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He’s nothing but a frat boy, she thought, smiling at him as if she liked him. Pretty as a picture with malice and entitlement beneath, like all the rest of his kind. She knew. She’d been there a decade ago when he’d proved exactly what kind of man he was. She didn’t expect him to remember that, but then, she didn’t want him to remember her.
Not yet.
Not until he did what she needed him to do and helped her take down Jason Treffen.
“Looked your fill?”
His voice wasn’t friendly or polite, and he didn’t flash that absurdly charming smile she’d seen him wield throughout the series of insincere mea culpas he’d issued after each of his many scandals as a football star. He only watched her, in a curiously intent way that made her feel as if she ought to hold her breath.
“I’m not admiring you,” Zoe said coolly, and she wasn’t. Of course she wasn’t.
“Don’t you think you should?” His voice was as lazy as ever but still, she heard the challenge in it. The thrown gauntlet—because, as expected, he couldn’t resist. “I’m usually the object of intense and potentially life-altering admiration. It’s but one of my many burdens to bear.”
She was surprised that some part of her wanted to laugh at the way he said that, with that sardonic lash that suggested he was far more self-aware than she’d imagined. But she didn’t know what to do with that, so instead of exploring it, she got down to business. She dug into her bag, opened her wallet and handed her credit card to the nearest dancer, not looking away from Hunter until the other woman took it from her fingers.
“Take this. Take them. And don’t let anyone come back over here unless I say it’s okay,” she ordered her.
She stared at the dancer until the woman did as she was told with only a quick glance at Hunter, herding the pack of strippers out of Hunter’s booth with a single jerk of her head.
“It’s like you’re my fairy godmother,” he said when they were left alone, a hint of a drawl in his voice, reminding her he’d spent the past decade in Texas. If possible, he seemed even lazier than before now that there was only him in the booth. And, somehow, bigger. “But I’m all grown up now. I can pay for my own strippers.”
Zoe settled herself on the seat next to him so she could turn toward him, the better to quietly block him in where he sat. The gleam in his gaze told her he knew exactly what she was doing. That he let her do it. She ignored the gleam.
“Congratulations, Mr. Grant,” she said crisply. “This is your lucky day.”
“It felt a lot luckier five minutes ago, before you scared off all the half-naked women.”
“I set up an appointment through your manager, but it appears you prefer to operate through more casual channels these days.”
“If that’s a convoluted way of saying I told Harvey to go fuck himself, you are correct.”
Zoe smiled. Harvey Speer was a frothing bulldog of a sports agent, well-known for creating insurmountable barriers between his clients and the world, so she’d hardly weep salty tears if he wasn’t involved in Hunter’s life any longer. It made what she wanted to do with him that much easier.
“I’m Zoe Brook,” she told him now. “You really should know that already. I’m the best PR agent in New York City, if not the whole world, and I’m going to rehabilitate your image—which I think we can both agree is more than a little tarnished.”
He eyed her for a long moment, and she was sure she saw something hollow move through his gaze, stark and almost painful, completely at odds with the shallow, degenerate man she knew he’d been all his life. But then his mouth kicked up in one corner, his eyes shone blue and clear, and she was certain she’d imagined it.
“I’ll pass,” he said. She had the strangest notion that he was dangerous, suddenly, which was absurd, but he never moved that unnervingly direct gaze from hers. “Send some of those strippers back over here on your way out, won’t you?”
She let her smile go sharp. “You misunderstand me. I’m not asking you if you’d like me to do it. I’m telling you that I will.”
“Is this a fan thing?” he asked, his voice still mild but his gaze intent. “Some stalker fantasy? Knock yourself out. Rehab away. But please don’t expect me to have anything to do with it. I like my notoriety just fine the way it is.”
Zoe laughed. “Oh, I’m not a fan.”
“It’s okay to admit it. I have a lot of fans, even now. Some of them like to make up complicated little stories to get close to me, and I don’t really mind. I don’t care who you are. But then again, I don’t much care who I am, either.”
