“I’m guessing with full pay. Plus tip.”
Alex said nothing in return, as if any attention paid to a good deed would be his downfall. Charity smiled, content to simply watch him.
A stunner to look at, Alex was a deadly combination of down-to-earth and dangerously attractive, and his never-ending muscles really sealed the deal. But the dark circles under his eyes overshadowed his finer points, leaving a hot mess that looked like he’d been dragged through the mud a few times before slipping on his suit and tie.
This was Charity’s first long look at him, and she took her time. Behind his polished exterior was a man who needed something. Maybe it was something she could give.
Checking his watch, he caught her off guard. “How much does Natasha owe you?”
He can’t seriously want to give me more money.
When he swiped a keycard across a panel behind his desk, the wall opened to a room that lit as soon as he entered. “Well,” he called out, “how much?”
“I’m not sure.”
“Bullshit.”
Hearing him sing that word from his not-so-secret room made her laugh. Covering her smile was unnecessary, as he was preoccupied with stuffing a wrapped stack of hundreds in a small bank pouch.
“Do you need a ride?” he asked. “I can have a driver here in ten minutes.”
I think we both do.
Without overthinking it, Charity asked, “Would you mind driving me home? I mean, you definitely need an excuse to get out of here before midnight. Otherwise, you’ll wake up over there. Again,” she said, casually motioning to the sleek leather sofa, whose smooth lines and stiff cushions made for stylish accents but a piss-poor bed.
When her knowing gaze met his, he frowned at the couch.
Nodding, he agreed. “Let’s go.”
The quiet drive through the city made her mental gears crank faster.
The pouch in her lap was heavy. With an inconspicuous lift in both hands, she decided the weight indicated some outlandish amount of cash. Remembering the bank wrapper on it she’d seen before he dropped it in the bag, she wondered.
How much is a brick of hundreds? It has to be a lot. At least, a hell of a lot more than that butt-munch Natasha owes me.
Subtle in twisting her head, Charity sneaked a peek at the off-duty billionaire. She followed the rugged lines of his jaw down to his chest and arms, blown away by the magnificence of every inch.
She’d be damned if his suit wasn’t reinforced with spandex to hold in all that glory, as every muscle seemed desperate to bust free. Then her gaze fell to his hands, gripped at ten and two on the steering wheel.
How did I not see those before?
Staring harder, she was thankful for the intermittent flashes from streetlights and storefronts that gave her a glimpse at the darker side of the man she’d spent a little time with. His hands were strong and rugged, but more surprisingly, completely covered in random faded scars.
His subtle shift of attention from the road ahead to her stare shooed her nosy eyes away. Shit.
“What’s on your mind?” The soft drop in his tone was encouraging, but men like this only shared what they wanted. Snooping was never a good look.
With her hands clasped tightly around the thick pouch, Charity mentally searched for the best way to break the increasingly awkward silence.
“You gave me too much money,” she calmly blurted after an exhaustive minute.
Braving a glance back at his face again, she was relieved to see his half-cocked smile didn’t seem cross. But a wall had gone up between them that was palpable.
Does he know that wasn’t what I was thinking? Whatever gears turned in his head, she wasn’t sure what they were churning out.
Alex didn’t bother with a response, letting that lickable dimple do his smirking for him. The luxury ride was slowing to a stop, managing to roll up right in front of her building’s entrance. Premium spaces like that were never vacant. It was obvious the man had the power to part pussies and parking spaces alike.
“This one, right?”
It was only then that it occurred to her that he hadn’t asked for her address. Sure, the man paid for the place, but it wasn’t like he ever visited her there.
“Yes,” Charity said, undoing her seat belt. She had no reason to stay glued to the luxurious leather seat. But desperate to rekindle a closeness with her benefactor, like a schmuck, she remained in place.
A second later, Alex killed the engine and was out of the car, strolling around to let her out. Like a goddamn chauffeur.
Oh God, or like a date. Double shit.
Panicking, she shoved the door open wide, nearly slamming it into the man in the process. “Fuck. I’m sorry. I spaced. I didn’t mean to—”
“Not a problem.” He waved away her concerns. “My catlike reflexes have saved these jewels more than once. Though my assailant is usually a whole hell of a lot bitchier. Everything all right?”
Not meaning to, Charity shook her head.
Frowning, he pocketed his hands. “How can I help?”
16
Charity
As Charity approached the door to her apartment with Alex, it suddenly dawned on her the sort of impression she was about to make. She was a lot of things, but neat freak sure as hell wasn’t one of them.
With that in mind, she couldn’t help blocking the doorway with her body, pretending to fidget with the lock. He wasn’t exactly pressed up against her, but the proximity of all that manliness was close enough that the distance did little to shield her from his overbearing heat. It radiated like the goddamn sun. With little choice, she pushed the door open wide, allowing him to enter at his own risk.
The upscale accommodations were much nicer than she could afford without the Drake scholarship fund. Still, pouring any surplus funds into her undergraduate classes meant the high ceilings and city view could only be seen by traversing a sea of textbooks, notepads, and crumpled pieces of paper littered across the room.
“Psychology?” Alex asked, flipping through random pages of a book he picked up off the floor.
“Yeah.” Quick to straighten up, Charity pressed the bank pouch into his chest, exchanging it for the textbook in his hand. Stuffing it, along with sweats, shoes, an errant bra, three other textbooks, and everything else she could fit in her arms, she rushed through tidying up.
Luring him there wasn’t about showing off how well she was doing in school, especially when she was older than her peers by seven or eight years. Though she liked the approval in Alex’s eyes. His smile wasn’t one of longing, but she clung to the tiniest hope that he might be pleased.
The prolonged racket of dumping this and that into the hall closet meant clearly she was a poor candidate for adulting. With a nervous smile, she couldn’t help but caress and hide her scars, a tic she’d developed whenever she wondered how poorly she stacked up against the rest of New York.
But Charity’s scars paled in comparison to her companion’s. His hands were covered with them, and perhaps that was why they’d been less noticeable at first. The webbing on his skin was much older than hers, worn to blend better, but still wrapped his rugged hands. The effect toughened him despite his tailored suit.
What would cause that? How far up do they go? And . . . are the rumors true?