What We Do in the Night (Day to Night #1) - Stylo Fantome Page 0,79

level, she made him feel a little of what he made her feel.

“If you change your mind,” Ari panted against her mouth. “I can send a car to pick you up from Harper's tonight.”

She licked her lips, then stepped back from him. There he went, ruining a moment once again. She supposed she should be glad he always put his foot in his mouth – if he didn't, she'd be perilously close to feeling something for him other than contractual obligation.

Too late.

“I won't change my mind,” Val assured him. “But I'll be ready for dinner tomorrow. You sure it's a good idea? What if you sign these people? Won't it be weird if they ask about your girlfriend at some work function, and everyone is like 'who?'”

“You think too much, Valentine. If, when, who knows? I'll deal with it when it seems like an actual possibility. I'll see you tomorrow. Make sure you're ready, I don't like waiting,” he warned her, and then he was walking around his car and opening the door.

“I'll be ready,” she promised.

He nodded once, then dropped into the vehicle. A couple moments later, he was roaring off down the street, not even looking back at her once.

ARI GLANCED INTO HIS rear view mirror, catching one last glimpse of Valentine as she headed inside her house.

Her shitty house, in some shitty neighborhood, where she lived with all the responsibilities of a person twice her age, with half the necessary income to make it decently livable.

Fuck.

He shouldn't have gone to her house.

He'd thought it would be funny, to surprise her. Catch her off guard. And that it would also help to remind him of their separate places in the universe. Ari came from Chicago royalty, and Valentine came from a part of Chicago he'd never even been to before; what was going on between them surely couldn't mean anything more than just sex.

And technically, it had worked in a way – he was now more aware of their differences than ever.

Valentine lived a life that looked nothing like his own, and yet she was happy. Stressed out, sure, and over worked, yeah. But she was a generally happy person. A positive person. And she liked spreading that positivity and happiness.

Ari had more money and power than most people could ever hope for, and yet he was unhappy a great deal of the time, and usually didn't care if he made everyone else around him miserable, as well. It was just the way he'd always been, it was the way he'd been raised.

Seeing her in her natural habitat, so to speak, had been eye opening. Seeing the real Val without her alter ego as armor. Being with her and her grandmother, a person she clearly loved more than anything else, it had been ...

It had been hard.

When Ari had gone to her club that first night, when he'd first decided to seduce her and hire her, he'd thought of her as a thing. As an actor. Saint Valentine, doing a little song and dance. And that had been all he'd wanted. She could play her part, he could play his, and everyone would get a happy ending – and by “happy ending”, he definitely meant orgasm.

After paying the amount he had for her “services”, of course a tiny part of him had felt like he'd owned her, or at least had owned her time. But now he found himself wanting more. Just a little bit more. He wanted to know how she'd gotten into this predicament, a college student taking care of an ailing grandparent. Why she'd left New York. Who else she'd slept with in Chicago. And how on earth had she ended up at Caché?

Handcuffs and freaky sex and escort services aside, Valentine was a good girl.

And good girls don't end up at places like Caché.

Ari frowned and stepped down on the gas, racing to get home.

That was exactly it. Good girls did not end up in places like Caché. He just had to keep reminding himself of that fact. She'd already been working there long before he'd ever shown up, and had escorted who knew how many men. She was no angel.

She was no saint.

He would focus on that aspect of her, and just forget the image of her with her grandmother. Looking sad, wiping at tears. Being a real human being, with real problems, and real thoughts and emotions.

No. She couldn't be that to him.

She could only be Saint Valentine, his little puppet on