Rock Chick Revolution(204)

“Darius, this is my business now and I intend to do it right.”

“To get set up, you need capital. Bill Smithie. Invest that in your agency.”

“Darius—”

“This job,” he cut me off. “We’ll discuss what goes down with future jobs. Jump off on this one, Ally. You sort his shit, Smithie’ll talk you up and half of Denver’s male population strolls through his doors. Shirleen’s puntin’ you business. And Daisy’s got Marcus droppin’ your name. Me workin’ for free is just this job. Take it, pocket it, we talk when we got the next one.”

That I could do. I didn’t love it, but I could do it. Not to mention, agreeing meant we’d stop discussing it so I could get shopping, get to Lottie, get to Daisy’s to take my stripper class then get to my brother’s office for the meeting.

“This one job,” I agreed.

“Right, now got other shit to do,” Darius ended our meeting.

But I wasn’t done.

“We need to talk,” I declared.

“About what?” he asked.

I held his eyes and stated, “About you.”

His chin jerked back.

“Ally—”

I shook my head. “No. You. Me. Tequila. As soon as we can sit down.”

“There’s nothin’ to talk about,” he told me.

“You don’t even know what I want to talk about,” I told him.

“You said it was about me. And I know me.” He leaned in, his face got hard and his voice got kinda scary. “And when it comes to me, there’s nothin’ to talk about.”

Luckily, I didn’t scare easily.

“We’re talking, Darius,” I contradicted. “And we’re doing it soon.”

“This conversation is over,” he decreed. “Outta the truck.”

“Darius—”

He leaned in deeper. “Outta my f**kin’ truck, Ally.”

I leaned right back.

“I love you,” I hissed, and his face behind his shades blanked but I didn’t stop. “And something’s not right with you. You’re holding back and I’m gonna find out why that is and help you get things right.”

“Outta the truck.”

“You know me, honey,” I said. “You know I won’t give up.”

“How’s this?” he asked, leaning back at the same time retreating. Not physically. Emotionally. “What’s wrong with me can’t get right.”

Fuck.

I had a feeling, and my feelings usually were right.

Still, I returned, “That isn’t true.”