Make Me (Sterling Shore Series #10)(5)

         
       
        

She smiles bitterly, and I feel like a bitch. "Sorry, Viv," I say with true contrition. "This place … it's a little toxic. It brings out the worst in me."

She reaches over, clutching my hand. "I get that this place was where the downward spiral started. And out of the three jobs you've offered me, I'm taking two of them."

My brow furrows. "You mean all of them, right?"

She groans while pushing a file toward me. "Harley, obviously I'm not a turn-the-other-cheek kind of girl. I make a good living off the eye-for-an-eye philosophy. And you're my top client."

I toss back my latest drink in one large gulp, annoyed with how watered down these drinks are. At least I don't have to worry about getting drunk.

"Because I'm obviously the unluckiest girl in the world. Nice," I state dryly.

"No, you're just the richest unluckiest girl. I don't come cheap," she chirps, giving my cheek a pinch.

I toss a sidelong glance at her before she continues. "While I get being dumped on at prom was really shitty, getting any revenge on Dale Sterling is just … too petty for my resources."

My back straightens, and I try to shake that off. "You do exes all the time," I remind her.

"Yes," she drawls. "But those are cheating, lying sons of bitches. Aside from this one blemish, Dale Sterling is almost a boringly good guy. Sorry, Harley. You know my policy and my guidelines. I don't need that karma coming back on me."

Muttering a curse and signaling Ember for another drink, I look back at Vivica.

"Just a teeny little humiliation ceremony is all I'm asking. It's not like I want the guy's life in ruins. I've seen your girls. I'm very much a dick lover, but they still made me question my sexuality."

"You make me sound like a madam, for fuck's sake," she interrupts, but I ignore her.

"All I'm asking for is a little more than two months from one of them-until the annual Sterling Gala, where a little public display of humiliation would be golden."

"No," she says simply, pushing that damn file a little closer as Ember drops off my drink. Her eyes shift between me and Vivica, but she scurries off, too busy to eavesdrop for long.

"You're serious about this," I grumble.

"Dead serious about bad karma. Did I tell you about my Uncle Ray? Great guy. One bad con led to another, and boom. Prison. I was turning cons until five years ago when my father finally gave me all the details about my hidden Uncle Ray actually being in prison this whole time. Even he decided to get out of the big leagues and back into a more … gray area. I have a more Robin Hood-ish philosophy now. Well, in an abstract form." 

Very abstract, but I don't point that out.

Vivica Drivel is really not helping me out right now. I level her with a glare, that must be something pathetic, because she doesn't bat an eye. I thought I had an awesome glare. I run an empire with that glare.

But on Vivica, it proves pointless.

Sigh.

"Look," she says on a sympathetic breath, "I'm still going to handle the other two. Those are legit, and they definitely have it coming. But Dale Sterling is not going to be a mark. Dazzle him and frazzle him on your own if you're that determined. But honestly, Harley, you're better than this. Don't sink that low."

She stands before I can argue or defend my damn non-pettiness, and tosses down some money.

"Gotta go. Uncle Ray invited me back for a late dinner. His daughter will be there, and we've never really met. Sin, my other cousin, is also coming. Apparently she's recently gotten out of the major game as well. So as much as I love arguing with you, we'll have to resume this later."

She turns to leave, while I pout like a five-year-old, but she spins back, this time glaring at me. Why is her glare better than mine?

"Don't do anything stupid. Jail sucks. Trust me. And you're too pretty for jail."

She winks before walking off, and I blow out a breath, flicking an errant hair out of my eyes. I shove the file into my purse, hating her a little, even though I get what she's saying.

Do it myself, she said. I can do that.

Sure, back then I was a bumbling idiot with too many awkward phases going on at once. But I'm a woman now. A very strong, confident woman.

I have sass.

Plenty of ass.

Know when to be crass.

And have ovaries of brass.

Annnnnd I sound like a dirty version of Dr. Seuss after hitting the bong one too many times. Lovely.

I down my next drink.

