Design: Hang Le
Model: Chad Johansson
Escaped the man who wanted to hurt me.
I got in my car and drove.
No destination. No direction. No help.
I hid in the one place I would never be found.
Now in New York with no job, I didn’t know what to do.
Then I met him.
The enigmatic devil, who wasn’t only above the law, but played it like a puppet.
He might be the answer to all my problems.
Too bad he’s asking for something in return for his help…
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“No need to call me sir. My name is Jaxson Price.”
Thankfully, I keep steady and show no reaction to his name. My walls are up and strong, but I’m no idiot. I might not be from New York, and I might not go out much, but I know exactly who this man is, and if I thought his looks were deadly before, now I know this man is bad for my health. Jaxson Price is Manhattan elite.
Fuck that, Jaxson Price is so much more than that. He’s an American god.
I need to get out of here.
Of all the games for him to show up at, of all the gas stations for him to stop at, and of all the people for me to fuck with, it had to be Jaxson Price.
“What can I get you, Mr. Price?”
I should know what he’s drinking, but I don’t. Maggie would know. But I’m not Maggie, so I have absolutely no clue. I have to hope that whoever is behind the bar does.
He tilts his chin up, and his grin broadens, and then on a faint whisper as if he can read my mind, he says, “Don Julio, 1942. Extra chilled.” And then as if he never said it, as if he didn’t throw me a life raft on this job, he looks back down at his chips and the sound of the rattling starts again. He’s back to playing.
I turn on my heel. The sound of my stiletto echoing against the marble as I leave. My steps are fast because I need to get far away from him. Even though I’m immune to his charms, I don’t like to be close to him. Because I might not be that immune at all. He was an ass. And I don’t have time for another hot rich boy. Especially one who’s so obviously a player.