Vicious looked indifferent to my bitter tone. He pushed off from my door and strode closer, purposeful and confident, reminding me that he was much more comfortable in his skin than I was in mine. When he stopped, his chest brushed mine, sending shivers to the rest of my body.

I moved aside, crossing my arms over my chest and quirking an eyebrow. “Do I want to know how you found me?”

“Your little friend Rachelle thinks I’m taking you out on a surprise date. Not the sharpest pencil in the box, but then you always had a soft spot for the simpletons of the world.”

I looked away from his face, concentrating on the peeling, worn door leading to my shoebox apartment. “What are you here for, Vicious?”

“You said you’re a PA,” he replied on half a shrug.

“And?”

“And I need one.”

I tossed my head back and laughed, not a trace of humor in me. He really had some nerve. My laughter died quickly. “Leave.”

I fished my keys out of my purse and stabbed the key toward the lock. He reached for my waist, effortlessly spinning me around to face him. His touch caught me off guard. Suddenly, I felt light-headed. I jolted away from his body and twisted back to the door, hysteria climbing up my throat. I dropped the keys and picked them up. I didn’t like the way my body reacted to this man. It always had been—still was—completely out of sync with the way I felt about him.

“Name your price,” he growled, way too close to my ear.

“World peace, the cure for lung disease, for The White Stripes to reunite,” I shot back.

He didn’t even blink. “One hundred K a year.” His voice crawled into my ear like sweet poison, and I froze. “I know your sister is sick. Work for me, Help, and you won’t have to think about how to pay for Rosie’s meds ever again.”

How long a conversation did he have with Rach, and more importantly—why?

That kind of pay would be amazing, especially for a PA. I could quit my night job at McCoy’s, not to mention provide for my sister and myself. But my pride—my stupid pride, a monster that demanded to be fed only when Vicious was at the dinner table—snatched the imaginary microphone and did the talking for me.

“No,” I gritted out.

“No?” He cocked his head to the side, like he didn’t hear me right, and dang it, he looked good doing it.

“Is this word new to you?” I squared my shoulders. “No amount of money is going to make the fact I hate your guts disappear.”

“One hundred fifty K might,” he said, unblinking.

Does he need a hearing aid?

His eyes were so dark blue they sparkled like rare sapphires. He thought it was a negotiation. He was wrong.

“It’s not about the money, Vicious.” I felt my teeth grinding together. “Do you want it in another language? I can write it down for you or even communicate it in the form of a dance.”

His mouth twisted into something that resembled a smirk, but it failed to last. “I forgot how fucking fun it is to piss you off. I’m throwing in an apartment within walking distance of the job. Fully furnished and paid for throughout your employment.”

I felt the blood rush between my ears. “Vicious!” Would it be too much to punch him?

“And a nurse who will be on call for Rosie. Twenty-four fucking hours a day. That’s my final offer.” His jaw ticked once.

We stood in front of each other like two warriors about to wield our swords, and a sob caught in my throat because, goddammit, I wanted to take the deal. What did that make me? Weak, immoral, or simply insane? More than likely, all three.

This man had driven me out of California, out of my mind. Now he was hell-bent on hiring me. On elbowing his way back into my life. It didn’t make sense. He wasn’t a friend. He didn’t want to help. His proposition was littered with red flags.

I tried to slam my key into the lock again but couldn’t find the keyhole in the dark. Which reminded me I had an electricity bill to pay. Three of them, actually. Fun, fun, fun.

“What’s the catch?” I croaked as I turned to face him, rubbing my forehead, frustrated.

He brushed his knuckles over his cheekbone, amusement dancing in his pupils. “Oh, Help, why must there always be a catch?”

“Because it’s you.” I knew I sounded bitter. I didn’t care.

“It may entail some tasks that won’t make it into your contract. Nothing too seedy, though.”

I cocked an eyebrow. That didn’t sound too reassuring.

He quickly caught my drift. “Nothing sexual either. You’ll be happy to know, I still see more ass than a proctologist. For free.”

For some stupid reason, my heart leapt when I read between the lines. Vicious was single. No girlfriend if he was still enjoying meaningless flings. Vicious was too proud a man to be a cheater. He was an ass, but a loyal one nonetheless.

“And why me?”

“The fuck does it matter?”

“It does to me,” I bit out, a last ditch effort to walk away from this deal. “And also, because I’m a terrible PA. Terrible. I once sent the accountant I worked for to a meeting with another company’s file, and I nearly booked his wife a flight to Saint Petersburg, Russia instead of St. Petersburg, Florida. Thank the Lord for airport codes,” I muttered.

“You would have done her a huge favor. Florida is a fucking downer,” he quipped, adding, “And your stripper outfit may have made me feel a tad bit guilty.”

Liar, I thought bitterly. Yet, it was so fitting that he’d found me here. One eviction notice away from rock bottom. Offering me the one thing I couldn’t refuse. Dangling the health and security of me and my family in my face once again.

“I don’t want to work for you.” I sounded like a broken record.

“Lucky for me, you don’t have much choice. When reality makes the decision for you, it’s easier to accept your fate. Your tip”—he shoved one hand into his slacks’ pocket and took out a folded slip of paper—“was waiting for you. Next time you’re asked to do something, do it in a timely manner. Patience is not one of my virtues.”

“What is?” I deadpanned. Still eyeing him suspiciously, I plucked the paper from between his long fingers and took a peek, my pulse drumming wildly.

A check.

$10,000.

Sweet Jesus and his holy crew.