"You are something else. You know that, right?"
She shrugged. "All those years in business school should amount to something. You can also use it for analyzing the composition of the dope you move. Manufacture. Sell. Whatever it is you do exactly. God forbid the cartel gets bullshitted. I'm sure you already have equipment for that, but those machines tend to be big and difficult to handle. This one is tiny and extremely accurate. You'll be the most techie of all drug lords."
"You watch too many movies, Goth girl."
Probably.
She opened her mouth to answer, but suddenly his smile turned stony. The air around them crackled. "They're here."
Paige followed his gaze toward a black sedan that was parking. Nico must have known the route they would come from, because he sat in a perfect spot to observe their arrival without being watched.
Four men, big as wardrobes, stepped out of the car. His security detail, she reckoned.
"All in order?" she asked, seeing he was not moving.
"It appears so."
He'd told her that the situation had been handled and the imminent threat neutralized. What that meant, she didn't know, but she wasn't going to ask.
Nevertheless, he was being cautious. The coffee shop was located on a corner with views of three different streets and a hotel entrance. Nico and Paige had arrived an hour earlier, and he'd been on stakeout ever since.
He turned to her. "I've got to go."
"Go give them hell," she said, smiling.
"Thanks for everything, Goth girl."
She smirked. "Oh, the pleasure was mine, I can assure you. Every. Single. Time."
He closed his eyes and chuckled softly. "Likewise."
Since getting that text message last night, his whole demeanor had changed. His expression was harder. Rougher. Actually, his attitude had changed before that, the instant she'd started asking about his work. Now, though, with that smile on his face, he looked approachable again. She moved to touch his hand but rethought it. "Don't forget to put that molecular analyzer to good use. I might not be there next time you need assistance." And why that made her heart skip a beat, she didn't know.
Nico nodded and stood up. "Stay low. Don't leave until we're gone." He started to walk to the door, then turned around and kissed her, hard but short. For a second it looked like he was going to say something, yet he didn't.
He got out of the coffee shop and stalked toward his men, never glancing back. With every step, he seemed to grow bigger, which was totally surreal and defied the laws of physics. His shoulders got broader, his stance more menacing, his shadow larger. His presence was so damn imposing. No wonder he was the head honcho.
Some of the men waiting for him looked rather scary. They had tattoos on their faces and were very buff, but not one of them carried himself the way Nico did. Like he was in charge, and anyone doubting it would have hell to pay.
He reached his security detail, said something, and they nodded curtly. One of the guys opened the passenger door for him, and he stepped into the car. The rest jumped in after him, and they took off.
Paige did as he'd ordered: stayed low, didn't move, and watched until they disappeared. She continued watching the street long after the vehicle was gone and her cup was empty.
Chapter Seven
Three weeks later
"I think I'm calling it a night," Carmela said, entering Nico's study. "Interested in a drink to warm up before heading to bed?"
"I'm busy," Nico answered without pulling his gaze from the computer.
He'd heard her approaching. Smelled her too. Strong, expensive perfume. Didn't have to look at her to see the exaggerated sway of her hips and her too-open-for-a-personal-assistant shirt.
"Bed's too cold without something inside to keep you warm," she whispered, dragging the tip of her finger along his arm.
"It's over one hundred degrees," he let out, fighting not to flinch at her touch.
She leaned on the table. "You know what I mean."
Yes, he knew what she meant.
Carmela-a bombshell who would overshadow any Miss Venezuela with her perfect ass and boobs and face, all of them painstakingly sculpted by world-class plastic surgeons-had been Maldonado's mistress for years. The person he talked the most with. She'd been after Nico from way back, when he was second in command. He'd considered once or twice giving in and tapping that wealth of information.
Not anymore. Now just the thought nauseated him.
But apparently when you inherited a narco empire, you inherited the mistress too.
"Told you I'm busy," he said, ignoring how she widened her stance surreptitiously.
"If I didn't know better, I would think you were gay. I understand you keeping your distance when Maldonado was alive, but you don't have to anymore. I would enjoy you making love to me."