BAKER (Devil's Disciples Book 1)(10)

Hypnotized by the scent, I offered a compliment and a suggestive grin. “That’s wonderful.”

She returned a confused look. “My hair?”

“Your perfume.”

“Oh. Thank you.” She curtsied. “It’s shaunce. It’s spelled C-H-A-N-C-E, but it’s French. It’s by Chanel.”

I took every inch of her into view, taking time to pause at the parts that interested me the most. She was far too attractive for me to simply walk in, press her for information, and walk away. As much as I realized I needed to, keeping my hands off her would be difficult, if not impossible.

I drew a slow breath. “It fits you well.”

“Thank you.” She gave me a quick look. “You had questions about property? Here or somewhere else?”

“Here. Do you manage other properties?”

“Have a seat.” She gestured toward the chair positioned in front of her desk and turned away. Her ass was as remarkable as the rest of her. I fixed my eyes on it as she walked around the corner of the desk.

As she sat down, I did the same.

“We have other properties, yes.” A lock of hair fell into her face. She twisted her mouth to the side and blew it out of the way. “I’m not sure where they are. Not all of them, anyway. This is my first day.”

After seeing her outside my office, I had every intention of finding her, determining what she was doing in the neighborhood, and then somehow coerce her to leave before Cash – or any of the other men – saw her. I hadn’t been in her presence five minutes, and I’d altered my plans. Her round ass, narrow waist, perfect tits, and remarkable scent convinced me getting rid of her wasn’t the answer.

I wanted to fuck her into a coma. Afterward, I’d find a way to convince her to ride her bicycle back to wherever she came from.

“Are you here permanently?” I leaned forward. “In this office?”

“Don’t worry,” She grinned. “I’m fixing the door.”

I had no idea what she was talking about. “What?”

“Is that what you meant?”

I looked at her as if she had two heads. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You said this office. Like you couldn’t believe I was in this particular office. It’s a really cool office, so the only reason I could think that you’d say that was because of the door. It’s pretty jankety, huh?”

If she was going to be working in the building beside our clubhouse on a permanent basis, the door was the least of her worries.

There were very few assurances in life. If she worked next door to the clubhouse, however, a few things were certain. Sooner or later, Cash would see her. When he did, he would recognize her. From there, it would get ugly. That much I could guarantee.

The ugly part. It was inevitable. I needed to convince her to fuck me before she ended up in a dumpster with a bullet between her eyes.

I glanced at the door. “It doesn’t fit the frame very well. My guess is that you’ll need to replace it.”

“They just replaced it.”

“Have them replace it again. There’s not much that can be done to adjust a steel door.”

“I’ll get them to come take a look at it.” She rubbed the back of her hand with her fingertips. “I like the eyeball, by the way. It’s pretty cool.”

I sighed silently. “Thanks.”

She twisted the loose lock of hair around her index finger as if it were a nervous habit. The corners of her mouth curled into a grin. “What do you do?”

“Pardon me?”

“Don’t take this wrong, because I like them. A lot. But I always wonder when a person has so many tattoos. Where do you work?”

“I’m an entrepreneur.” I relaxed into my chair and crossed my arms. “Of sorts.”

“Really? What kinds of risks do you take?”

“Excuse me?”

“Risks. An entrepreneur takes risks. What kind of businesses do you have?”

“I’ll invest in anything that makes me money.”

“It’s tough for me to invest in anything,” she said with a laugh. “I lost my job six months ago. Until I found this one, I was flat broke. Well, I’m still flat broke, but at least there’s promise of income.”

I wondered if the job she lost was the one at the bank. I needed to get our conversation back on track, but curiosity got the best of me.

“What happened with your last job?”

Her gaze dropped to the middle of her desk. She shook her head and then looked up. “I worked at a bank. It got robbed. After they reviewed the recording of the robbery, they said I didn’t follow the bank’s protocol.”

“Robbed?” I straightened my posture. “Like, robbed? While you were working?”

“Uh huh. Robbed. Gun in my face, the whole enchilada.”

“No shit?”

“No shit.”

I did my best to act surprised. “That’s insane.”

“I thought the same thing. I hadn’t worked there for six months. It was my first real job after college. Assistant manager.” She gazed beyond me, shook her head, and then met my gaze. “And, really. Who robs banks?”

I refrained from answering, deciding that pushing the conversation in another direction was better for us both. “You said you didn’t follow protocol. The bank has a protocol you’re supposed to follow? During robberies?”