A Deal With the Devil (2 page)

His accent was laced with his East End roots but his voice was deep and lush and did something fizzy to her usually unflappable insides. Which was inconvenient, but not debilitating. Strange, though, for her to have such a physical reaction to a man. She guessed it was the lair thing happening again. “Yes. Absolutely.”

“And make sure you’re around for anything else I need.”

Now her mind was working overtime. What more would he need other than drinks? But she plastered on the smile. “Of course, Mr Doyle. Just ask.”

Her eye began to twitch.

*     *     *

Rey Doyle did
not like surprises, particularly on one of the most important nights of his business career. He needed smooth, he needed no hitches, he needed a girl he could rely on. Monica, he knew. Monica was aware of what he liked, how to do things, what to say when required. Monica was reliable, level-headed and knew the score: sex was just sex and nothing more.

This new girl was a whole other ball game. Not least because she looked like she’d never set foot in a bar, let alone worked in one. She looked supremely uncomfortable in the uniform, the white blouse buttoned up one button too many, the skirt a fraction longer than all the other waitresses. Surely she knew that the higher the skirt, the better the tip? And with legs like hers, shapely and long, she’d make a decent amount.

Not least, too, because when she looked at him it was like a dare, derision almost. And he’d never had a woman—a member of his own staff to boot—look at him like that before. Usually they fawned over him, desperate to get into his pants or his wallet. Whichever—it made little difference to him. He was a Doyle, after all, used to taking what he wanted and giving little in return.

But this Kate woman … interesting.

While waiting for his drink he focused on work, made a quick call to his long-time friend and Head of Security at Doyle’s. Trouble, it appeared, came in duplicate these days. “Ted, what’s the score? Any idea who the hacker is or how close they got?”

Ted’s irritation with the current security scare was palpable. “ISP location is east London. We can do some digging. They didn’t get close enough to do any damage, we have firewalls in place for that, but it’s interesting that they were trying to hack the codes for N.S. and nothing to do with the casinos. A few clicks and they’d have been signed up to the chat room, if that was what they wanted. Seriously, if they were that bothered about joining the club there is a more straightforward way. So, I guess they don’t want to join, they want to hack. To watch. To cause trouble.”

“Probably some spotty kid in a dank dingy apartment somewhere, with nothing better to do with his life than piss me off.”
N.S
. No Surrender. Rey sucked in air. If the hacker succeeded then his covert club was at risk of being exposed. That could not happen. He was going legit, no more fighting just for the hell of it, and definitely nothing illicit, not any more. So it was time to rid himself of that little … diversion. He had to: Macau demanded a clean slate, any underhand dealing would be used as ammunition against him—a supremely costly error.

Rey had little doubt that his recent and as yet unstated decision to disband No Surrender would be met with fierce opposition. Nothing he couldn’t handle because, after all, when it came to a fight club versus Macau potential profits there was no competition. Surely Ted couldn’t argue about that. “Okay so we change the codes and lock it down. We need to talk further, soon—I want to throw some ideas at you face to face, God knows what else is being hacked. When’s the next get together?”

“Tuesday the twenty-seventh. I have a venue in Docklands, a disused car park, quiet surroundings, usually deserted by midnight so shouldn’t raise any suspicions. You in? Feel like a spar?”

Out of the corner of his eye he saw the new girl heading in his direction. The fewer people who heard this conversation, the better. “Got to go. Talk later. Make sure that breach is sorted, I have Chin and partners in here in an hour.”

“Good luck with that, mate. Make sure you present that squeaky clean image of yours …” His old friend laughed. “All wholesome and family type. They like that.”

“Well, I’m doomed then.”

“Pretend? Lie? I don’t know, you’re the brains of the operation, Rey. Make a wife up. Chat about family values.”

“Oh yes, because I have so much personal experience of them.”

“Again, make it up. You know—honesty, trust, that kind of thing.”

“Yeah, yeah, I get you. All that happy families bullshit dream.” The exact thing he’d never had growing up.

