“I’m not paying you $1400 for arriving a few minutes late. You never stated there was a penalty.”
His eyes lit up, not having expected me to respond so calm and businesslike. Sanchez chuckled dryly while pinching the small patch of hair on his chin. “I like you, Vanilla Frost. You’re a clever little girl. If you’re as smart as I think you are, then I’m sure you can come up with alternatives for cash that would clear your debt with me. This has nothing to do with Delgado. When it comes to dealing with his clients, I have my own separate rules. So, what ideas can you come up with?”
My heart constricted and then galloped in my chest. I put my hands on the table to show him how in control I was.
“We’ll negotiate a payment plan,” I suggested. “But only on the condition you lower the amount to half. You didn’t disclose the penalty up front.”
A smile crept up his face. “I like that idea. But I don’t do payment plans when it comes to cash.” His brow rose and my stomach turned. “Some collectors will pound your ass to the floor and beat you with a wrench, but I’m a guy who sees opportunity. I like to build that trust between my client and myself. So take off your shirt.”
Stunned, the words became caught in my throat and I didn’t reply. I hoped my silence would erase the reality of what he’d just asked me to do. My eye twitched involuntarily and I had the urge to rub it, but kept very still. I’d read a book on body language hoping it would help me during job interviews. There were certain “tells” that would give away if you were lying, nervous, or feigning confidence. The wrong gestures created a lack of trust.
What if I fled? What would he do? Could I dial the police beneath the table without him noticing? Is the table bolted to the floor? God, I’m getting a gun license after this.
“What is your deadline for the cash payment?”
He replied with a stony expression. “Midnight tomorrow. Same place.”
I couldn’t swing it. Not without stealing from the business account again. I thought about selling my car, but that wouldn’t scrape up more than a hundred bucks at a junkyard.
“What if we make it one week from today?”
“What if you take off your shirt?” he said impatiently. “If you don’t want to pay me tomorrow, then that’s your choice. But know this: By the stroke of midnight, if you fail to give me all I’m due, then I’ll carve you up like a pumpkin. Starting with all your fingers. Then your toes. I like to save the nose for last.”
The tacos had been a bad idea. I kept swallowing, on the verge of throwing up. “Fine. I’ll have the money tomorrow.”
“Take off your shirt,” he said again.
“We have a deal.”
Sanchez reached down and placed a large knife on the table between us. The kind that had all those serrated edges along the blade.
“I give you my word I won’t get up from my chair or touch that knife. But I want a down payment for the inconvenience you’ve caused me by throwing off my schedule, you little puta. Take. Off. Your. Shirt. That’s all I want. You’ll see I’m not the bad guy, April. Maybe if this goes well, you’ll change your mind about the cash and do it my way.”
“And if I get up and walk out?”
A crooked grin slid up his face, and that’s when I noticed he had a small scar on the bridge of his nose. Funny the things you don’t pay attention to. He wiggled the crook of his pinky finger while touching the knife and leaned back in his chair.
I waited him out, staring at the knife and then at the door.
Chapter 8
I woke up to the feel of someone’s hands gently stroking my hair. My lashes unwillingly pried apart, and soft lips touched my cheek.
“I’m sorry, April. I’m a jerk.”
“Trevor,” I grumbled, stretching out my legs and yawning. “I didn’t mean what I said either. I must be having PMS or something.”
“No, when you have PMS, you break out the serious books.”
“Huh?” I rubbed my eyes and noticed he was fully dressed.
Trevor fell against the pillow on my left, tucking his hands beneath it. “You know—those bodice-ripping romance novels where the girl is in peril and the hero cuts off his right arm to save her and then spews out the most poetic words ever spoken. Then you drag me to the mall so you can hide at a back table and drink your cocoa while getting those sad puppy dog eyes and watching adorable couples holding hands.”
“It’s too early for this, Trev. I’m starving. Do you want me to make you breakfast?”
A plastic sack appeared and he waved it over my head. “Got you something.”
“What is it? Bagels?”
“Open it.”
I sat up and squinted, closing the curtain behind the bed. Too much sunshine and my morning face didn’t go together. Trevor smiled dubiously at me, his fingers laced behind his head as he watched anxiously. Today he was in a crisp white shirt with faded denims and a rope necklace made of leather.