Which was exactly why I brought her over.
I wanted a turn.
“Please, have a seat,” I swept my hand at the booth across from me. Anticipation flooded my veins, and my pulse quickened.
“Why?” She slid her hands into her pockets, mirroring the stance I just moved from. Like me, there was nothing nonchalant about it.
“So you can explain why my drink was the only one you turned down.” I chuckled and sat.
She pursed her lips, hesitated for a moment, but then slid into the space across from me. I felt the whisper of air against the leg of my pants. Our long legs ate up the area under the table, and it would be too easy to close the distance and brush against hers.
I held myself back.
“I reached my limit,” she said with a shrug. “I know when to say no.”
“I can respect that.” I flicked my fingers. “But I would like to buy you something to drink.”
Her body was poised, ready to bolt. She watched me as Pat ambled over.
“Yes, sir?” he stuttered.
I arched a brow.
She accepted the dare. “I’ll have a coke, please, Pat.”
The bartender visibly blanched. “I told you, Maggie, we only have Pepsi products.”
She rolled her eyes. “Sorry, Yankee, I’ll have asoda pop.”
And just like that, I was hooked. Like every other sap here.
At least I was aware of who and what she was. And that was only because I recognized in her a similar soul. This woman was a predator. At the cheap price of a soda, I was happy to be her prey. Because it meant her attention was on me.
Only, now that it was, I wasn’t certain what to do with it.
“I’ll have the same,” I told the bartender.
Pat scrambled to fetch the drinks, and I toyed with the empty rocks glass in front of me.
“What brings you to Boston, Maggie?” Something about the name didn’t fit.
It was too cutesy. She was nothing like the sweet sounds that accompanied the word.
She tipped her head to the side, judging how much to tell me. “Work.”
I’d watched her give the same answer to the last group of her victims. My Panerai watch scraped against the varnished table as I scooted the empty glass to Pat, who’d returned with the colas.
Maggie spun her glass around, making the ice clink against the sides. “What do you do for work?”
“I’m in upper management.” I took a sip, letting the bubbles wash down my throat.
Dio mio, that was sickly sugary.
“’Course you are,” she muttered.
I adjusted the metal band around my wrist, glancing at the time. She hadn’t been at the table for five minutes, and already I was at a loss for words.
“And what do you do?” I pressed, leaning forward.
