"I need it fixed by tomorrow morning."
"Well, that's a problem because I don't work again until Friday."
"You can fix it tonight. Right now. We can go back to my condo."
Her stomach clenched tightly and her fragile control almost snapped but she held it together. "You've got to be kidding me. After you just threatened me?"
He took immediate exception to that and stood to his full height, the aura of casualness leaving his stance. "How the hell did I threaten you?"
"What was all that bullshit about strangers and harm and it being dark outside?"
"They weren't threats for God's sake, it was concern," the words were ripped impatiently from his throat.
"Concern?"
He raised a single, arrogant eyebrow. "You think you're bullet-proof, darling? Has it occurred to you that you might attract unwanted attention in that get-up?"
He glanced away and looked around the parking lot before leveling his gaze on her once again. Who was this guy who thought he could give his opinion on how she lived her life? She tried to temper her response. "We're in a safe neighborhood. Nothing's going to happen."
He shook his head with a pained expression but changed the subject. "I need to talk to you."
Finally. Now they were getting somewhere. She knew this wasn't about his damn hair. "About?"
"I don't want to discuss it here. You want to go somewhere else?"
She'd give him a minute of her time because he'd been coming to the salon for a long time, but go somewhere with him? "Um, not really."
"Look, I don't mean you any harm, but I need a favor."
Okay, now that sounded a bit too intriguing to ignore, even for Angie. "A favor?"
"Yeah," he answered curtly.
Angie studied him a moment, trying to take his measure. When she answered him, she opted for a touch of humor. "Something to do with the fact that I give an outstanding haircut?"
A look hardened his features. "No. Something to do with the fact that even though you're wearing skull-themed bling and purple lipstick, you still look completely fuckable."
"I'm sorry, what?"
"I said you look fuckable--"
"I heard you the first time, dude. You're not making any sense and causing offense isn't going to get you anywhere."
His eyes hardened, a darkly sexual look coming to the fore. "I don't mean any offense, but it's the truth. You look like the spawn of Satan."
She lifted her chin and gave him a glare. "Thanks for noticing, but that doesn't explain anything."
His gaze slid down her body before lifting to her face again. "You're appropriate for what I need because you're the epitome of inappropriate."
Angie couldn't keep her confusion from coming through. "Huh?"
"You look like the devil's daughter and yet you're sexy as fuck. Absolutely inappropriate for a man like me."
"Right." Angie drew out the word on a breath, a tiny curl of both excitement and disappointment coiling in her belly. "I admit I'm a little out of my element here." She sucked in a breath. "I don't know what the hell you want, I don't even know your last name, but I'm pretty damn sure you're insulting me."
"I don't mean to be insulting." He paused a moment, contemplating her. "We're from two different worlds--"
"Yeah, and I think we need to keep it that way," Angie answered shortly.
He continued as if he'd never been interrupted, "It would be totally believable that I'd be unable to resist you." His eyes ran over her once again and when they rose to hers, she saw a warning reflected there. "Totally false, but nonetheless, believable." He pushed away from where he stood and took the five steps that separated them, holding out his hand.
Very carefully, Angie put her hand in his and her palm was promptly enclosed within a firm, sinewy handshake. "Damian Rule."
Angie licked her lips as both trepidation and excitement rushed down her spine. "Angie Ross."
"Nice to formally meet you, sweetheart. Can you spare me some time? There's a restaurant down the road and I promise I won't keep you out long."
Angie absolutely knew she should decline; nothing good could come from a meeting between them. He was insulting, antagonistic, and far too appealing for his own good. But the reason that she knew she was going to agree was simple. She was curious. She was dying to know what the hell he wanted.
She shrugged her shoulders and named the closest restaurant with an attached bar that she figured he'd appreciate.
"Yeah, that's the one," he agreed to her choice.
She pulled her hand from his. "I'll meet you there."
Damian snagged a booth in the corner and held himself rigidly as he waited for Goth girl to arrive. She came in five minutes behind him, and although courtesy dictated that he stand at her entrance, his very noticeable physical reaction to her wouldn't allow him to move from his seat.
