“Why aren’t you on unemployment?”
“Yikes, what a personal question.”
“What can I say? I’m itchin’ to get up close and personal with you.”
She didn’t reply.
“I’m waitin’ on an answer.”
Belle had no desire to discuss her termination with anyone, least of all Dix, full-time mobster and part-time pain in her ass. Yet she didn’t see a way out of his phone interrogation.
“Don’t make me dig it up.”
“I filed a claim, but I was denied.” Please let him get bored with this line of questioning.
“Couldn’t or wouldn’t?”
Is he the semantics police?
“Couldn’t.” After blowing out a breath, she gave him the relevant information from her denial of claim letter. “Due to the exigent circumstances under which I was separated from the job.”
The wording still pissed her off—separated, like she’d broken up with the agency or something.
Peregrine had agreed not to contact the mental health board and press an ethics violation if she went quietly. Belle had attached an addendum to her termination letter, detailing what had happened with Jim from her perspective—in other words, the truth.
“Sounds like bureaucratic doublespeak.”
“Yeah, it is.” Oh, what the hell? Might as well tell him. “I was fired, but the circumstances were unusual. I took a shot at a claim on the off-chance they’d give it to me.”
A sharp intake of breath. “How does someone like you get fired?”
“It’s a long, sordid story.”
“Sordid? I’m intrigued, and I’d love to hear all about it.”
Not a chance in hell.
“Maybe you will.”
“I’ll look forward to it. You aren’t interviewin’ at Lickety Split by any chance, are you?”
Belle froze. Was he psychic? No. Wait. Hadn’t he threatened to have her followed?
She glanced left and then right. “Do you know where I am?”
“Why, yes, I do.”
She spotted a black SUV moving swiftly from the other side of the parking lot. It pulled up next to her, and the driver’s side window rolled down, revealing a grinning Rebel.
Belle rolled her window down and wished she were brave enough to flip him off.
“Mornin’, Ms. Nunn.” He lowered his shades, peering over the rims.
Blood roared in her ears, and the eye twitch she’d developed in grad school returned. She rubbed at it absently with the back of her hand.
“Yeah. It’s morning alright.” Nothing good about it, though. From now on, she vowed to be more aware of her surroundings. How long had he been watching her while she’d been oblivious?
Dix cleared his throat. “If you ask me, a woman with your talents would be wasted at Lickety Split. You’ve got a bachelor’s degree in psychology with a master’s degree in counseling.” Papers shuffled in the background. “Says here you’re licensed in the state of Texas as a family counselor.”
Was there anything he didn’t know? Like her bra size? Maybe her blood type?
“Belle?” he asked, as though she’d somehow forgotten about him.
“Finding a job has been difficult, and a girl needs to eat.” And work is work.
“Come see me about a job. I employ a lot of people. As luck would have it, I’ve got an opening which might suit your talents.”
Belle shuddered to think what sort of position he’d offer. Maybe she’d ride around with Beauregard and pull frightened people out of their own homes.
Or maybe Dix would have her flat on her back—reclining on his desk.
Hell with that.
“It’s a kind offer, but I can’t accept—”
“I'm not kind. I’m never kind. I’m simply offerin’ you somethin’ you want in exchange for I want. It’s why I’m callin’, actually—gotta business proposition for you, one I need to discuss in person.”
No way. No how.
“Like I said, I can’t accept, so there’s no need for a meeting or for further involvement of any kind. It’ll be a cold day in hell before Emmett pays me a visit, so there’s no reason to have me followed. I’m not lying.”
“For what it’s worth, after takin’ a gander at your life, I believe you’re tellin’ the truth about your father.”
“So we’re good then?” She could go back to her job hunt, and Dix could bash in heads. Everybody would be happy, except for the people welshing on their debts. They’d be bloody and bruised.
“Not quite. Since you can’t make it to lunch, we’ll have dinner tonight instead.”
