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“All right already.” Cain shakes his head, with a look of sheepishness that just doesn’t fit his typical facade.
With a wink, Storm a
“I’m sure I will.” I watch her skirt and her hair swish in tandem as she strolls away, humming softly, thinking how nice she really is. That could be me, in a few years. In my new life.
With that, Ta
Cain chuckles next to me. “A new owner bought the building two years ago and spent some money improving things, including retrofitting for central air.”
I feel myself frown without meaning to. A new owner? “I thought you own this complex?”
A sharp glare thrown Ginger’s way tells me that maybe she wasn’t supposed to mention that to me. Hmm . . . interesting. Another layer of mystery to the already puzzling Cain.
“The place was just remodeled,” Ta
“Jeez, when is my place being renovated?” Ginger chirps, poking her head into what looks like the bathroom, based on the tile wall beyond the door. “I think I need to swap with Charlie. You know, seniority rules.”
This place may as well be the Ritz-Carlton, compared to the dive I relegated myself to for the past month. The very idea that I don’t have to imagine a line of roaches doing the conga along my kitchen counter while I sleep lets the tension in my back slide out. But . . . “I think this place is a bit out of my price range.” A self-induced below-poverty-level one; but one, all the same.
Cain settles a sharp gaze on me. “How much was your last place?”
I hesitate. “Six fifty.”
“Huh, what a coincidence. Same here. Right, Ta
“Yes, sir,” Ta
That’s a load of bullshit, if I’ve ever heard one. Dear God . . . I’ve managed to get myself a pimp. Of course. I knew Ginger’s ravings about this guy were too good to be true.
Ta
He grunts in response and then proceeds toward the door. “Gotta get back to my burgers.” It’s a valid excuse to leave, and yet I’m getting the impression that the awkward man is more anxious for solitary time than he is about his food.
Cain turns to look at me, a pained expression on his face. “I’m sorry about earlier. I just couldn’t in good conscience leave you there. This place is cleaner. Safer.”
I bite my lip to stay quiet.
Cleaner and safer for whom? My future clientele? Could Ginger be flat-out lying to me? She doesn’t strip, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t secretly sell herself. Look what I do, secretly! At 650 bucks a month in rent, Cain’s going to want compensation somehow, and apparently it won’t be by having sex with him. Ginger could be lying about that too, though. Or just oblivious?
Something doesn’t add up. I guess I’ll have to take this day-by-day. I have a job at Pe
■ ■ ■
“How about over here?” Ginger says, her hands gesturing to the long wall in my apartment. The living room is small and yet she’s managed to make the movers lift, drag, and drop the soft, gray microfiber couch to five different spots. All it has taken her are a few winks, “my-what-big-arms-you-have” touches, and a slice of her homemade peach cream pie. If I didn’t know better, I’d think she is seconds away from asking the blond guy back to her apartment to “move” her bed. I’m certain, by the way he’s dogging her around, that he’s hoping for the same thing. The woman is almost as deceptive as I am.
Ginger hasn’t left my side all afternoon. She insisted on going grocery shopping with me, doing laundry with me, waiting on furniture with me, unpacking with me. Either she’s lying and she really is hoping I swing her way or that whisper I caught from Cain to her earlier was a directive to not let me out of her sight.
I follow the movers, begrudgingly handing them a thirty-dollar tip on account of Ginger’s demands, and stay a few minutes to look out over what she told me is called the commons. Beads of sweat instantly form on my skin from this crazy Miami summer heat, and I remind myself to be thankful for the air conditioner in my apartment. It’s almost six and Ta
I’m still watching him when an apartment door across the way opens and a dark-haired man strolls out.
My breath hitches.
Cain.
He doesn’t look my way, so he doesn’t see me as he strides quickly past Ta
She turns to go back into her apartment but stops, her stony eyes locking on mine. A wide smirk of satisfaction spans her face and I assume she has figured out that I saw Cain leave her apartment. Stretching her arms over her head, she slowly turns and saunters back inside. I’m instantly hit with an image of a cat, gratified after devouring a can of salmon and ready to mosey over to bathe in a patch of sun.
“Never, my ass, Ginger,” I mutter. I’m pretty sure Cain was her can of salmon.
China may be unfriendly and arrogant, but she’s probably very talented. I’m not surprised and yet I can’t ignore the heaviness of disappointment, knowing that Cain would be interested in someone like her.
“Hey! Why do you have all these wigs?” I hear Ginger call out. I deny my panic from surfacing as I spin around and stalk back in, finding her prancing around with my long black wig on her head.
Bloody hell! At least she hasn’t found my gun yet. “I’m in theater. Those are props,” I answer simply.
“Huh . . . theater. You know, I have a thing for dark-haired women,” she says with an exaggerated wink.
I sigh.
chapter eleven
■ ■ ■
CAIN
Charlie doesn’t trust me.
Though she kept her face carefully controlled, she couldn’t hide the hard look in those eyes as we stood in her new apartment.
I should have warned Ginger against telling her that I owned the building. Fuck, I wish no one had ever found out to begin with! I know what I look like, having several of my dancers live there. And now Charlie, too.
Still, I’m relieved that she’s questioning my motives. That tells me she’s smart and less likely to get taken advantage of. I thought about swinging by her apartment after finishing up with China but decided against it. Ginger’s there, anyway. I asked her to stay—to help Charlie get settled in but, more importantly, to make sure she’s really okay after what happened earlier today.