Chapter 8 8

Cara

Ah, crap. As soon as the money leaves my hand, I know I went too far.

When I woke up, I felt like heaven. For the first time in a very long time, I felt calm and happy and relaxed, with a pleasant ache between my legs. Yes, Eros was gone, but so what? I figured he'd cut and run and I knew he had an early meeting anyway.

I took a shower, gathered my things, and that was when I saw the cash.

Just sitting there on the nightstand, waiting for me.

No note, no comment. Nothing but money.

Like I was some hooker and he was paying me off.

Rage filled my chest. Rage unlike anything I'd ever felt before. Shame and disgust came next. I'd never, ever done something like that night before, and I was stupid enough to be happy about sleeping with a total stranger and doing some depraved and, frankly, really hot sex stuff with him, stuff I'd never, ever considered, not even during the heady early days with Christopher.

Only to find cash on the nightstand.

Like I was Eros's whore.

Shame hit me so hard I nearly threw up. I wanted to rip my eyes out and turn back time so I could slap some sense into myself.

What the hell was I thinking? Why did I ever imagine a guy like Eros could possibly want to do something nice for me? That whole thing was a sick game, and he left money in the end.

At least I wasn't cheap.

I never should've believed him. I know better than to get involved with flashy men that say all the right things, but I did it anyway.

And now I regret it.

I also regret throwing what looks like a few thousand dollars of cash at a bunch of strangers, but oh, well.

"Cara," Eros says, his tone totally calm. The men sitting at his table look bewildered. The guy in the middle plucks a fifty from his head and blinks like he's never seen anything like it before. His red face somehow gets redder. "Turn around and walk away."

I consider my options. I've clearly just blown this meeting for him, and a part of me feels guilty-I don't know how important this was, but I got the feeling it was a pretty big deal based on the few vague comments he made the night before.

But the other part of me basks in his embarrassment. I want to humiliate him the way he humiliated me when he left that money.

"Apologize," I say and jab a finger at him. "Apologize right now, Eros Khazan, or I swear-"

"You'll what?" He comes around the table and looms over me. "Throw another gift in my face? Spit on my generosity one more time?" He turns his back on me and I reel away like he whipped a hand across my face. "Gentlemen, I apologize for this display. I will deal with her and come back. Lycus, please take over."

"Yeah, okay, Eros." Lycus, the dark Greek-looking guy, grins at us like he's having the best time in the world.

Eros turns back and grabs me by the arm. I try to pull away, but his grip is like iron. His voice drops to a deadly whisper as he says, "Come with me right now, or I swear I will break both your knees right here and now, just to prove I can."

I swallow, meet his eyes, and believe him.

I really shouldn't have thrown that money.

Eros drags me from the dining room. I keep pace, fear taking over from the angry embarrassment I felt a few seconds ago.

It occurs to me that yes, I definitely went a little too far, and something else nags at my thoughts.

He called the money his generosity. He called it a gift.

Did I misread that situation?

No, that's not possible... he left cash by the bed. That's what guys do when they're paying hookers.

Right?

I'm starting to feel dizzy as he shoves me into an empty private room and turns on me, his face contorted with rage. "What the fuck was that, Cara?"

I back away from him and bump into a table. "You left money," I say, feeling stupid. "On the nightstand."

"Yes, I did, because I know you're in trouble and there's no way in hell those credit cards you stole are still working."

"I didn't steal them," I mutter and rub my face. "Wait, you weren't paying me?"

"Paying you for what?" he asks, throwing his hands up.

"For the sex."

And his face goes slack. His hands lower.

And he laughs.

The motherfucker laughs at me, and suddenly, the anger's flooding back.

"No, I wasn't paying you, my god," he says, shaking his head and chuckling. "Is that what you thought? You thought I was treating you like a hooker?"

"You left money on the nightstand after we had sex all night," I say through my teeth. "You're really going to stand there and tell me that's a crazy thing to think?"

He hesitates as his chuckle fades away. "Maybe not, but it still doesn't excuse your behavior."

