“Hey! You’re too strong for hugs.” She laughed as she pulled away, then punched him lightly in the bicep. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m glad you’ve got guns. Don’t holster them just yet, either. You know, in case these potential roomies turn out to be like the guys in the last place we saw.”
Those shitbags. Chris couldn’t keep the murderous anger from rising up. The other night, he’d gone with Daria to see a four-bedroom in Mission that was being advertised by “Carol and Melissa” for unbelievably low rent. The ad stated that only females between the ages of eighteen and thirty would be considered.
Daria kicked the pavement as they walked. “Too bad it wasn’t legit. Four hundred dollars a month would have been so nice.”
He stopped abruptly and stood in front of her, scowling. “Are you forgetting that they were two dudes who were purposely misrepresenting themselves and their apartment just to meet girls? Thank God all they wanted was to get dates, since I would have killed all of them if they’d had a more sinister motive.”
She scoffed and poked him in the chest. “Listen to you! Sinister motive. Yes, they were assholes. And I do appreciate that you sicced Shen and Vinnie on them.”
He’d never admit it, but when Daria had come home and told him what had happened, he’d been so scared for her. What if something had happened to his little sister? It would have torn him apart.
But of course he hadn’t told her that. Instead, he’d channeled his fear into something he was good at—doing things his way. He smirked at the thought of how thoroughly two of his employees had intimidated those assholes into pulling the ad and shutting down their sleazy little operation. People rarely believed that Shen and Vinnie were some of the best computer guys in the business, given how tough they looked.
People were stupid sometimes.
“But,” Daria continued, “moving out of Mark’s apartment and into one of the most expensive areas in America on a postdoc’s salary isn’t exactly going to improve my standard of living.” She sighed sadly, and Chris’s fists clenched at his sides at the reminder of why Daria was being forced to scramble to find a place to live just days before her grad school classes started again.
He wanted to kill that son of a bitch Mark for what he’d done.
He wished his place were bigger. But like Daria had said last week, having her stay on his couch for the next year wasn’t the best option for either of them. Someday, when Phantom Studios hit it big with their first movie, he would just buy an entire damn building and let Daria stay there rent-free. She’d still have to run across her dick of an ex-boyfriend on campus, but at least she could have a place to retreat to that she didn’t have to worry about getting kicked out of.
Someday. Right now, Phantom Studios required every last penny he had…and then some. They needed to finish this film soon, before the company went under. But that wasn’t something he needed to burden Daria with.
You don’t want her pity, either
He handled things on his own for a reason. Being vulnerable wasn’t his style, even to his own sister.
He bumped her shoulder with his. “Sorry, sis. I didn’t mean to bum you out.”
They turned onto Seneca, and Daria linked her arm through his. She was wearing heeled loafers today, which made them nearly the same height, and Chris felt a rush of familial pride at how straight and tall his sister carried herself. She had the same blue eyes and blond hair as he did, though his hair was hidden under another fedora today. In fact, she was dressed very differently, in a long-sleeved sweater and khakis, as opposed to his pinstriped suit over a sleeveless undershirt. One of the wings of the griffin tattooed on his chest rose out of the white cotton and curled into the Polynesian design on his neck.
An arts and crafts project.
An image of that girl from the Tiger Club last night jumped into his brain. Damn, she’d been beautiful. She’d stood out in her button-down blouse and corporate-looking slacks, looking very business-like in the crowd of studded bustiers, wallet chains, and skinny jeans. But then, she was the kind of woman who probably always stood out, even without trying. She had a crackling kind of energy to her, and he’d been unable to stay away.
She’d been right about that. He had been standing too close to her on purpose, hoping that she’d stop talking to her friend long enough for him to buy her a drink, maybe get her name and number. But it had backfired when she tripped, and he’d spilled his beer all over her like an idiot.
Then she’d sneered at him, with her eyes narrowed and neck stretched forward, all that glowing skin and shining hair hypnotizing him into complacency.
Why would you think that I want to fuck an arts and crafts project?
Plenty of other people insulted his tattoos and the way he dressed. But there had been something about the way she’d said it—fuck—tongue curled around the word like she was licking it into his skin, that had made him think she wasn’t as angry as she looked. Hell, she’d even stroked him. She’d put her hands on him—beautiful, long-fingered hands with short nails and hard, padded tips.