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I work better on my own.

Hope was doing her best to feign interest, but if she had to listen to him brag about how money was no object one more time -- she would officially lose it. Probably costing her another job since she was meant to scare him, remind him how easy he was to get to. Not slice his neck open which her fingers were itching to do ever since he'd first laid his meaty paw high up on her thigh.

She wasn't a person to him—just a pretty object to show off. But this was nothing new to her; she couldn't even be that mad about it. He wasn't a person to her either, after all—just another smug fuck in a long line of them, a means to an end.

She pasted another smile on her face, working up an expression of awe. The double finger of vodka bit at the back of her throat but helped her sell it since she had an excuse for pulling a face. She had to keep herself in check, it wouldn't be long now until he suggest they find a quiet space. Not with the way his other hand seemed to want to wander.

The fact did little to settle her, not when her skin was practically crawling with every new touch. Her temper simmered just below the surface, but she was determined not to let it erupt. The last job she'd done hadn't gone so well, she'd lost her composure and busted the man's jaw, but she'd had her reasons.

Reasons never mattered. She wasn't naive or stupid enough to believe they did and yet, her grip tightened on her glass to keep from breaking it against his skull. Clearly, she still didn't have her head on quite straight.