by Bethany-Kris
She did not have this problem.
Not during jobs!
That’s what Sargon was.
A fucking problem.
Sargon’s tongue peeked out to wet his bottom lip before he said, “With that out of the way, I was told to deliver you an offer.”
The warmth in his tone fled just like that. A clinical coldness took its place instead.
Cozen heard footsteps coming from the kitchen, and quickly put a few inches of space between her and Sargon. She had a goal in mind with Jett Griffin, and she did not need even the idea of something inappropriate with someone else to ruin her endgame.
Sure enough, Marissa came out from the kitchen and resumed her work behind the bar. Cozen slid the finished tab across to the girl, saying, “Would you mind giving that to Chase for me?”
“No problem, Zen.”
“Thanks.”
Once Marissa was out of sight again—although not for long, Cozen knew—she put her attention back on Sargon.
“What offer is that?” she asked.
Sargon didn’t close the distance between them, either. It was like a switch had flipped in him, and his direction had altogether changed because of it.
She didn’t mind.
Much.
“Can my boss assume your attention in the private dining area was not in some way … misguided?” he asked.
Cozen cocked a brow. “In what way would my attention be misguided?”
“Maybe for a bigger tip, who knows?”
Ah.
“He can assume my attention was very well intended,” she returned.
Sargon’s gaze hardened the same way his jaw did at her words.
Jealous, she thought.
He was jealous.
Cozen pushed it away. “How old is Jett, anyway?”
She knew Jett’s age. She was simply testing Sargon. It was a dangerous game to play, but she didn’t know any better at the moment.
“Fifty-five, edging closer to fifty-six.”
“And yet, he looks forty, at the most. Good genes, I guess.”
Sargon sucked air through his teeth. “That offer—Jett would like to see you again. Outside of here, I assume. Dinner, likely. That is, if you’re also interested.”
“I would be.”
It was her opening.
She didn’t even have to think about it.
Sargon gave her one last piercing look, and then immediately spun on his heel, and left her presence. She was stuck staring at the way his back looked in tight silk, and how his muscles moved beneath the fabric before he disappeared entirely down the hall.
Instantly, she let out a breath.
Cozen turned to find Marissa was standing behind the bar again.
“Good day?” Marissa asked, her tone suggesting something else.
“Something like that,” Cozen agreed.
It wasn’t five minutes after Jett and his men had left the restaurant that Chase came to find Cozen. The wide smile on his face told her something good had happened, but she didn’t know what exactly that was.
“Take the rest of the day off,” he told her.
She was only half way through cleaning up the private dining area. “Pardon?”
Chase leaned over the table, and waved the bill from Jett’s dinner at her. “I said, take the rest of the day off. You deserve it, because you girl, are a fucking payday.”
Cozen blinked, unsure. “I don’t—”
He slammed the tab down on the table, and tapped his finger against the note at the bottom. Written in bold handwriting, the words made Cozen’s eyes widen.
A tip, Chase, and do make sure she gets it. Every single penny.
The added tip was three thousand dollars.
Chase pointed a finger at Cozen. “Also, he stays a half hour—at most—every day when he eats here. Do you know how long he stayed today?”
“No.”
She had been too busy trying to ignore the sexy man sitting across from Jett while at the same time, catching Jett’s eye.
Apparently, she had done both of those things, plus more.
What a fucking talent.
“He stayed for an hour and a half,” Chase said, nodding. “Fucking unheard of for that man, Cozen. He is too strict with his schedule, and he never stays in one place for long because business always comes first for Jett Griffin.”
“Okay.”
What else did he want her to say?
“You get the rest of the day off. He’ll be here tomorrow, too. I want you to do whatever you have to do tonight to be on your best game for tomorrow.”
“All right,” Cozen replied.
Chase had no idea. At least, not about how right he was. And this game was far from over.
Cozen moved from the small bathroom to her bedroom. With her hair still rolled up in curlers, she once more tried to decide between one dress, or an entirely different one. The red number was a bit sexier, and slightly shorter. The purple item was still tight, but with less of a plunge in the neckline, and fell to her knees.
Choosing an outfit wasn’t typically such a struggle for Cozen, but tonight was not quite the same. She needed to pick the right dress. One that reminded whoever needed a reminder that she was very much a woman, but not every other woman, too.
And certainly not an easy woman.
Only a few days after stepping into Jett Griffin’s path, and things were starting to come together. Tonight was just one more step forward for her plans. Another way to try and get even closer to the older gentleman, and inside his very private life.
Jett made no secret earlier that week when he came to the restaurant, and called Chase in at the same time Cozen was delivering the man’s food. He wanted Cozen to have that Saturday off—demanded Chase give it to her, actually.
Unsurprisingly, and despite Saturdays being the busiest for the restaurant, Chase was quick to agree. Jett was pleased.
All the while, Sargon—still attached to Jett’s side—had barely passed Cozen a glance. For that, she was grateful. She was not forced to make even more of an effort to keep her attention on Jett while he was in her presence when what she really wanted to do was feed in to the desire she felt to learn more about the dark-eyed God in the corner.
