“I’m here,” I announce as I enter the office.
I notice real quickly that he has a gun on the desk and am glad I brought mine. He glances up from a paper he was reading, eyes lazily drifting over me and making me feel naked, even though I’m wearing cutoffs and a ratty t-shirt. I’ve never liked Reagan, something about him rubbing me the wrong way every time I’m around him, but now it’s even worse, my spidey senses going crazy. “And so you are.” He motions for me to come in. “Have a seat, Lola.”
“No thanks,” I decline with a shake of my head, my eyes drifting to his gun. “I think I’m good right here.”
He glances down at the gun then back up at me. “I always carry this on me—you know that.”
“Yeah, but after what happened last night with Tenner, I don’t trust you anymore.” I lean against the doorframe and fold my arms. “Well, I shouldn’t say anymore since I’ve never trusted you to begin with.”
“Watch it, Lola,” he warns, tossing the pen he’s holding onto the desk and then leans back in his seat. “After last night, you’re already walking on thin ice.”
“You should have never told that creep I’d do what he wanted to do,” I say in a clipped tone. “You had no right.”
He shrugs, overlapping his hands on his stomach. “I thought you were a tough girl—you always came across as one.” Another shrug and it takes a hell of a lot of energy not to march across the room and punch him in the face. “Guess I was wrong.”
I narrow my eyes at him. “It’s not like that and you know it.”
“Well, whatever it is, you now owe me a thousand bucks.” His nonchalant attitude is pissing me off.
“No I don’t.”
“Yes, you do.” He sits up in his chair. “For losing me money last night and a potential new client.”
I take a cautious step into the room. “Tenner called you last night and told you what happened I’m guess?” I pause, not wanting to ask, but I need to know what happened after I blacked out. “Did he say anything else?”
“Not really. Only that my business was a joke and that he was never going to use or recommend The Dusky Inn services to anyone.” His brows knit the slightest bit. “Honestly he seemed kind of nervous, which makes me wonder what exactly happened between you two.” He waits for me to explain but I keep quiet. As much as I don’t want to answer any of Reagan’s questions at the moment, I couldn’t even if I wanted to since I have no idea what happened.
“Fine, don’t tell me anything,” Reagan says in a low voice that carries a warning. “But here’s what you’re going to do to make it up to me.”
“I don’t owe you anything,” I tell him. “So don’t pretend I do. That guy—Tenner—tried to beat the shit out of me and whatever happened was self-defense. What I did to him was fair.”
“Nothing is fair in this world.” He leans forward in his chair and reaches for a paper on his desk. “Now sit down.”
“I already told you, I’m standing.” I take a step back toward the doorway. “And you know what, I think I’ll leave now. I’m done talking about this.”
“I wouldn’t do that if I were you, Lola Anders,” he calls out as I’m turning to exit the room.
I freeze mid-turn, my jaw dropping to my knees. “That’s not my name.” My voice is barely a whisper.
“Isn’t it?” Amusement laces his voice. Clearly he’s enjoying this.
I ball my hands into fist and stab my fingernails into my palms, attempting to shove down the anxiety claw it’s way through my body. “No…. and you know that.”
“I know a lot of things about you Lola Anders.” He pauses. “Or is it Lola Anelli. I’m not sure what you used to prefer to go by.”
Suddenly it’s starting to makes sense—the notes. I whirl around, glaring at him. “It was you, wasn’t it? You were the one doing it.”
“I’m not sure what you’re talking about,” he says coolly, but I detect a hint of puzzlement. “I’ve done a lot of things, Lola, so you’ll have to be more specific.”
My fingers hover near the gun strapped to my leg and hidden underneath my shorts. “You sent me the notes.”
“What notes?” he asks and I can’t tell whether he’s telling the truth or not. He seems lost, but I don’t know Reagan enough to know whether he’s a good liar or not. I’m guessing with the kind of business he’s running, he has to be.
“The one’s I’ve…” I trail off at his bafflement. “How did you find out about me?” I take a step or two closer to the desk, noting that his hand is inching toward his gun.
He shrugs. “I’ve actually known for a little while. Lola Anders, daughter of Larenze Anelli, one of the most powerful drug lord’s on the east coast.”
“But that’s the east coast,” I say, gripping the hem of my shorts, debating whether or not to take out my weapon or not. “And you have to be part of the drug world to know a lot about it, so tell me, how did you find out?” I dare another step closer to the desk. “Who told you?”
He picks up his gun and pulls the magazine out. “What kind of business do you think we’re running here?”
I hesitate. “A sex business.”
He chuckles under his breath as he puts the magazine back in. “That is one of many. It’s good to do multiple things you know. Makes the really bad stuff easier to hide.”
“So you’re saying you deal drugs.”
“Dealer is an understatement.” He sets the gun down and rises up from his chair. “I’m a lot more powerful than that.”
“In Glensdale, I highly doubt that,” I say condescendingly. “And besides, I search your last name and nothing came up.”
“Let me guess, you searched Nyjah’s last name which isn’t the same as mine.” He lets out a low laugh at the sight of my shocked expression, not with humor though. “Try searching Scadaelany.” He says it as if I’ll recognize it, but I don’t.
“Not ringing a bell,” I say, knowing it’s going to get under his skin. Men like him—men like my father—thrive on power and status.
His eyes narrow on me. “Just as much of a snob as your father.”
Suddenly the terrible situation because even worse because not only does he know my family but he knows my father. “You know my father?”
“Every drug and drug dealer in the country knows your father.” He stands with the gun in his hand and winds around the desk until he’s standing in front of me. He gets too close but I refuse to cower back and show weakness. “And everyone hates him as much as I do.” He raises the gun and traces the end up and down my cheek.
I finch, but still don’t move back, refusing to break eye contact. “What are you going to do to me?”
He lowers the gun to his side. “It’s not what I’m going to do to you, but what you’re going to do for me. Otherwise, I’m going to call up that lovely Dellefontes family who put that hit out on you and collect the reward being offered for that pretty little head of yours.”
I lift my hand to slap him, but he catches it in his fingers and squeezes tightly. “I’d watch it if I were you.” His fingertips press roughly against my hammering pulse. “You wouldn’t want to get on my bad side.”
God, if I could, I’d drop kick him straight between the legs, but he’s right. Right now, he has a lot of power over me—whether I live or die. And I know what I have to do even if I don’t want to.