Page 2 of Roman

Then I went down the private elevator to collect what she owed me.

She turned her head as I walked in, shutting the door behind myself, the lock slipping into place with a loud click. She watched me stride to my desk and sit down. We regarded each other silently. This close, she wasn’t as attractive as she appeared on camera. She looked hard, the lines on her face cleverly hidden with makeup. Her hair wasn’t naturally blond, and I would bet my last buck her tits weren’t real either. Her lips were too full, her dress too revealing, and her makeup applied with a heavy hand. Her eyes were a dark brown. Flat. Cold.

She no doubt saw the same lack of emotion reflected in mine.

“You’ve been busy, Miss Warner.”

“Ms.”

I inclined my head. “Ms. Warner. Marianne, right?”

She tossed her hair, showing a fringe of dark on the top. Not a blond at all. I had a feeling nothing about her was real.

“So, Marianne. You must be good.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Not only did you convince my floor manager to extend your credit far beyond what it is allowed, you somehow walked out of here without securing your debt. You wasted my time, my patience, more of your own money, and you cost me the wages of two men to hunt you down.” I drummed my fingers on the wooden desktop. “I am not a man who takes kindly to my time and money being wasted.”

I got another hair toss. “Not my fault your people fucked up.”

I leaned forward. “I would be careful what you say next. Where is the sixty grand you owe me?”

She frowned. “Fifty.”

I shook my head. “Interest, Marianne. And it grows daily. As does my anger.”

“That’s robbery!”

“You want to call the cops?” I asked. “Be my guest. Be sure you mention who you owe the money to.” I pushed the phone her way. “I think you’ll find yourself without much support.”

She changed her attitude. Her skin paled under the fake tan she wore. It was a little orange in this light, reminding me of a pumpkin. For some reason, that made me smile, and I had to bite my lip to stop from doing so.

“Listen, I’ll pay.”

“Today. You will pay today.”

“I can get it in a couple of days. I’m trying. I really am. Fucking Effie is proving to be difficult.”

“Fucking Effie?”

“My damn sister. She has the money. I just have to get it.”

“Your sister is your account manager?” I asked, for some reason. I didn’t care where she got the money, just that she got it.

She huffed out a breath, pumping her leg in vexation. “No. Our mom died and left us money. I spent mine. Goody-Two-Shoes that she is invested it and opened a stupid little breakfast place. I just need her to loan me some of her cash. I’ll pay her back. I just need one good night at the tables.”

I sat back, weary. She was a typical addicted gambler. Always looking for the quick win. The right angle. The tip. Always in denial. Blaming everyone else for their losses. Unable to admit they were the problem.

“Perhaps your sister is right not to give you the money.”

Anger flashed in her eyes, and she sneered. The carefully crafted veneer cracked, and I saw her true colors. “Righteous little bitch. Always lecturing me. Marianne, you should do this. Not do that. Ha,” she snapped. “Always staying in the safe lane. Leading her boring little life, living over her precious Bagels and Bites shop, working herself to the bone.” She crossed her arms. “She’ll give me the fifty thousand.”

“By the time you get it to me, it’ll be seventy.”

She opened her mouth then shut it. A gleam appeared in her eyes. She leaned forward, her voice low, as if telling me a secret. “We could make a deal.”

I lifted an eyebrow in question.