Driven By Fate(6)

“Right. At least I’m not alone in that respect.” He picked up his drink and took a healthy swallow. “Enough pleasantries. I want to know what you were doing in my room. Are you a member here?”

“No. Are you going to turn me in?”

He ignored her question. “How did you get upstairs?”

She couldn’t help an uncomfortable glance toward the nearest camera, mounted on the ceiling. “I had a meeting with Jonah.”

“Jonah.” A glint appeared in his eye. “I repeat, you’re not working here.”

“We’ve covered your lack of say in the matter.” She gave in and took a sip of Coke, feeling a tickle in her belly when his gaze zeroed in on her mouth as she sucked the straw. “I’m not here to make money, I’m here to pay it back. I owe money to someone and Jonah is holding my payments for me.”

“To whom do you owe money?”

“’To whom’? Don’t you need a monocle to speak like that?”

“You’re very funny for twenty-two.”

“I’m twenty-four.” She glared at him when she realized he’d sneakily gotten her age out of her. “It’s really none of your business, but I owe a debt to Oliver Preston.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose, laughing without humor. “Unbelievable. I can’t get away from the son-of-a-bitch.”

“You know Oliver?”

“You could say that.” His entire demeanor changed, going from weary to rigid. “Why exactly do you owe him money?”

Frankie sighed into her Coke. Her debts weren’t exactly her favorite topic. Furthermore, why did it feel natural to disclose personal details to this near stranger? Because as soon as he put his hands on you, the world started spinning the right direction. She swallowed the cold liquid, but it did nothing to dampen the fire. “I’m the recipient of a scholarship in his mother’s name. I don’t want it hanging over my head forever. The money could have gone to someone else. Someone that didn’t get the opportunity. I need to close the gap I left behind by taking it.” She shook her head. “I know that doesn’t make any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense, except for the part about your leaving a gap.” He scowled at her. “What a dreadful way to think of oneself.”

Dreadful? Oneself? “Maybe monocle should have been my safe word.”

…

Porter was a trained interrogator and yet as this conversation went on, his knowledge of the subject seemed to decrease, rather than increase. Odd, considering she didn’t seem inclined to hold back much information. Perhaps the feeling stemmed from him wanting to know more—and more—about her, this exasperating girl who appeared to be intent on making fun of him. When was the last time someone had made a joke at his expense? He couldn’t remember and had no idea whether or not he liked it. He only knew this conversation was far from over.

Owes Oliver Preston money, does she? He didn’t like that at all. There was certainly no love lost between Porter and that tosser, although Porter rather thought Preston should thank him. If Preston’s now-fiancé, Eliza, hadn’t cozied up to Porter at Serve all those nights ago, Preston might have never found the brass to make his move. Porter found the grudge Preston continued to hold against him slightly amusing, considering he never would have spent more than one evening with Eliza. Or any woman at Serve, for that matter.

The sound of Frankie’s straw sucking up the last remaining liquid in her glass with a slurp brought him back to the present. Her ability to knock back a Coke in under a minute shouldn’t have made his gut tighten, but it did. Bloody hell, it did. Ravenous little appetite, this one. Twenty-four. Jesus Christ.

“Look, monocle man, this has been fascinating, but I simply must be going.” She said the last four words in an exaggerated British accent and stood, extending her hand once more. As if he had any intention of letting her go so easily, he took it, surprised when he felt crisp paper pressed into his palm. Money? He met her eyes. “For the drink,” she explained.

Then she was gone, ducking behind a dancing couple and vanishing into the crowd. No, no. That wouldn’t do. He still had too many questions. More than curiosity, though, there was the unquenched thirst she’d instilled in him. The sarcastic brat’s hands were tightening around his throat the further away she got from him. Porter let loose a string of vile curses and went after her, catching glimpses of her dark head as he attempted to catch up. He broke through the ocean of people just in time to see her reach the door and give an arrogant chin lift to the bouncer before exiting.

Porter followed her out onto the sidewalk, hand flexing at his side. He didn’t like chasing women. He liked putting them in one place and keeping them there. This female didn’t suit him. Not at all. His feet ignored his logic, moving faster in her direction, catching her arm just before she slid into a cab. Wait. The front driver’s side of a cab. What the hell was going on here?

Her head jerked around, silver eyes widening. Not nervous, thank god. Although he suspected if the sidewalks weren’t packed with passersby, she might be, and rightly so. What was he thinking, following this girl out of the club? But no, there were no nerves. Instead, she appeared mostly surprised that he’d come after her. How absurd. Yes, she happened to be annoying as all hell, but the fact that she had no idea how goddamn appealing she was…it made him wonder. Who’d let her come this far without telling her she was intelligent, stubborn, and yes…f*cking beautiful? A woman that a man couldn’t simply let walk away.