“Thanks, but I can’t because—” Her mind whirled as she tried to think of a plausible excuse, and she knew she’d better be polite about it too.
“Money must be tight, so have a free meal on me,” Dix said, cutting her off. “Seven o’clock. I’ll send Rebel for you so you don’t have to use gas. See you then.”
Then the bastard hung up.
He hadn’t even asked, just told her to be ready.
Belle tossed her cell phone on the passenger seat, then she smacked the steering wheel in frustration, causing the horn to beep. Standing him up sounded like a terrible idea. Refusing would lead to another abduction.
She had no choice but to go to Dix’s place tonight.
With a groan, she put the truck in gear.
“Heading home?” Rebel called.
“Watch and see.” After shooting him a dirty look, Belle rolled up the window and sped away.
In the rearview mirror, she saw Rebel cruising right behind her.
***
Later that night, Belle sat in the back of a black Ford Explorer as Rebel drove her to Dix’s place again and she tried not to tumble headlong into a depression.
Today had been an exercise in futility. At home, she’d paced the floor, waiting for the Lickety Split manager to get back to the store. When she’d called to check in, Mike had informed her the manager was “unavailable.” Belle asked when would be a good time to call, and Mike had muttered something about “never.”
So she’d gone to the store again, and the manager had disappeared to “handle an emergency.” For some reason she couldn’t fathom, they were giving her the runaround. Belle was qualified for the job—no, overqualified—so what was the problem? Why did everything have to be so hard?
Or was something else going on?
After she’d gotten the brush-off, it was time to get ready for the forced dinner meeting—or twisted date. Belle wore a pair of dark trouser jeans and a light pink turtleneck sweater. It had a business casual flair and the added bonus of covering every square inch of skin.
As Rebel pulled up in the driveway, she braced herself mentally. Even though she’d arrived at the house under very different circumstances this evening, she still felt wary. It wasn’t quite a kidnapping, but there was something Stockholmish about the situation.
Belle came up with a game plan. She’d go inside, have some dinner, be very polite, and then get out—without accepting a job or panty-dropping kisses.
Simple, right? Maybe not.
Rebel opened the door for her. “As soon as you’re ready to go, have Mr. Wolf call, and I’ll pick you up.”
“Thanks. I’m sorry you have to wait around. Must be boring.”
He winked. “Nah, I’m new to the gig, ma’am, and believe me, it ain’t borin’. I have an assignment tonight anyway.”
Sounded like a euphemism for a felony. “Uh, glad you enjoy the work.” Rebel loved murder and mayhem?
Who are these people?
He fired off a salute. “You two have a real good time now.” With a smile, he climbed back into the car and took off.
Belle wondered if chauffeuring mobster mistresses was part of his Dixie Mafia duties. Yuck.
For the longest time, she lingered in the driveway, waiting in limbo, but she eventually forced herself to walk to the front door. As she passed, security cameras moved along the walkway,
following her. She hadn’t noticed them last night—but then, she’d been terrified.
A maid met her at the door again and showed her out to the patio. It was candlelit and cozy, and a fire roared in the black steel chimnea in the far corner. Fleece blankets were draped over either arm of the sofa. No doubt, due to the weather—the temperature had dropped almost ten degrees.
“Good evenin’, darlin’.” Dix appeared behind her. He wore another suit. This one was gray, although he’d taken off the tie, and his white shirt lay unbuttoned, revealing a smattering of hair.
“Hello.” Feigning a smile, Belle sat on the sofa, and Dix seated himself beside her.
“Thank you for having dinner with me.” He laid one arm on the back of the couch, and Belle scooted forward to avoid touching him.
“Didn’t have much of a choice.” Dix poured her a glass of Chardonnay, and she took it.
“You wanted to come, even though you wouldn’t admit it.”
Rolling her eyes, Belle placed one of the blankets on her lap—another handy barrier.
