"No one prefers pound cake over every other possible dessert," she insisted. "I mean have you even tried those donut ball things Cora makes?"
"I like things that aren't that sweet."
"You freak," she shot back, shaking her head. "Have you ever had a good cheesecake? You know with the cherry stuff on top? Or some caramel?"
"My maternal grandmother was a baker. I think she overindulged me as a kid and turned me off of sweets for the most part since then."
"I guess that makes sense. I worked at a fast food place for about five seconds. I still can't look at a chicken nugget without grimacing."
It was in the fifth round that I did it. When I got really personal. When I asked her the question that had been on my mind since she'd made that comment about prior traumatic experiences.
"What was your second-most traumatic experience?" I asked, figuring she was more likely to answer that one than the first-place spot one.
She looked startled for a moment, her eyes wide, her lips parted.
She recovered quickly, though, sitting back, reaching for her drink.
"I was working a job in Russia with Kai. And neither party wanted to give in even an inch. It was a shit show. We were on our fourth day of negotiations. The client ended up fucking us over by lying to us, leaving us to deal with the other guy and his crew. They held me down on the chair and nearly beat Kai to death right in front of me.
"I'd had my ass handed to me more times than I am willing to admit. And that was scary. But it all paled in comparison to seeing someone I care about being punched and kicked and slammed on the ground while I sat there screaming but couldn't do anything about it. I still can't get that image out of my head. Kai had long hair and the man had just picked him up by it, about to slam his head down on the ground for what was going to be the final time. In my nightmares, they do it."
"In reality, what happened?" I asked, watching as she swallowed hard.
"In reality, they demanded twice the ask. I promised they would get it. And then I blackmailed the client with evidence we had of him cheating on his very dominant wife who once shot him for looking at another woman."
"You blackmail the clients?" I asked, lips quirking up.
"When they nearly get one of my best friends killed? Fuck yes."
Fuck yes.
I liked that.
"How'd that go over?"
"He is so terrified of his wife that he threw in a bonus to cover Kai's medical bills. We heard from him again three years later when his mistress tried to tell his wife about their affair."
"You've led an interesting life," I told her.
"It has been memorable, that's for sure. Lots of stories to tell at a bar when I'm old."
"Or to your grandchildren," I offered.
"If I ever settle down long enough to have kids."
"Do you need to work as hard as you do?"
"No. I mean, yes, my work is demanding. I tend to be busier than a lot of the guys on the team. If I wanted to, I could slow down. But I don't really have a solid reason not to work. I don't have family to spend time with or anything."
"But if you don't slow down, how can you build a family?"
"That's the question, isn't it? It must be nice being a guy."
"Why's that?"
"You're what? Ten or so years older than me?"
"Give or take," I agreed, nodding.
"And no one says to you 'when are you going to settle down and have kids?'"
"Have you met Cora?" I asked, smirking.
"Alright, fine, but you don't have a ticking clock on it. That must be nice."
"You're still young."
"For now," she agreed, passing me the cards to shuffle. "You do realize that Alexander just snuck out, right?" she asked a few minutes later, not even looking up from her cards.
"I do," I agreed, nodding.
"You're not going to stop him?"
"Laird will follow him."
"So he gets the illusion of rebellion."
"Something like that," I agreed. "Though, I managed to get into plenty of trouble with my father's men following me around at his age."
"Oh, yeah? Like what? Drinking with your buddies on the beach?"
My lips curved up at that, "Like starting a hustle of my own."
"What kind of hustle?"
"I worked as a lookout for a car-jacker. Made some good money that I didn't have to ask my father for."
"Did he find out?"
"Of course he did."
"What did he do?"
"Took a cut off my earnings."
"He did not."
"He did. He told me it was a lesson."
"What was the lesson?"
"That no one made money in Greece without him getting something. Not even his own son."
"A little insight into the man you've become," she said, sounding pleased to know me better.
Or maybe that was wishful thinking.
Though why I was wishing for shit like that was beyond me.
She was a fascinating woman. But she was a transient one. Even if I was in the market for that wife I had always considered a part of my future, Melody wasn't an option.
Maybe it was just the sexual frustration, the fact that I wanted her. I couldn't remember a single instance in the past where I wanted to go to bed with a woman and then didn't. When both of us clearly wanted it.
The next two rounds went to her, making me seriously question my poker skills, and making her get louder and prouder of her victories. She asked more and more invasive questions, but mostly about my childhood, about my upbringing.
No one ever asked me things like that. If they were going to ask me questions, they wanted to know about the man I was. Or, more accurately, about my profession, about how I got to be what I am.
It was strange, in fact, to reflect on my upbringing on my own, let alone with another person and their input.
I found I liked her interest, her lighthearted comments, the way she accepted the unusual childhood I had without much judgment. Being exposed to so many men from... alternative lifestyles made her immune to the strangeness of my early—and current—life.
"Damn," she hissed when I laid my cards on the table, shaking her head.
"Where are you going?" I asked when she got up, and walked away.
"Getting another drink. I'm going to need it."
"Why's that?" I asked, watching as she went to the tequila bottle, pouring three fingers, dropping a lime wedge in the glass, then grabbing the bottle of Scotch, and bringing it back toward me.
"Because I know what you are about to ask me," she said, stopping at my side, pouring the bottle into my glass. "And I have a feeling you might want a drink too," she added, face guarded.
It was the first time I saw her face completely closed down, utterly unreadable.
It was then that I truly understood how she managed to do her job, how she managed to wheel and deal with men who didn't want to compromise, how she looked terrible people in the face, and never showed her true feelings.
"How do you know I am going to ask you that?" I asked, raising my glass to take a sip.