"You could've left a note. You could've woken me up and explained. You could've done a million things, but what you did do was leave a bunch of cash by the bedside like you were paying me for services rendered. Do you have any clue how humiliating that felt?" My cheeks are bright red and tears gather in my eyes. I will not cry for this man, but I hate him right now, hate him so much.

After everything I did, after how hard I worked to escape Christopher, only for this to happen.

To be treated like flesh.

Like nothing but a body all over again.

He shakes his head. "That wasn't my intention."

"It was mortifying. Fucking mortifying. I've never, ever slept with a man the way I slept with you last night and to wake up to find money on the nightstand was like a slap in the face. You took away any shred of dignity I had left and spit all over it."

He's silent for a long moment, studying me with that intense look of his.

I feel exposed, but I wrap myself in my anger and hold it tightly. Maybe I misunderstood his intent, but that doesn't change what he did and how it made me feel.

Eros's all but a stranger, and he doesn't owe me a damn thing, but I am so freaking tired of letting men walk all over me.

For years, I took shit from Christopher. I took my abuse, my pain and my misery, and I swallowed it all down.

Yeah, I got mouthy, but I didn't do anything about it.

Until yesterday.

I'm not staying quiet anymore. Even if it gets me into trouble-I will speak my mind. I will never swallow my feelings, not ever again.

I am fully embracing that "mouthy bitch" nickname.

"Do you know who the men were back at that table?" he asks.

I scoff at him. "I couldn't care less."

"That was the head of the dockworkers' union, his right-hand man, and his lawyer. We were discussing a matter that will affect all of Chicago for years to come, and I'm pretty sure you ruined any chances I had at convincing them to take my side, slim as they might've been. Your outburst lost me a lot of money."

I let that sink in. Dockworkers and unions and lawyers-I knew Eros was connected and rich but I had no clue how deep it went. This is serious politics, and I still don't have any clue what Eros is and what he does for a living, but a lot of my fire dims at the prospect of blowing a massive deal over a misunderstanding.

"Maybe I shouldn't have thrown the money at you. I'll admit that was a little bit over the top."

"A little bit," he confirms.

"I didn't know it was that important. You didn't tell me anything, and I just-"

"Did you tell me everything about yourself last night? All I know about you is your name, that you're from Philadelphia, and you're running from some man. That's all. Did you expect my life story in exchange for that paltry bit of information?"

"I don't know, I just-"

"You just wanted to feel good, and that's what I wanted too. I left that money to help you, Cara, because I like you for some god-forsaken reason. Now I will handle the fallout of your temper tantrum, but I am warning you." He comes closer, looming and massive. "I will not tolerate something like that again."

Fear jabs into my heart.

He's looking at me like he could break me, and I think of Christopher and his temper, but Eros is nothing like that.

Where Christopher was random, his anger burning bright and hot and sudden for no discernable reason at all, Eros is frozen and cold, like ice-covered steel.

It's not a threat-it's an unyielding promise. An immoveable force. Fuck with him and he will fuck back.

"You won't ever see me again," I say as I turn my cheek. "I'm leaving the city."

"That's for the best." A long beat passes between us, and a strange stab of regret hits me. I wonder what could've been if I hadn't stormed into the dining room the way I did and ruined whatever we had between us. "Take this." He steps closer and holds out a card.

"What's that?"

"It's not more money, I promise."

I take it and stare at the words. It's only his name above a phone number, printed in black. "Why?" I ask, utterly confused, because I don't deserve anything from him.

"I have a feeling you're going to need help sooner rather than later, and for some reason I don't believe you when you say you're going to leave the city."

"You want to help me, even after... after that?"

"God knows why, but we'll see." He turns away. "There's always a price for everything, isn't there? Give me a call if you ever want a job."

I clench my jaw. "If that's some comment about the money-"

"No comment. I mean it. I'm offering you a job and a fresh start. I know you want to get out of Chicago, but it's a big city, and besides, you'd be safe working for me." He pauses at the door and looks back. "Sleeping with you last night was the highlight of my year. Maybe my last few years. Good luck running, Cara. Call me if you ever decide to stop."

Then he's gone, leaving me alone in the private dining room, not sure if I hate him or want to drag him back in here to kiss me some more, and wondering what the hell sort of man I got myself involved with.