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He cocks his head with that familiar smirk that I want to slap off his face. Next time it won’t be a choking trick—I will for real hurt him if he doesn’t stop this patronizing shit.
“How much did Tsariuk offer?” he asks.
I purse my lips, wondering how to handle the answer. “I don’t know.”
“Yes, you do.” He takes a step closer. “You gonna keep playing games or you want a job?”
His gaze hardens again. Shit, I don’t justwantit—Ineedit if I want to move to the safe world.
“I don’t care for money,” he says. “I can pay double. But I am curious how much it’s worth for your father to send his daughter who the hell knows where. Undercover. Considering you almost died in a boat crash on the way here.”
I snort. “I wasn’t even close.”
“You always like this?” He mimics my question. “Think that you’ve got it?”
Touche.
He lets a smile out to play. And, damn, he can be charming.
His hands are back on the wall on each side of my head, caving me in again. His closeness disrupts my thoughts for a second. I would bang him in a heartbeat—the thought is really distracting.
“I’m waiting for the answer, Miss Ortiz.”
His tone is sharp, almost playful, and I would like to play. Later.
“I don’t know, really.” There is momentary disappointment in his eyes. “But…” I say quickly, taking a deep breath. “If I were to find Milena Tsariuk, my family would have a chance to move to Australia. The money would buy visas and access past lockdown.”
There it is. The burn in Archer’s eyes chills a little.
“Australia…” he echoes, pushing off the wall. “I see. Dreaming big.”
His tone pricks me like an icicle.
“Not everyone has all the money in the world to do what they want,” I say more angrily than intended. “The safe world is off-limits to the regularmortals.” I smirk. “To those who can’t afford to bribe their way in, that is. Some people take risks in order to live in a better place.”
“Chill,” he throws casually over his shoulder as he walks toward the bar. “You want breakfast?”
The change of topic is so sudden that I’m startled.
“What breakfast?” I blurt before I think. I’m starving.
“Cognac,” Archer says from the bar.
Eight in the freaking morning. Seriously? If he doesn’t stop day-drinking, it might get harder to have serious conversations with him.
“I don’t drink on the job,” I say. “When can I start?”
I am pushing. He needs a push. And adrenalin is already spiking in my blood.
He turns and stares at me as he takes a slow sip from his glass.
Heis a savage, not me.
“Call guest services for food,” he says. “I’ll transfer you to a different place since you’ll be staying… a little while.” His lips curl in a smile, and my heart is about to burst with excitement.
“I am fine where I am.” The bungalow they put me up in the other day is actually one of the best places I’ve ever stayed.
“I’ll get Marlow to give you an employee phone, and I’ll call you when I’m ready to take you to the Center.”
