He didn’t hesitate with his answer.
“I don’t pay taxes.”
I felt my head give a slight jerk at this informatively uninformative (but still scary) response.
“Sorry?”
“I have work. I make money. I get paid in cash. And the government does not know I exist.”
Yep. I didn’t want to get down to it.
Still, we were here and he was answering so I kept at it.
“And is what you do for cash illegal?”
He kept his eyes to the road even as he reached for his coffee. I watched him take a sip, return it to the cup holder, and then he again spoke.
This time his tone was gentle even if the words were not.
“I’ll tell you this, if you knew from start to now about what I do, how it began, why I do it, and you had a problem with it, I’d think straight up you’re a judgmental bitch. Then I’d walk out the door and you’d never see me again.”
At that, I did a slow blink.
But he wasn’t finished.
“I’m good at what I do. There’s a reason I do it. I believe in that reason. But that doesn’t mean I’m not a part of a world that will never—if I become a part of your life in a way that’s lasting, it’s important you hear this, woman—it will not ever touch you.”
“I’m not sure any of that makes sense,” I said softly, saying that instead of saying that he was speaking but he wasn’t really giving me anything.
“It does to me and that’s all you need to know.”
That was not gentle, but firm and unyielding.
In other words, he didn’t intend to give me anything.
“That’s the part that makes the least sense,” I returned, still talking quietly.
“That’s the part where you have to take a leap of faith with this, believe in what you felt when you made your choice yesterday, that bein’ believin’ in me.”
“I barely know you,” I pointed out.
“You barely knew me and you brought me pie,” he returned.
I sucked in a sharp breath.
Again with the pie.
Man, seriously. It sucked that he knew the significance of that pie.
“You barely knew me and you got naked on that table for me,” he kept going.
I looked back through the windshield, and before taking another sip, muttered, “You’ve made your point, Deacon.”
“Not sure I have.”
Now he was talking quietly, his tone so changed, my gaze went back to him.
He must have felt my eyes because he kept going.