It was a knee-jerk reaction that he was going to have to get a handle on; surely time spent with her would lessen her physical appeal. He certainly had no plans to do anything about it. He wasn't going to sleep with her. He. Was. Not. He needed a business arrangement with her, and he couldn't sully that with an exchange of bodily fluids, no matter how hard she made him.
She slid in the seat across from him and didn't mince words. "What's up?"
"I've already ordered a drink, what do you want?"
She glanced from him and looked at the male waiter who'd come to her side. Damian felt the immediate loss of connection when she broke eye contact. As she turned a megawatt smile on the new arrival, Damian experienced a hot rush of anger, even as he took a forceful hit to his equilibrium, his senses stunned by the beauty that transformed her face. He wanted that smile for himself.
"I'll have a Diet Coke, please," she addressed the other man in a tone so feminine and pleasant that Damian clenched his fists.
The waiter stared at her for a moment too long by Damian's estimation, and when the younger man turned away, Damian tried to get a grip as he studied her. "You don't think you should have something stronger?"
She raised a single, perfect eyebrow. "Will I need something stronger?"
"No. Just thought we could make this easier by sharing a drink."
"Anesthesia by alcohol? Not tonight, thanks. I have to drive and I haven't had much to eat today."
After the drinks were placed in front of them, Damian requested two menus. He wasn't hungry, but she very obviously was.
When they were alone again, he studied her stiffened shoulders and attempted to put her at ease by admitting to his earlier lie. "You didn't mess up my hair."
She studied the menu and didn't bother to glance up. "No shit. Why'd you say that in the first place?"
"It was a reaction. You looked ready to bolt and I thought it would keep you in place for a few seconds more."
Her eyes flew to his and she asked neutrally, "What do you want with me?"
He declined to answer her question yet. "I hope you order something. I don't like knowing I'm holding you up from your supper."
She held his gaze for a second and then glanced at the menu once more. The waiter appeared again and she ordered an appetizer.
"Is that all you want?" Damian asked. The small helping wouldn't be enough to keep a bird alive.
"Are you going to eat half?" she accused.
"I might," he said, as the vision of sharing her food hit him as being particularly sensual.
She looked back to the waiter. "I'll have the grilled chicken and vegetable medley."
After the man turned to go, Damian tamped down his arousal and attempted to get down to business. "I need your help Saturday evening. Are you free?"
Her eyes narrowed to suspicious slits. "What kind of help?"
"I need a date for a dinner party."
The girl was smart; Damian could see her adding up the few things he'd already let slip and coming up with, if not his entire reason, then at least part of it.
She folded her arms over her chest and leaned back in her chair. It seemed as if she was attempting a casual look, but Damian wasn't buying it. Her voice was flat as she stated, "A woman like me is inappropriate for a businessman such as yourself," she restated his opinion in a controlled voice and then continued, "and yet someone needs to believe you're seriously interested in me."
Damian inclined his head minutely. "Correct so far."
"Who are you trying to fool?"
The girl was good; she caught on quickly. "We're trying to fool my mother."
She shook her head slightly and let out a half-smile. "There is no 'we.' I haven't agreed to anything."
"I'll pay you for your time," he offered abruptly.
"You'd have to pay me for my time. Saturday is my most lucrative day at the salon and I'd don't want to cut it short."
"A thousand dollars now and a thousand when the evening is over."
"Holy shit. Two grand just for a dinner party?" Distrust highlighted her features. "Nothing else?"
"Just a dinner party. Nothing else, although it has to look as if we can't wait to be alone. That is, if you think you're up to the challenge."
The first thing he saw was calculation as she very obviously thought about earning two grand in a single evening for little to no work. The second thing he saw was a question as she slid her gaze over him as if mulling over being alone with him. Damian felt the immediate hit to his groin as he imagined the same. It wasn't hard to do; being alone with her was something he thought about often. Her lips slowly opened and her face was transformed into a highly provocative look that made his pants too tight. Her voice came out, almost sultry and nothing like he'd heard from her before, "I'm pretty sure I could fake a bunch of people into thinking I'm into you."