The Arrangement: An Age Gap, Mafia Romance (Silver Fox Daddies)
The Arrangement: Chapter 2

‘My relationship with Ned ended nearly a year ago,’ she declares, her eyes narrowed in sharp anger. ‘And he’s been nothing but a headache since.’

Her blunt honesty only deepens the intrigue, peeling back layers of respect and a curiosity I hadn’t expected to feel.

“Quite a way to talk about an ex-lover,” I say.

“Well, there’s no reason to bullshit you.”

“I can respect that.”

I’ve crossed paths with countless faces, dealt with every type imaginable, but never have I been blindsided by attraction like this. This was supposed to be just another shakedown, nothing out of the ordinary for a man in my line of work.

Yet, here I am, standing in this cramped pet daycare office, completely thrown for a loop by this woman.

Her red hair, an untamed flame, and the resolve in her stance screams defiance. The scissors in her grip, her readiness to fight rather than cower, speaks volumes about her courage and tenacity. Traits that stir something within me, a heady mix of admiration and an arousal that’s as unexpected as it is intense. Her face is gorgeous, stunning, with plump lips, blue eyes, and gorgeous features dusted with freckles.

Thinking about the debt her deadbeat boyfriend left behind, I can’t wrap my head around how an idiot like Ned ended up with a woman of her caliber.

She’s wearing a black dress -most likely funeral attire- that hugs her shapely figure. Her work apron is tied tightly, outlining the full breasts beneath. Even with her brandishing a weapon, all I can think about is hiking up that dress, peeling down her panties, and…

Focus, Maksim.

She’s standing her ground, those fiery eyes locked on mine, scissors still in hand. ‘You need to leave,’ she states, voice steady, but I can tell there’s a storm brewing behind those words.

I glance down at the scissors, a smirk playing on my lips as I entertain the thought of how far I’d need to push her before she’d actually go through with stabbing me, potentially ruining one of my favorite suits in the process. I let out a chuckle, genuinely impressed by her gumption.

Her response is immediate, her eyes narrowing into slits. ‘If you think I’m some helpless woman, you’ve got another think coming,’ she warns, her stance unwavering.

‘I don’t doubt for a second that you can take care of yourself,’ I tell her, my amusement fading into a blend of respect and curiosity. ‘Part of me wants to believe you about the money,’ I continue, weighing my words carefully. ‘Then again,’ I ponder aloud, ‘a woman who’s willing to fight for her life is also one willing to lie for it.’

‘Screw off,’ she fires back, not missing a beat, her resolve clear. “I’m no liar. You’re getting me confused with my asshole ex.”

My hand slips into my pocket, fingers brushing against the small listening device I always carry for shakedowns. It’s there, reassuring in its presence, along with the one I’d already planted in her car earlier.

I’m quite certain I’ve got this woman pegged, but I need more information. I need her to keep talking.

Now, she’s demanding space, a bold move. ‘Step out of my office,’ she orders, trying to reclaim some semblance of control over the situation. I can’t help but smirk. Brave, indeed.

“Very well.”

I concede, stepping back, allowing her the illusion of control, if only for a moment. She exits the office quickly, her movements brisk, trying to put as much physical distance between us as she can.

I take advantage of the moment, leaning down, feigning interest in her email, blatantly ignoring her as she snaps, ‘Hey! Get away from my desk.’

As I’m leaning over her desk, pretending to give a damn about whatever’s on her screen, I smoothly pull the listening device from my pocket. It replaces its new home among the pens in one of her cups—perfect camouflage. It won’t be spotted, and the acoustics of this makeshift hideout are ideal for picking up every word.

All the while, she’s laying into me again, her voice spiked with that fiery command for me to exit her sacred space.

‘Get the hell out of my office,’ she insists, barely containing her frustration. “I’m going to call the cops.”

‘Fine,’ I concede with a shrug, playing the part of the obedient visitor for now.

With another deft move as I rise, I withdraw a second camera from my other pocket, placing it on one of the office shelves, making sure it’s pointed at the main space of her office.

As I turn to leave, something on the wall catches my eye—a Murphy bed, folded up against the wall. ‘You don’t see those too often these days,’ I comment, my curiosity piqued.

She flicks her eyes over. “Came with the place.” And not another word.

I step out of her office, but not without noticing the odd look she gives me at the mention of the bed. I can’t help but grin, turning back to her with a parting shot. ‘I bet a small business owner like you has spent more than a few nights sleeping here.’

It’s a calculated guess, but her eye-flashing reaction confirms it. Then I notice the bags of personal items against the wall. Does she live here?

‘You need to leave now, or I’ll call the police,’ she threatens again, her voice laced with both bravado and desperation. Predictable and amusing all the same.

I can’t help but chuckle at that, the sound rumbling deep from my chest. ‘You really think calling the cops is a threat to me?’ I counter, shaking my head. ‘There’s a greater than fifty-fifty chance that whatever cop shows up will be on my payroll.’

Her frustration is palpable, but she’s quick to retort, clinging to whatever leverage she thinks she has left. ‘There’s no point in you being here anyway. I don’t have the money. It’d be like squeezing blood from a stone.’

I lean in, my voice dropping to a more serious tone. ‘Part of my job is replaceing out just how to extract cash—stone or not,’ I tell her, my gaze locking onto hers.

I throw another glance at the Murphy bed, and I catch something in Tory’s eyes, a flicker that’s hard to place. For a moment, it almost looks like lust. The sight sparks an impulse in me, raw and unfiltered.

Is she thinking the same thing I am, about the sorts of fun we could have on that bed? I make a decision.

‘I can erase your debt,’ I suggest, the words slipping out with an ease that surprises even me, ‘if you want to come back in here and pull this Murphy bed down.’

The suggestion hangs in the air between us, charged and dangerous. I watch, fascinated, as a storm of emotions battles across her face. Disbelief, anger, temptation—they all make their appearance, each vying for dominance.

In this moment, with the tension thick enough to cut, Tory stands before me, literally the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.