Small blessings.
Now, it was Saturday.
Cozen was left to pick a dress.
Quickly, she began to pull the curlers from her hair, and opted to settle on the purple dress. It was a bit too modest for her tastes—no low neckline, and no high slit in the skirt. It was still tight enough to say she was all woman, and with a killer pair of heels, it would do more than any other dress could have.
Her makeup was already done—a mixture of a deep maroon to accentuate her lips, and nude tones to compliment her eyes. Anything more, and she worried it might be a bit too much for a man like Jett who appeared to appreciate a more regal appearance when it came to himself.
She suspected—because men were predictable in that way—that he would also appreciate her to dress, and look, the same way. Classy, but not over the top. Stylish, but not like she walked off a goddamn runway. Simple and pretty, but not as though she could blend into the crowd with everyone else in New York.
She had to stand out, but not too much, of course. Just enough for people to appreciate. She knew all too well how men like Jett worked, and what they needed hanging off their arm.
Some people called those kinds of women arm candy.
Their men preferred assets.
Cozen wasn’t keen on being called, or seen as, anyone’s asset, but whatever. It was for the job—she would do damn near anything for the job.
As long as it got done.
She had just slipped on a pair of black peep-toe pumps with a six-inch heel when a knock echoed on the door of her apartment. She moved swiftly through the apartment, and ran her fingers through the loose curls to open them up a bit more along the way.
Cozen didn’t bother to check the peephole—Jett had said he would
send someone to pick her up, and according to the clock, they were right on time. She just pulled the door open, and then damn near tripped over her own feet at the sight of the man waiting behind it.
Sargon.
He wasn’t looking at her at first, instead staring at the eighties carpet in the hallway that greatly needed to be replaced. But then he lifted his head, and those amber eyes burrowed into hers with some kind of hell waiting behind them.
Jesus.
He was still cut-from-stone.
Still bad for her body.
Still distracting.
“You look lovely,” Sargon said, smiling crookedly.
“You haven’t even looked at anything other than my face. How do you know I look lovely?”
Cozen should have just taken his compliment, and shut her fucking mouth. Instead, she gave him an opening to peruse her dress and body without concern of being ashamed that he was doing so. And Sargon did just that, too.
His gaze traveled down her bare throat, over her dress, lingering on her breasts, and hips, and then down her legs to her heels. He didn’t hide the way he lingered there, either.
Definitely a leg man.
It made a shiver crawl up her spine with damning intent. Devastating and wonderful, it coated her nerves with a lustful need, and threatened to derail everything she was working for.
Goddamn him.
As fast as he had looked her over, Sargon came back to meet her gaze with a slow, sensual smile. “As I said, Cozen, you look lovely.”
“Thank you,” she managed to say.
She mentally patted herself on the back because fuck her, this was going to go downhill fast if she couldn’t get this shit under control.
“Jett didn’t say he was going to be sending you,” she said.
Sargon lifted one brow, and nodded. “Yes, well, he figured I would be the better choice to pick you up, and whatever else was needed.”
“Why?”
“He thinks I don’t scare you, and he’s very concerned about keeping you happy and pleasant while he … pursues you.”
Cozen cleared her throat.
Sargon just gave her a lot of information without realizing he had done so. Or shit, maybe he did realize it. Who knew?
“Oh.”
She offered nothing else. Sargon didn’t press for more, either.
Then, he held out a black velvet box. It was the size of his palm with two tiny hinges on the other side. She didn’t immediately reach out to take the box, instead letting Sargon decide what she was supposed to do with it.
“A gift,” he said.
“From Jett.”
She didn’t even pose it as a question.
Sargon tried to smile, but it just ended up looking like a half sneer. “Yes, from Jett. Open it.”
Cozen flipped the top open on the velvet box, and eyed the golden piece resting inside on crushed velvet. Two thin ropes of gold connected by dangling gold bars. It was a simple design, but still beautiful. A piece that could be layered, or worn by itself.
“He thought,” Sargon said, “that it would match the ring on your thumb.”
Instantly, Cozen withdrew her hands from the necklace in the box, and covered the ring on her thumb to hide it.
“He notices everything,” Sargon added, “and he found that you don’t take the ring off. He figured you might like something to accentuate the ring, and compliment it at the same time.”
Well …
Shit.
“It’s beautiful,” she said.
That wasn’t a lie.
“Would you like me to help you put it on?” Sargon asked.
The last thing Cozen needed was this man’s hands on her body. Her stupid desire spoke up before the rational part of her brain could.
“Yes, I would,” she said.
Cozen got a nice show of Sargon’s fast reflexes as he yanked the jewelry out with one hand, snapped the lid closed on the box at the same time, and in a blink, had discarded the box to his back pocket. Never once did he take his eyes off her.
Stepping closer, he moved behind Cozen, and allowed the necklace to dangle over her throat. At the first graze of his fingertips along her skin, she sucked in a fast breath. Her best bet was to talk while he worked as to keep her libido in fucking check.
