“So I assumed.” My tone is dry. Nick’s responding look is disapproving. Too bad. I might only have a couple hours left on Earth, so I might as well enjoy them. And if that involves giving Nick shit, then so be it. He’ll have to deal.
I freeze in the doorway to the office. Phil Spada’s there, but he’s not alone. Jessica is bent over next to his desk, pointing to something in a ledger. The curves of her ass are all too visible under the soft cotton of the dress she’s wearing. My dick springs to immediate attention, remembering what that ass looks like. What it feels like.
I clench my teeth and school my expression, determined not to do or say anything that could give Spada any idea what I did to his daughter last night. So much for rubbing his nose in it, which is what part of me wants to do. Hell, that’s the main reason I took her home in the first place. Another other part of me, though—a part that wasn’t making itself known last night—wants to protect Jess. And that’s the part that’s winning.
I must make some kind of a noise, or move just the right way, because suddenly both Spadas look right at me. The father’s face clicks immediately into an emotionless mask. Jessica maintains a careful, disinterested coolness. Perfect. “Well,” she says to her father, “I’ll let you get back to work.”
“Thanks, honey.” He reaches up to her, and she takes his hand, lets her fingers trace across his palm as she moves away. It’s a loving gesture, and she gives him a gentle smile. He returns the smile, fatherly. I fight to keep from grimacing at the saccharine nature of it. But as Jess turns toward the door where I’m standing, her eyes catch mine for a split second, and I see in them what she really feels for her father. It’s not pretty.
When she’s gone, and the door has clicked shut behind her, Phil Spada makes a wide gesture toward the chair in front of his desk. “Have a seat, Cain.”
I swing a leg over the back of the chair and settle into it, nonchalant. Like I don’t give a shit what he says to me. I just look Spada right in the eye and let him think whatever he thinks about me.
Spada’s eyes narrow slightly. I don’t think he’s happy that I’m not cowering in front of him, begging for my life. Fuck that. I don’t beg anybody for anything. Besides, I think, my mouth twisting a bit, I fucked your daughter. And she loved it.
That thought keeps me centered. Just that knowledge that I took something he thinks is his. I cross my arms over my chest and just keep staring him down.
“I think you know why I asked you to come talk to me this morning,” he says finally.
I nod. “I’ve got a fair guess.”
“Then why don’t you explain to me what happened last night?”
“I won the fight.”
Spada leans forward in a sharp movement. For a second I think he might actually slap me from across the desk, but that’s not in the cards. Mostly because his arms are too short. Otherwise...
“You,” he bites out, “were supposed to lose.”
“Yeah. Well. That was the plan. Unfortunately nobody told the other guy.”
Spada leans back again, his expression shifting from anger to a questioning annoyance. “Okay. What happened, Cain?”
I decide to back off a little. No point giving him still more excuses to hurt me. “It was an accident. I was trying to make it look real—that’s the way you want it, right? It has to look real, or people might start looking too close.”
He gives a terse nod. We’re on the same page on that one. Nobody wants anybody looking too close, because that path leads nowhere good.
“Well,” I go on, and at this point I manage to look a little contrite. Just a little. “I was making it real—but not too real, you have to understand me on that one—and he couldn’t take it. When he went down, it was as much a surprise to me as it was to you.”
The tension in Spada’s shoulders eases a little, and he breaks eye contact, looking down at the surface of his desk. “All right.” He looks back at me again. “I can believe that. You swear to me it wasn’t on purpose?”
I shake my head. “No. It was a fluke. Or maybe your scouts overestimated the guy.” I shrug. “Either way, it wasn’t my plan to take him out.”
“All right,” he says again. “All right. But you understand I’ve got to answer to people, too.”
“Sure. We all do.” I resist the temptation to take a relieved breath. He’s not going to kill me, after all. Not this time, anyway. I’ve been too reliable, too much of a cash cow. Although that thought twists my stomach, too.
“So you’ll have to pay.”
“Fine.” The word is clipped. What’s he going to do to me? I expect a beating, maybe out back. He can do that—he hasn’t given me a new fight schedule yet, so I’ll have time to recover.