Make up a wife
. That would do it; he’d appear settled, responsible, reliable. Monica would definitely have been up for helping him out, for a small raise in her wages. The world was against him today.

Kate tottered over, barely managing to keep upright in the shoes, and he caught the whisky and soda as it slid to the edge of her tray. “Whoa. Careful.”

“Oops. Sorry, Mr Doyle.”

“You almost spilled it.” And there it was again. Something about her didn’t fit. With her too-shiny dark hair that had intriguing streaks of red and gold in it, and surprisingly made him want to run it through his fingers, and with her too-bright smile and too-blue eyes, she was playing a role that didn’t feel genuine. And he knew all about living like that. “I haven’t seen you around before. How long have you worked here?”

She gave him a wobbly smile. “A few weeks.”

“That explains … pretty much everything.” She’d have to go. He couldn’t have anyone less than slick here with the Macanese. Still, most of his staff were here to pay their way to succeed in something else, maybe she was an expert in computer hacking and security breaches, or speaking Cantonese? Either of those would help … nothing else. “Student?”

“Er … kind of …” The tray was at her side now, drops of spilled whisky leaking over the rim and onto the carpet. She hadn’t seemed to notice.

“Of what? Because it’s clearly not hospitality.”

“No, not hospitality.” The wobbly smile again, it didn’t reach as far as her deep blue eyes. They told an altogether different story—she was hedging. “Is that all, sir? Can I get you anything else?”

You can answer my damned question
. “What are you studying?”

“Er …” She thought for a moment. “Nursing.” Then she bit down on her bottom lip, white teeth on blood red. He wondered, fleetingly, what those lips would taste like.

Instead, he took a slug of his drink and waited for the familiar sting to dissipate. What the hell was wrong with him tonight? Just when he needed focus it eluded him, distracted by a woman. Truth was, he probably needed to get laid. And not with her … a woman who didn’t fit was a conundrum for his human relations department, not a puzzle for him to work out.

But something about her intrigued him. Maybe it was the curves that made him want to slip his hands around her accentuated waist, or the long legs, the hesitant smile. Or the little nervous tic she had going on under her eye before she turned away and headed back to the bar.

Maybe it was that he’d never really gone for the bookish type, and that was exactly what she looked like; underneath the over-enthusiastic make-up the woman looked way too wholesome for their usual hostess. She also looked like she had all the smarts, but none of them came from having to fight for a living. Which made the next thought completely foolhardy, but he went with it. Needs must. “Actually, wait. Kate?”

“Oh?” She swivelled on her heels, tottered and grasped the bar ledge. If she hadn’t looked so serious he’d have laughed. She was clearly not used to playing dress-up either. “What can I do for you, Mr Doyle?”

Too many things that kept popping into his head and they all seemed to involve her, those lips. He wanted to kiss her? After knowing her for how long? Hell, yes, what sane man wouldn’t? She was pretty damned attractive even with all the make-up. Although, mighty inconvenient to have a testosterone overload right now. “I have an important meeting tonight and I need someone to act as a … partner. Female. Love interest. You don’t have to say much … just be open and friendly with the guests, small talk … chit-chat … Can you do that? And there’s a boutique downstairs, ditch the uniform, get an appropriate dress, whatever you need. We have an hour to prepare.”

“What? You want me to be your … escort?” For a moment the prospect of doing such a thing looked abhorrent to her, but she quickly straightened. “For how long? My shift is supposed to finish at midnight.”

“For as long as it takes. I’ll double your wages.”

After another moment’s thought she said, “Treble my wages and I’ll consider it.”

So she did have a spine. He hid a smirk. At least, tried to. “Double, that’s my final offer.”

“When do they arrive?”

“Fifty-five minutes.”

“In that case …” A hand hit her hip, eyes sparkling. “Treble, or I’d say you’re in big trouble.”

Monica would have done it for time and a half—but Monica wasn’t here. Kate, on the other hand, was proving feistier than he’d first thought.

