, I push back. “If I’m going to let you cater this thing, I need to see if you’re actually any good.”
Tank smirks, then his eyes darken, just slightly.
“You want a taste first?” His voice drops, rough. “Should’ve just said so. I can give you a taste, right here, right now.”
I regret everything. I should just walk away. But he’s challenged and taunted me. My cheeks are on fire, my heart is thudding like mad in my chest, and I refuse to let him or anyone like him win.
“Prove it,” I challenge. “Cook something right now.”
Tank rolls up his sleeves, the ink on his forearms rippling as he flexes his hands.
“Alright, sweetheart. Let’s see if I can impress you.”
Chapter Twelve
Tank
I watch Bianca with a mix of irritation and fascination. Her arms are crossed, one eyebrow arched, her stance and expression daring me to back down from her challenge. It’s irritating as hell. It’s also hot as hell. I roll up my sleeves and meet her gaze head-on, refusing to budge an inch.
“Alright,” I say, leaning forward, looming over her. “You want to taste what I can do? Fine. Let’s see if I can impress you.”
She doesn’t flinch. Instead, she leans back against the counter, looking every bit like a cat toying with a mouse, a teasing smirk playing on her lips. Her eyes are lit with fire, challenging and enticing all at once. “You talk a big game,” she says, her voice a perfect blend of mockery and intrigue. “I’m waiting for the execution.”
I bark out a laugh, genuinely amused by this unexpected showdown.