On the coffee table, a small silver platter was filled with Mediterranean-style crudité—cucumbers, cherry tomatoes, artichokes, dotted with cubes of feta cheese—along with a white dish containing what looked like tzatziki sauce.
Her stomach growled. Belle had eaten since breakfast.
At one time, food had been her enemy. In college, she’d battled with weight, starving herself only to binge later. Emmett’s voice used to play in her head every time she lifted a fork.
Eating again, Piggy?
In psych classes, Belle learned about her own toxic relationship with food and emotional triggers. She didn’t let it control her anymore.
“Please don’t stand on ceremony.” Dixon waved a hand at the appetizer.
At least she’d get a meal out of this. She grabbed a small china plate and filled it with veggies and dip, then dunked a cucumber slice in the dip and bit the corner. It was delicious—but everything tastes amazing when you’re hungry.
What was the old saying? Hunger is the best sauce.
“How was your day?”
“Fine, and yours?”
“Very productive.” His knowing smile raised goose bumps on her arms. “And how goes your job search? Did Lickety Split hire you?”
Belle shook her head. “No, I couldn’t even get the manager to meet with me.”
His eyes widened. “Imagine that. Anythin’ else on the horizon?”
“I had an interview with Aransas County Behavioral Health, but they haven’t gotten back to me either.”
“Family therapist job?”
“Yep.”
It’d been a perfect position—right salary, good benefits, day shift instead of nights like she’d worked at the shelter. Aransas had a stellar reputation in the mental health community too. If she got the job, her career would be back on track—problem solved.
Dix nodded, and she got the distinct impression he knew all of this and was playing with her.
“That reminds me, you mentioned a position on the phone.” Maybe if she could hurry this along, she could leave sooner.
“Why, yes, I did, but we’ll discuss business a bit later.”
“Okay.” She bit the inside of her cheek. Belle wished she had the ability to fast-forward time.
“What other opportunities are you explorin’?” Dix took a slow sip of his wine, watching her over the rim.
“I’m going to apply at local businesses tomorrow.” It was the only option left. Gas money was an issue, and she needed quick cash. If she hadn’t clung to the hope she’d get a job in her field, Belle would’ve accepted the inevitable earlier. Tomorrow, she had to make it happen.
“Which local businesses?” Dix leaned a bit closer. She got the impression his interest was far from casual.
Before she could answer, a maid appeared with a platter of herb-crusted salmon and rice pilaf. She set one plate in front of Dix and one in front of Belle.
After the maid had gone inside, she glanced up. “Dinner’s here. Can we talk about the job now?”
He chuckled. “Are you always this impatient?”
Belle was a go-getter and grabbed what she wanted in life. Waiting for good things to come her way never worked. Early on, she’d learned to depend on exactly one person—herself. That’s what made her job search so irritating. Belle set a goal, threw herself at it until she knocked it down, and then moved on to the next thing. And it’d always worked—through high school, college, grad school, and then her career. All of it had been simple.
Until she’d hit a wall and gotten smacked down, hard.
“I am. It’s a character flaw.”
“On the contrary, I find your impatience intriguin’.” Something decadent sizzled in his eyes. They almost glowed with pleasure. “An easygoin’ pace can be satisfyin’, but there’s somethin’ to be said for instant gratification.”
Belle’s mouth went dry, and she gulped down more wine. She was treading on dangerous ground.
“Are you going to put me out of my misery?”
“Such an eager little thing.”
Dix set his plate down, along with hers. His tongue darted out to rim his lips, and he trailed fingers along the edge of the blanket on her lap. For a second, she thought he might slide his hand beneath and stroke her leg instead.
Belle tensed.
Instead, he drew maddening circles on the fabric—leaving goose pimples on her flesh, despite the barrier.
“Once I start, I can’t stop.” He cupped her knee. “Do you want me to begin, Belle? Are you ready?”
She licked her lips. Belle knew she should refuse, but the words wouldn’t come.
Dix studied her then nodded, as though she’d answered him. “Then we’ll wait and build the anticipation.” He withdrew his hand. “Now eat your food before it gets cold.”
