Page 82 of Cozen

He suspected Cozen could probably handle herself, if she needed to. Not to mention, he had not seen Jett act anything less than gentlemanly with a woman. Jett didn’t seem like the type to get his rocks off by hurting females.

That wasn’t the point, though.

The point was … fucked.

Sargon was tangled up with a woman he had no business entangling with. A woman who had some kind of secrets she was hiding, and likely a plan in the works, too. A woman whom his boss was courting, and he was fucking.

Nothing about this felt good or right.

It was all bad.

Sargon still hadn’t found a reason to stop. Or even a reason to stay away from Cozen. It didn’t help that Jett continued to put him in her path when all he wanted to do was have Jett’s back during the day, and otherwise.

No …

That was a lie.

It was not all Sargon wanted to do.

Not now.

Not after Cozen.

He wasn’t very loyal to Jett at all.

Frankly, he never had been.

“Enjoy yourself,” Sargon said as he moved for the door. And just before he closed it, he added, “Do let me know if you need anything, Cozen.”

“Anything?” she asked quietly.

Despite all the people around looking at them, he confirmed what he said. “Anything, sweetheart.”

The sad thing was?

He did mean anything.

This woman was going to kill him.

It was another three hours—long enough for the sun to settle and darken the sky—before Sargon found himself on the next stop of the evening.

Or rather, delivering Cozen to her next stop. Of course, she got to take a limo. He had to take his town car, and arrive before her at the restaurant.

Sargon took his sweet time parking the black Mercedes sedan. He couldn’t lie—he didn’t want to be very involved in this evening.

Maybe he could fake it, though.

Even that was up for debate.

All too soon, Sargon found where his boss was waiting for him. Jett stood at the top of the stairs leading into what Sargon now knew to be his youngest son’s restaurant. Quite the fancy place, Sargon assumed, considering the gold plated trim around the windows, the heavy, expensive-looking drapery hiding the inside from view, and not to mention the dress code to attend.

“Glad to see you threw on a suit,” Jett muttered.

Sargon shrugged as he moved in beside the man. “I managed to get five minutes to do so.”

Sometime in between checking on Cozen, and having a suit delivered to him, that was. He pulled the suit on, and took his sweet fucking time knotting the tie. Sargon was not a three-piece kind of man. He much preferred a good silk shirt, and properly pressed slacks.

This suit thing was Jett’s demand.