Rey never allowed himself to be at a disadvantage for long, unless the game strategy called for it. Creating a false sense of security went a long way in the boxing ring—let the opponent think they have the upper hand, draw them in, let them use up their energy with ill-thought out jabs, then take them unawares. One. Two. Down. “Okay, Kate, you win this round. You’ll get a nice handout for helping me. But how do I know you’re up to the job?”

“You’ll just have to trust me. I can talk way better than I serve drinks.”

“Trust me, anyone can do anything better than you serve drinks.”

“Practice makes perfect, right?” Two perfectly plucked eyebrows peaked. “Don’t worry, I’ll be fine, and play it exactly the way you want me to. What kind of dress should I get? Am I to be your gaudy whore or your pampered princess?”

“Ouch. Was that supposed to be an insult?” Entertaining. The serving waitress didn’t fit, but the girlfriend with gumption definitely worked. This time he did nothing to hide his grin. “I’m not sure you’d manage either of those. How about my content fiancée, or girlfriend if fiancée seems too … committed.”

She shook her head, brown curls bobbing on her shoulders, but there was a smile there too. “I should be committed for even thinking of agreeing to this. Long-term girlfriend it is, unless you want to buy me a ring as well as the quadrupled wages?”

“Trebled.” It was all playing out just fine. Now she thought she had the better of him she was a firecracker.
One
. His eyes fixed on hers for a long moment.
Two
. She held her own, unflinching. And again there was the dare there that fired something inside him. “You drive a hard bargain, Kate, but alas, no ring.”

“Okay, I knew I was pushing my luck just a little too far, but it doesn’t hurt to try, right?” And she was down—he’d played it perfectly. Trebled wages was small fry. A ring on the other hand … She turned around, but jolted back, finger held up. “I guess we also need a few minutes getting to know each other.”

“Sure.” He stepped closer. She didn’t move, but her scent of something flowery and light hung in the air around them. It was a stark contrast to the dark surroundings, the faceless sweet-scented perfume they used to lure punters in and keep them entranced. He liked the change, it reminded him of another time—when his life had stretched in front of him untarnished. Too long ago for him to remember clearly. Too much had happened to sully everything, turning light to dark.

He shook that shroud of shadows off, he needed all his focus on tonight. “So how do you suggest we become better acquainted, Kate? Any ideas? I have a few.”

Okay, so clearly work focus was hard to come by right now.

She shook her head with a look that said something between
bugger off
and
in your dreams
. “Tell me some details, you know … your life, your work. Who is the real Rey Doyle? Why would I be attracted to him?” Her tongue darted out, licked along her bottom lip and he was mesmerised. His gut coiled in a stark feral hunger that shocked him. Goddamn, he wanted to run his own tongue along there.

He cursed under his breath—
not the time or the place
—and grabbed on to that loose thread of self-control and wound it back in, tight. Rey Doyle never lost control. “I own four of the most successful casinos in the world, two in London and two in Vegas. I was Commonwealth heavyweight boxing champion five years in a row. WBA heavyweight champion three times. What more do you need to know?” Because hell, the way she was looking at him with those dark eyes and unintentional pout, God knew what he’d be prepared to tell her.
Doyle
, he reminded himself.
You’re a Doyle.
Talking didn’t happen, unless it was with fists.

She frowned. “Now you’re assuming that all I’m interested in is money and power.”

“Isn’t everyone?”

A shake of her head. “The exact opposite, actually. None of that interests me at all.”

“So you’re more a home-and-hearth sort of a girl? Working in a gambling joint where everything is geared towards money is an interesting career choice, then.”

“I needed a job, the hours suit—usually. And I don’t think putting me in a box like that is going to help your cause either—but, really? I don’t see any problem in having a healthy disregard for power-crazed money obsessives. Besides, this isn’t about me, it’s about you. If I’m going to be your girlfriend, I need to know more about how you tick. Deeper stuff than all this outward show of power and money stuff. What would a girlfriend know about you? Where did we meet? What’s your home life, your dreams, aspirations, zodiac sign if you think that’s important … family plans, that kind of thing.” She seemed to hesitate for a moment, then continued, “What do you do in your spare time? Do you still fight?”