It was the longest meal she’d ever sat through.
After they finished, the maid carried their plates away and brought shortbread cookies and cups of coffee. Hers had come preloaded with sugar and cream—he must’ve remembered from the other day and mentioned it to the maid. It unnerved her. Knowing how a person took her coffee was an intimate detail. Only a lover or friend would be so thoughtful. Dix had a small squeeze bottle of honey for his own coffee, and he added a couple of shots.
She dunked one of her cookies. Belle liked eating them when they were mushy.
“Is it time?” Or was he going to draw this out for another hour?
“Look at you, all flustered and flushed—even more beautiful. What do you think’s gonna happen tonight?”
“I have no idea,” she whispered. And it scared her—he scared her. No, she was frightening herself. Maybe there was more of her mother in Belle than she wanted to admit.
Belle had been backed into a corner, and fear led people into making foolish decisions. If Dix offered her a position, would she take it, despite her moral objections?
Talk about a Wolf at the door.
“Makin’ you nervous is fun, but I won’t leave you hangin’ any longer. I got a business proposition for you.”
That particular word gave her pause.
“What kind of proposition?”
“I have an opening—for a mistress—take it or leave it.”
Chapter Five
Mistress.
Belle was too stunned to speak.
Dix didn’t want a date or a girlfriend—he wanted a mistress, a kept woman…an employee in his bedroom. Unbidden, “Fancy” by Reba McEntire—a song about a fallen woman—played in her mind.
Images of her mother flooded her thoughts—Carolina cajoling Emmett, wheedling to get his time and attention. The strange men and women who’d sometimes come home with them—nights Belle was forbidden to leave her room. And after the relationship ended, her mother had been distraught—she couldn’t even get out of bed.
Carolina had risked everything—in every sense of the word—for love. She’d sacrificed her pride, her
morals, and even her life for a man who’d walked out without a backward glance.
Belle refused to be at the mercy of a bad man for survival. She’d seen what havoc it wreaked in her mother’s life, and she wouldn’t sign on for the same. Needing and depending on a man only ended in disaster. She’d dated for fun, and when it got serious, Belle bolted, which is what she wanted to do now.
Screw Dixon Wolf and his demeaning offer.
“Tell me what you’re thinkin’.” Dix watched her.
“No, thank you.” Belle was still mindful of who—and what—he was, so she had to play this carefully.
“Mull it over.”
“I don’t need to. I can’t accept your offer.” Belle stood. Her stomach was tight, hard.
“You aren’t even gonna consider it?”
“I’m not a whore.” She clipped the words out from between gritted teeth. Surely, he knew the offer was insulting. “And I never will be.”
His jaw clenched.
She’d made him angry, and a reckless part of her was glad. Enough with the romantic veneer—this was sex and commerce.
He blew out a long, calming breath. “I didn’t say whore. I want a mistress. Those are two very different roles.”
“Semantics. I don’t see any difference.”
“There’s a big one—you’d be mine and no one else’s.” There was a fierce possessiveness in his tawny eyes. “Think of it like this…you’d be a girlfriend in all but name, but without all of the emotional hassle.”
He considered having feelings a hassle?
“I can’t. And if that’s all, I’d like to go.” Belle got to her feet.
Dix stood. “Sit down, and we’ll talk about this like adults.”
He’d implied she was childish? He was the one buying bedroom companions like a horny teenage boy with money to burn.
Lips curling, Belle sank back down into her seat and crossed her arms. She kept her eyes on the table, pretending he didn’t exist.
“I can see I’ve offended you, and I apologize. Believe me, it wasn’t my intention. I thought you’d consider this a lifeline—a mutually beneficial arrangement.”
“You thought I’d be grateful?”
“I thought you’d accept.” He shrugged. “After a token protestation or two, women always do.”
Flesh and Blood (Dixie Mafia Series Book 1) Page 4