One good thing about being unable to get skinny? Breasts. My ladies draw a lot of attention. And they're perky. I can totally work my shit like I'm-

"Hey, Ember!" a smooth voice calls out, seconds before my arm is brushed by some incredibly soft fabric.

I turn my head, and my entire body turns to stone.

Dale Sterling. Is beside me. Touching me just barely. Dale Sterling is touching me.

My eyes drop to the contact where his long-sleeved shirt is slightly brushing my arm. The damn thing is blood red-my arm, not his shirt. His shirt is black. My whole body feels like it's on fire.

And I'm babbling inside my head. I really don't want to know what would come out of my mouth in this moment.

My eyes snap up to his profile, seeing him smile easily as Ember struts toward him with a smile of her own.

"What's up?"

"I think our server forgot about us. Care to send our usuals to the table?" he asks, his voice like smooth sex on a velvet bed.

"Sure," she chirps, overly enthusiastic to be of service.

She blushes even. I did like her until this moment.

I am not jealous. Nope. Not thinking about throwing my glass at her head. Nope. Not even a little bit of residual feelings going on here. Nope.

His jaw is sharp, stronger than it was in school-what I can tell about it, anyway. The stubble masks most of the definition.

I've never stalked him. And I mean that seriously. Like, I refused to ever look any of them up. In my head, they all got bald, fat, and ugly. Not better looking. Not sexier. Not happier.

"Charge it all to Dane," Dale says, grinning.

Ember blushes more. "Whatever you say."

Why doesn't she just hop up on the bar like it's Coyote Ugly and give him a little dance?



       
         
       
        

There I go again with the crazy girl stuff.

Not healthy. Not healthy at all.

Dale starts to push back, but his eyes catch mine, and he falters, his gaze lingering over my face like a caress as he studies me openly. I suck in a breath, fairly certain my entire body is flaming.

I'm an idiot all over again.

"Do I know you?" he asks, studying my gaze.

You can do better than that, surely.

Want to know me?

You look familiar too. I think I kicked you out of my bed once.

All those would be acceptable and witty little answers. What do I say?

"I'm … you … we … yeah … "

Way to go, Harley. Stellar performance.

He grins a full, dazzling, make-your-panties-wet smile. I swear the girl beside me sighs. Or maybe that's me. Really not sure I can breathe well enough to sigh, so it's probably her.

"Yeah?" he asks, leaning against the bar a little better as he keeps his gaze on me. "Where do I know you from?"

Again, perfectly acceptable answers are on the tip of my tongue.

I think you carved my number on the bathroom stall once.

It was a past life. You were better at this back then.

That one time … in Vegas …  We can't talk about that here, though.

Yeah. No. No witty Harley emerges.

"School," I blurt out like the biggest idiot in the world.

Awesome. Just fucking awesome.

So much for that sass. At least I still have that ass.

His smile only grows, and he drops his gaze, lingering on my mouth for a long, painfully breathless moment before his gaze sweeps back up.

"Pretty sure I'd remember you if we went to school together."

"Acne," I say, wishing I could just kill myself and get it over with. When did I lose all my game?

His eyebrows go up, utterly confused. But he doesn't mock me or even laugh.

"You had acne in school?" he surmises, trying to keep me from drowning.

I hate him. I think. I mean, right? I shouldn't be grateful that he's not mocking me during this incredibly low point right now.

There's still time to recover from this.

"Yes. And I was bigger. Everywhere. And my hair was a mess. And-"

I just stop talking, deciding that my mouth has turned seventeen all over again. They say psychology is a tricky thing. I always thought it was bullshit people used to excuse their weaknesses.

Now I believe in psychology. There's a whole theory that you revert back into a past personality when confronted with someone from that past. I'm Gnarly Harley right now. Not Harley Hayden, Master of the Universe and badass extraordinaire. 

His grin just broadens. "Help me out here. High school seems like an eternity ago."

It really hasn't been that long.

"Harley," I finally say, hating the word as it floats through my mouth like a traitor and nightmare.

I was planning to go Superman for a minute-secret identity and all that. I should have worn glasses.

His smile falters, and he clears his throat as he tugs at the top button of his shirt, undoing it.