Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
“Don’t give up, Flowers. Stop holding your breath. You can fix this.”
I sag against his body. “How?” I warble. I sound pathetic. I should be pissed over what he just did to me. Even if I liked it, it was high-handed and scary. I should push him away and tell him never to touch me again, especially in my place of business.
Instead, I fall into his arms and let him hold me up.
“You try every idea you have until something takes hold. Ask for help. Keep working it. You can do this. You’re good at what you do. Trust in that.”
As far as motivational speeches go, it’s pretty flimsy, but I do strangely feel better. That’s probably just the orgasm talking.
I push away from him, even though I’m not sure my legs will hold me. “You’re still an asshole,” I mutter.
“Believe it,” he confirms as I walk away on shaky legs but breathing much better than before.
Looking over my shoulder, I catch the way his eyes watch every single move I make. He’s hunting, and I’m an easy prey.
I could run. I should run. But with the way he watches over me, I’d surely trip on my lust and desire for this man and fall flat on my face. But then knowing Armando, he’d simply pick me up, smack my ass for trying to flee and fuck me all over again.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Armando
Hannah’s all discombobulated. I can’t decide if she’s still mad at me or just in a post-orgasmic brain-fuck. She moves restlessly around the shop, randomly stopping to stare at her products but not getting anything done. I suppose it could be a business-related brain-fuck.
The door opens, and a tall young woman with bleach-blonde ringlets and freckles across her nose breezes in. “Sorry I’m late.” She heads straight past the counter into the area where I’m lounging and drops her purse on the desk beside me. “Hi.”
Whatever softening effect Hannah’s had on me doesn’t apply to her. I’m suddenly cold and hard again, showing nothing, ready for anything. I don’t answer, other than to flick my brow in question.
It makes her nervous, and she backs out and cozies right up to Hannah. “What’s with Guido?” I hear her murmur.
Hannah shoots a frightened glance at me, and I instantly prickle with irritation although I can’t put my finger on why. I guess I don’t like seeing that look on Hannah’s face, even when I’m the cause of it. “That’s, ah, Armando,” Hannah answers. “He’s hanging out today.”
“Why?” the woman demands. I can’t tell if she works here or is just a friend. Possibly both.
“Armando, this is Josie,” Hannah says in a louder voice. “She works here.”
I glance at the clock. The shop opened at noon. It’s 1:45 now. What time was she supposed to be here?
“Oh my God, were you not able to make the rent?” Josie whispers.
Hannah flicks another worried glance my way. “Not quite, but it’s okay, I have things worked out for this month.”
“What does that mean?”
Hannah just shakes her head. “Can you handle the counter?”
Josie gives her a searching look, but when Hannah ignores it, she says, “Of course.”
Hannah buzzes past me and goes to her workbench. She pulls out a vase and two spools of ribbon. Now, she finally has focus. I realize she was waiting for someone to run the front desk, so she could get busy with the arrangements. I probably could have kept an eye on things. It’s telling that she didn’t ask me. I think she pretends to be more comfortable with me than she really is.
A stab of guilt shoots through me. The same shame I felt last night thinking she might believe she has to fuck me to stay alive.
Is she that good of an actress?
No. I don’t think so. She’s into it. Her body can’t lie. She’s not resisting me. Although…am I giving her much of a choice?
Hannah looks calm and confident, assembling buckets of flowers at her feet from the cooler. Where she might be a deer in the headlights when it comes to her books, here at the workbench, she’s a goddamn wizard. Her movements are swift and sure as she fills it with a perky bouquet of colorful flowers and wraps a red and white ribbon around a vase. I don’t even know what kind they are—orchids maybe? Something exotic and surprising. There’s nothing cliche about the arrangement.
And then it hits me. “Is that supposed to be a barber’s pole?”
She steps back, examining her work with a critical eye. “Yes.”
Genius. Her talent as a designer is fucking off the charts.
“Did Rocco ask for flowers?” Funny, I can’t see it.
“No. But he’s getting them. I was thinking about what you said. About making new connections. You’re right—I don’t have any. And the only one Mary Alice had that still works for me is Rocco’s. So I figure I should keep that wheel greased. From now on, Rocco’s going to have fresh flowers at his place with a stack of my cards beside them.”