Menace (Scarlet Scars #1)(60)

My eyes flicker to Lorenzo’s face. He’s watching me, taking a bite of an orange wedge.

“Came for my shoes,” I say, nodding toward where they sit on the dresser.

He says nothing, chewing in silence.

“Figure I should take them back before one of those wham-bam’s you parade through here tries to steal them.”

“Yeah, I’m sure your clients tip extra for you to keep them on while they f*ck you.”

Ouch. “Touché.”

“Anyway, before you run off again,” he says, tearing off another wedge of orange, “we should talk about payment.”

I cringe. Payment.

Ouch, for real this time.

“You know what? Fuck you, Lorenzo. Seriously, f*ck you. I should’ve known you were completely full of shit when you said you’d respect me, that you wouldn’t do this.” I wave around us, like that’ll help me make sense, as he just stares at me, still chewing. “You’re an *. Seriously. I didn’t f*ck you last night for money. That wasn’t what it was to me, and maybe it’s what it was for you, whatever, but just, ugh… f*ck you.”

I snatch my shoes from the top of his dresser when his calm voice says, “You keep everything you make unless it’s a job I ordered. In that case, I pay you a commission based on your contribution.”

I stall at those words. “What?”

“You’re working for me now, right? That was the deal? I’m just laying out the terms, letting you know how working for me is going to go. When I need you, be there, but otherwise you can do whatever you want. The world is yours, Scarlet.”

“I, uh… ugh.” Payment. “I thought you meant…”

“I told you I don’t pay for *.”

“I know, I just thought…”

“Thought I was saying it to hurt you? Thought I was just getting a low blow in?”

“Yes.”

He shakes his head, still eating the orange as he stands up.

I don’t ogle this time.

I want to.

God, I really want to.

But I don’t.

He approaches me slowly. “I like f*cking and fighting, Scarlet. I won’t lie about that. I like f*cking you. I like fighting you. I’ll push your buttons all goddamn night long and make you want to rip me apart, but I’m not in the business of hurting people for no reason. I don’t get off on that.”

“Sorry.”

He makes a face of disgust at that word. “Don’t apologize to me.”

“You just touched a nerve, you know.”

“Don’t make excuses, either. Calm your tits and it’ll be okay.”

“Calm my tits.”

“Yes.” His eyes flicker to my chest, and I know he’s imagining them. “As gorgeous as those tits are, calm them.”

“Fine.” I scowl. “You’re still an *, you know.”

“I know.” He breaks off a wedge from the orange, holding it out to me. “Want some?”

I hesitate, staring at it in his hand. “Ugh, no.”

“I swear to f*ck, Scarlet. I’ll forgive a lot of things, but if you tell me you don’t eat oranges, we’re going to have a problem.”

I roll my eyes. “I learned long ago not to take candy from strangers.”

“We’re not strangers,” he says, motioning to himself. “You’ve seen me naked.”

“I’m getting the feeling a lot of people have seen you naked.”

“Not as many as have seen you.”

Ouch for the third time.

“I should go,” I say.

“Where are you going?” he asks.

“Back to the apartment.”

“Is it safe there?”

“Probably not.”

He nods, popping the orange in his mouth, before turning away. “Do me a favor, will you?”

“What?”

“Don’t get yourself killed.”

“I’ll do my best.”

I walk out, leaving him there, with no clothes on.

I’ve done a lot of difficult things in my life. A lot. But that’s ranking up there among some horrific things, because walking away from him right now is proving harder than I thought it would be. It’s not even that I won’t see him again, because I will. I have a sneaking suspicion I’m going to be seeing him quite often. But at the moment, something inside of me is tugging, trying to pull me back to him like we’re magnets, but I need to put some space between us—at least until I figure things out.

Because Lorenzo?

He’s not the kind of guy you get attached to.

Especially when you’re me.

I can’t let him get so far under my skin that I can’t get him back out again.

I head downstairs, clutching the heels, and encounter Leo still standing in the doorway to the living room, the blonde beside him.

His girlfriend, I’m guessing.

She glances up at me, and I expect some level of bitchiness, because really, in my experience, most feel threatened by a strange woman suddenly appearing, but she smiles instead, full-blown grinning. “You must be Cinderella.”

That slows my steps. “What?”

“Lorenzo had your shoes,” Leo says. “He was looking for you, said you ran away from him. Kind of sounded like Cinderella.”