Wicked Dirty (Stark World 2)

"There was kissing," I admit. "And then we talked. It was--wait. Pay off my house?" I frown as her words finally worm their way into my sleep-deprived brain. "You're joking, right?"

"Slight exaggeration," she admits as Skittles leaps into her lap. "But I was holding out hope."

"Holding out hope," I repeat. "Okay, but why?"

"I told you there might be a tip. I just didn't tell you how generous he sometimes is. Marjorie told me about one girl a year or so ago--he bought her a car."

"Seriously?" I was about to get more coffee, but now I sit down again.

"Okay, not entirely. But her car was broken, and he got it fixed, and it was a major engine thing. Like seriously pricey, and she never could have afforded it. Pretty nice of him, right?"

I agree that it was.

"And there was another girl who was doing the escort thing to earn tuition money. He paid all her tuition and fees for that semester and the next. Swear to God."

"Why?" I ask. "I mean he's already paying a ton of money just for the date. And then to top that off..."

"Dunno. Maybe he's a genuinely nice guy."

I nod thoughtfully, thinking about the man I met in the hotel last night. A man who'd aroused me. Who'd intrigued me. A man who'd run after me so that he could give me one hell of an amazing tip even though I hadn't done anything to earn it.

"Yeah," I say. "He's nice. An enigma," I add, because I still don't get why he's hiring escorts in the first place. "But nice."

I glance at the clock--almost seven. "I need to get moving," I say. "I have to walk Lancelot and then get to Maudie's for the breakfast shift. And I need to hit the bank right when I get off, because it closes at noon today."

Her eyes go wide. "You can't deposit that. You have to sell it to a collector."

"I'm not depositing it. I'm using the ten grand to make a payment on the loan. And as for that old bill, if you really think I can keep it, I'm going to put it in my safe deposit box."

"Keep it? Of course you can." She winces as Skittles starts to knead her lap. "Why wouldn't you? You're keeping the ten."

She has a point, although I feel guilty about that as well. I'd gone to the hotel because Lyle was hiring a girl for sex, and all I ended up doing was freaking out and drinking with him. But I still walked away with cold, hard cash.

"I don't have to open the shop until nine," Joy says. "Want company? I'll walk the dog with you, and then you can serve me breakfast burritos before I have to split."

Since that sounds like a fine plan, I finish getting ready, then we go next door together to fetch Lancelot from Jacob's apartment over the garage.

"Hey, Sugar," Jacob says as he passes me the leash. "You look good enough to eat."

"Have I mentioned how not funny that joke is?"

"Only a couple of dozen times," he says cheerfully. "I'm late for my Saturday study group. You'll put him back in the apartment?"

"No problem." I bend down and nuzzle Lancelot's golden brown coat. He's an eight month old lab, which means he's already huge and about as cheerful as a dog can be. Right now, his tail is banging out a rhythm against the door so loud I'm surprised Mrs. Donahue hasn't stepped outside to see what's the racket.

Lancelot pretty much calls the shots on our walks, and now he leads the way to the boardwalk, his favorite place to wander. He'd prefer the beach, I'm sure, but that's verboten, and he's learned that he has to keep off the sand.

"So you're walking Lancelot," Joy says, as if there'd been no break in our conversation at all. "Then waiting tables. What's after that today?"

"Mrs. Donahue," I say. "I'm deep cleaning her kitchen. I blocked out two hours. And after that," I add, because obviously she's determined to account for my every minute today, "I'm going to Greg's."

"Yeah? He finally convinced you to say yes?"

I roll my eyes. "He's not trying to convince me. We're just friends. We've only ever just been friends."

"He wants more," she says.

"Yeah, he does. He wants to start a business."