Don't Trust A KillerBy: Cynthia Eden
Kace Quick was tall, dark, sexy as every sin imaginable, and…quite possibly, a cold-blooded killer.
Bree Harlow released a slow breath as she was escorted into his office. The place was high-end, fancy. Reeked of money. Kace had plenty of money, after all. Money to burn. He owned most of the clubs in New Orleans and several casinos over in Biloxi. His name was whispered by those who feared him, and by those who wanted to bring him down—the local authorities—it was cursed.
“Have a seat, Ms. Harlow.” His voice was rumbling and low, with no hint at all of the South flowing in his words. She knew he’d been raised in New Orleans, though. Brought up in the foster care system. He’d gone from having nothing to controlling one of the biggest empires in the South.
The cops thought he was as dirty as they came. Tied to every sin in the city.
He turned toward her, moving away from the window that let him look out over the busy street below. His eyes—the most electric blue that she’d ever seen—locked on her. And for a moment, all Bree could think was…
Yes, this man knew all about sin.
His dark hair was thick and heavy, shoved back from his forehead. He didn’t wear some fancy suit, though she knew he could afford anything he wanted. Everything. Instead, he wore a black t-shirt that stretched over his wide shoulders and powerful arms. Jeans encased his legs. Comfortable, faded. Still…sexy. The guy oozed sex appeal even as he gave off a dark, dangerous vibe that she was sure most women found irresistible.
She wasn’t most women.
Bree finally took the seat he’d indicated. She’d play his game, because she could not afford to screw this up. The leather squeaked beneath her as she eased into the chair. “I, um, didn’t expect to meet with you.”
He headed toward her. Bree tensed but…
He just propped one hip on his desk, crossed his arms over his chest, and stared down at her. “Why the hell not? It’s my club.”
“Uh, right.” She cleared her throat. “But I’m just here applying for the waitress position and—”
“And you don’t think I care about the people who work for me?”
She hadn’t thought he’d want to be in on this interview, no. She’d figured it would take her days to work her way up to him. But if fate was going to be kind and put him in her path right then, who was she to complain? Bree glanced up at him, holding his bright blue gaze. “There are a lot of…stories about you.” It was a gamble to say those words.
One dark eyebrow rose. “Stories?”
“Y-yes…” She let her voice tremble.
His gaze raked over her. “Bree Harlow. Twenty-five years old. Fresh from Asheville, North Carolina.” His lips hitched into a half-smile. “What in the hell are you doing in my city, Bree?”
“Looking for a job.” Her hands twisted in her lap.
He laughed. Like his voice, the laugh was deep and rumbling. Sexy. The guy had the sex appeal down to an art. “There are plenty of waitressing jobs in North Carolina. I don’t think you needed to come all the way down here to find one.”
She slowly exhaled. “I wanted a fresh start.” This was going to be tricky. Truth and lies could always be tricky.
His eyes narrowed on her. “What are you running from?”
What have you got? She’d spent the last ten years running from all kinds of things.
His jaw—square and hard—tightened. “A lover?”
“I wanted a fresh start. That meant I needed new people in my life. A new place. So, I came here.” She held his gaze, but it was hard to meet his intense stare. She’d seen his picture before. Learned everything that she could about the man before she’d crossed the threshold into Fantasy, his new club.
Seeing him in person was different. The guy was bigger, sexier, and a whole lot more dangerous. She’d had to pass four guards just to get into his office. Guards who’d raked her with their hard stares. The big boss was insulated, and getting this in-person meeting with him…
Hell, yes. Major score.
Now, if she could just manage not to screw up this part and actually land the job, she’d be golden.