“Sargon—where does that come from?” she asked. “The name, I mean.”
“Persian, mostly, and my bloodline comes from Iran.”
“Huh. And how did you come to work for Jett?”
Talking wasn’t really helping all that much. She could still feel his fingers sliding over the side of her neck where her pulse raced in her throat.
Sargon’s fingertips pressed softly into the spot, showcasing her traitorous emotions to him. To his credit, he didn’t mention a thing.
“He stumbled upon me, you could say,” Sargon murmured in her ear. “As most of my bosses do. I am—sort of—a jack of all trades. I never settle in one place for long, and there’s always something new on the horizon. It keeps me entertained and never bored, anyway.”
Cozen closed her eyes, and briefly sucked in a deep breath. She hoped it would help to settle her. It really didn’t. She was still just as turned on and unsettled by Sargon’s close proximity has she had been seconds before.
This man was going to be a problem for her.
A big one.
“Relax,” Sargon said behind her. “Calm your heart.”
“Perhaps you should stop touching me, then.”
“Ask me to, and I will.”
Cozen didn’t.
It was Sargon’s phone ringing that sent them two of the moving feet apart, but it was the caller who sent them out of the apartment.
Jett was waiting.
Cozen nearly forgot.
Sargon was dangerous, she knew.
In more ways than one.
Sargon had been silent for the entire drive across Manhattan. He never even looked into the rearview mirror, and Cozen kept checking.
He pulled the car to a stop outside a restaurant—one even fancier than the place she worked for—and still said nothing. He only spoke once he had opened up her door, and helped her from the car.
What he said?
“Enjoy your evening, Cozen.”
This man was an enigma.
Cozen couldn’t think on it, or Sargon, for very long. Jett was waiting. Dressed in a black suit with a silver vest and tie, he waited at the entrance of the restaurant with a welcoming smile. He didn’t hide how he looked her over as he offered his hand for her to take.
“You look quite beautiful,” Jett said, bringing her closer to his side as they started the walk up the steps. “Not that I expected anything different.”
His fingers grazed the necklace at her throat, but she didn’t feel the same sparks and shivers she had felt with Sargon at the touch.
“The necklace looks beautiful, too. I’m happy to see you wearing it.”
“I liked it.”
“Wonderful.”
“I waffled a bit.”
“I hope not on coming tonight.”
Cozen gave him a look, and laughed. “No, on the dress. I couldn’t decide.”
She was testing the waters.
Giving him an opening.
Jett took it like a gaping-mouthed fish—hook, line, and sinker. “I like this dress, actually. Not too much, but just enough. It suits you.”
Good to know.
“You’ll enjoy this restaurant. They make the best Italian food. Owned by an associate of mine,” Jett continued.
He prattled on.
Cozen acted entertained.
She chanced a look over her shoulder just before they entered the restaurant. Sargon had not left the side of the vehicle where he remained standing with his hands clasped at his back. He had barely spoke or looked at her before.
He was looking at her now.
Unashamed.
Yeah.
Bad all over.
Especially for her.
Cozen shook off the odd feeling, and went back to her date, and main target for the foreseeable future. Jett, that was.
“Jett,” she murmured.
His dark eyes looked her over, and he smiled. “What, darling?”
“I was wondering …”
“Mmm, keep going.”
“What your plans are for tonight? With me, I mean.”
Jett’s smile deepened a bit—a look some women might consider sexy, or suggestive. He was not a bad looking man, and she had not lied when she said he appeared in his forties. He was fit, tall, dark, and handsome. Any woman would be quite lucky to catch Jett’s eye, and keep his attention.
Cozen, however, was just using him. He was a means to an end. Her attraction and affections for him would only last for as long as it took to get the Astor’s ring back, and not one second longer.
“That would depend,” Jett said.
“On what?”
“Well, you, I suppose. And of course, what you want, Cozen.”
“I would like to have a good time here, but you should know that I am not the kind of woman who is quick to get on my back for a good looking man.”
Jett chuckled as they waited for the woman at the podium to finish with other patrons. His hand on Cozen’s arm tightened a bit—not a hurtful squeeze, but one that said he heard her unspoken words loud and clear.
“What about a rich one?” he asked.
“Not even for that.”
“Good—never let a fancy man demean you … unless, of course, you’re ready and willing to be demeaned. Then by all means, do what you wish.” Jett passed her a look, and winked. “I like you, Cozen. You’re an interesting one.”
“And what does that mean?”
“It means you should remain interesting to me. Otherwise, my patience runs thin, and my expectations change.”
Duly noted.
Duly fucking noted.
Sargon did not drink spirits when he worked. It was a rule that tended to serve him well over the years. When everyone else around him was drunk from consuming too much liquor, his mind was still fairly sound. He was still capable of handling whatever was thrown his way without falling over like a fool.
And yet, there he sat at the bar inside the Reverie Manhattan, tossing back his fourth shot in an hour. The whiskey burned his throat on the way down, but he reveled in that harsh sting. He needed it at the moment.