“You’re treading hot water, Captain Save-a-Ho,” he warned, folding his arms behind his head and staring at my peeling ceiling with a smile.
“Is this the part where I pretend I know what you’re talking about?” I strolled to my fridge, plucking out two beers and throwing one into his hands. I popped my bottle cap off with the edge of my breakfast nook.
“I’m not talking about you.” Hale took a sip from his drink. “I’m talking about Jesse Carter. You’ve been seen with her outside Café Diem, making a scene. A lover’s quarrel?”
I didn’t know how to answer that. Just the fact that he’d called her a whore made me want to smash my fist in his face so hard he would be unrecognizable, even to his own parents.
“Is she your angle?” Hale moved sideways on my sofa to turn his whole body toward mine, tilting his head sideways. “Is Darren Morgansen your investor? I wish you’d tell me more about SurfCity.”
“She’s not an angle,” I gritted out.
“Well, she is not a date, that’s for sure. I mean, you don’t do girlfriends. What is she, then?”
“A toy.” The word slid between my teeth angrily. Fine. I was mad at Jesse. I wanted to hurt her, but not enough to say this kind of shit to her face.
“Couldn’t you find a better toy? One that hasn’t been played with by every guy in Todos Santos?” He snorted.
I discarded my beer in the sink and walked over to him. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
Hale stood up, smirking. “Easy there, tiger. Are you planning on keeping this one?”
“Jesus.” I shook my head. “Why do you give a fuck?”
“I don’t. But this piece of hot gossip has caught me off guard, so I thought I’d check for myself.”
Dude seriously needed a girlfriend. And some life to go with her.
“Get out,” I said.
“You’ve never spoken about any girl the way you do about the Morgansen chick.”
“Her last name is not Morgansen.”
“See!” His eyes widened, his smile gloating. “My point exactly.”
I erased the space between us, standing toe-to-toe with him now. My breath mingled with his, our noses nearly brushing, and my eyes must have been blazing, because for once in his miserable life, Hale looked less than keen to ruffle my feathers. “Bane…”
“One more word about Jesse Carter, Hale. I dare you. I don’t want you anywhere near her. Consider this a warning—not as a business partner, or a friend, but as an enemy. We clear?”
We held each other’s gaze for a long beat before Hale’s jaw ticked. Finally, he dragged his gaze to my bedroom door. “Tell the lady in your bedroom eavesdropping is grossly impolite.” He grinned, sauntering out of my houseboat. The wooden door slapped in its frame.
I turned around to see Grier sloping against the doorframe of my bedroom, her eyes shimmering with something I was too much of an emotional fuck-up to decipher.
“Now I’ll ask again, Bane—were you distracted this evening?”
I growled a sound that wasn’t a yes or a no.
“Is she worth it?”
I thought about the six million bucks and gave her a half-shrug. “Yeah.”
“Does she need you?”
The third question left me unprepared. Did Snowflake need me? Was it fucked-up to think that she did? Because she definitely needed someone. I didn’t think I was the best choice she had, but I sure as hell was the only thing available currently.
“She needs me.” I didn’t just say the words. I felt them. They crushed into my chest. Because I needed her, too.
Not just because of the six million bucks.
The five minutes in front of the mirror felt like a lifetime.
I needed some kind of atonement. Closure. Something to separate me from him.
And that was one truth even a liar like me couldn’t deny.
I waited for Jesse to pull her head out of her ass and make the first move. I gave her two days to show signs of life. A phone call, a text message, a goddamn carrier pigeon. Alas, the girl was quieter than a dead cheerleader in a horror flick. I half-missed our back and forth, but carried on with my life like she’d never happened. She was funny and unaffected, and I really liked that about her. And she used movie titles as verbs. That shit was sexier than an edible thong.
I spoke with Darren on the phone later that week, and he complained that I was slacking off and not doing my part of the deal. I wanted to argue with him, but at this point, I’d already spent four hundred thousand of his advance on Café Diem and the refurbished boutique hotel. It was small, but it was also fucking expensive. I was waist-deep in the quicksand, and I knew it.
That’s how I ended up heading to Mrs. Belfort’s. When I’d called Darren, he’d said Jesse would probably be there. Guess I was hanging out with an eighty-year-old today. I parked outside of her mansion, hanging my helmet on the handle and shaking the desert sand off my combat boots before ringing her doorbell. No one answered. I punched it a few more times. Nada.