Page 10 of Pretty Lies

Hell, even her father hadn’t known about him.

Not that he would have approved.

It took about a year for her to figure out Luis wasn’t worth shit—but most men weren’t, to be honest. Problem was, Della seemed to have a type with guys, and it wasn’t the type of man she could bring home or count on to actually come home.

Usually tattooed. Ripped denim was a plus, leather a must. Combat boots were the cherry on top of a bad attitude with a give-no-fucks demeanor. Add on a pretty face to that mess, and she would eat right out of a man’s hand. Apparently, her brain had not yet gotten through to her heart and vagina that things which looked like trouble almost always brought her trouble.

Perfect, right?

Yeah.

Luis was her latest mistake.

She wouldn’t be making another any time soon because as far as she was concerned, it wasn’t worth the effort. She was not chasing after another problem like that one. If only her ex would also get the goddamn memo, that would be great. So far, no luck.

Right now, Della had other things to focus on.

Instead of replying to her friend about the ex, she typed out, I’m down the hallway. Incoming in less than five.

That would give her friend—and partner in this business—just enough time to ready herself for Della’s arrival, and if needed, make herself decent. Because where Della was the one who would go in and collect the debt when needed, Jennika was often the person they used to get her through the front door in many cases.

Sometimes, her friend ran her own side hustle with Frankie’s debtors when she knew she could get away with it. A little blackmail or bribery never hurt anyone, after all, and as long as it didn’t fuck with her business, she didn’t care what Jennika did.

Simple as that.

It was the click-click of Della’s heels on the tiled floor that had the woman behind the desk looking up from her work. She opened her painted-red lips to speak, likely to ask if she could help, but Della was quick to stop her before she could do or say anything at all.

“The escort Mr. Tramen has in his office is one of mine—I’m sure he told you to cancel his afternoon for him to spend it with her. He’ll be expecting me.”

Well, he wasn’t.

But he should have.

As if Della’s statement wasn’t at all unusual, and it probably wasn’t considering the CEO was in trouble with the mob’s major loan shark, the woman gave a nod and went back to her work. Like not a single thing was out of place in her day.

Huh.

It said a lot.

Pulling the switch blade and Glock from her bag, Della readjusted the purse on her arm to keep it out of the way as she headed down a familiar hall. As was custom whenever her father took on a new client for loans, she and her brother always made a special trip in to see the individual in order to make the terms of their new arrangement with Frankie Costello clear. She’d walked this hall before.

Knew it well.

At the far end, a wall of frosted glass greeted her. Beyond the closed glass doors, Della could see shadowy shapes moving near something large and dark. She couldn’t be sure if there were more people in the office than she was expecting. Given her conversation with Jennika and the plan they had in place, however, it should only be her friend and the CEO.

Della opened the door.

Her dark-haired friend in a dress better suited for a club, with makeup smoked out to the heavens to give her the sex appeal she loved so much, grinned over her shoulder from where she’d perched herself on the CEO’s desk. Behind them, a wall of windows faced the skyline. In the chair, a man in a ruffled suit popped his head up from between Jennika’s thighs.

A scowl on his face, Jared Tramen still had what was apparently his lunch smeared over his mouth as Della racked the gun while still holding onto the switch blade. The CEO didn’t get the chance to say shit when her friend’s heel met his forehead, and shoved him back into an office chair that was twice as wide in the high back as his own shoulders.

“Really?” Della asked Jennika when her friend shimmied down her skirt.

“I got bored.”

Of course.

Or working an angle.

That was Jennika.

“What the fuck are you doing in here?”

Ah.

The man of the hour.

“Mr. Tramen,” Della said, taking a single step into the office and kicking the door closed behind her, “we’re here to talk about your debt to my father and how much you’re willing to pay of it today. Careful, because before you speak, if the number doesn’t please me. I’ll take an inch. Where that inch comes will depend on your tone when you do speak to me.”

In the chair, with a stiletto heel to his forehead, the man gaped.

As they usually did.

There were two types of men in the world, Della had learned … those who could be the boss, and those who only thought they were. More often than not, all it took was a woman to figure out which one a man was at the end of the day.

She enjoyed being the woman who did it.