Mated to the Mafioso

[ 10 ] - Basically A Paid Escort

[ A N D R E A ]

Dammit. He knows my weakness. I shut the wallet, scowling, about to ask what he wants. Of course, terrible timing this time; the waiter takes the empty plates, refills his wine, and sets down our burgers.

"How are you enjoying things so far? Is the wine not to your tastes, miss? I can get another, if you'd like." he asks, gesturing to the glass.

I swallow my anger. "I'm good, thanks—it's delicious! Just..."

"She was saving the pairing for the main course, Marcel." Dante cuts in, smiling, back to his charming self. It's like I didn't see the mask slip...

Marcel laughs easily, like a trained waiter laughs, and nods, asks if we need anything else, before leaving. I shift in my seat. The burger's delicious; it tastes rich, and like meat, and the instinct inside me—shifter instinct—craves it. I lift the whole thing and take a bite.

It's smoky and gamey and fatty from the grilled lamb patty, funky and sharp from the cheese and arugula, sweet from the berry jam and onions. The bread's a neutral, fluffy canvas. It's so thick that I need to unhinge my jaw to swallow it, but I've done okay. I wipe my lips and hands with the napkin. The hot burger's satisfying in a different way than the appetizers; I already feel more like a person. More alive. More sane.

If I eat fast, I can leave quicker. So I take another bite—then stop. G-d, I look like a mess—

Dante chuckles. "They say to never eat burgers on a date. Messy. But it's a choice that shows vulnerability; y—"

"Did you think this was a date?" I cut in.

He blinks a few times. "I mean, is it not? Sure, a little business, too, but you're a cute girl and I invited you to dinner, and you accepted, so—"

"It's just a dinner between two people. It doesn't need to be weird." I mutter.

He frowns. "Huh. Your friend was right..."

What is wrong with him? "Is that what you say to your 'dates' to get their interest?" I air-quote the word, knuckles cracking.

"I've just never met someone who was so resistant to...I mean, it's just semantics. A date, dinner—"

"No. It's communication. When you go out with a person, you make your expectations clear. So this is a dinner, not a date. You said you had a business proposition that you'd pay well for. Define well before you get into what I need to do."

Dante shakes his head, raking back his hair, laughing softly to himself. He's already mostly through his burger; he nibbles on a fry. "Fine. Communication. Sorry I got ahead of myself, Andrea. How about a thousand dollars for a quick...I guess we'll call it session?"

That's a lot of money. I squint at him.

"I'm an entrepreneur. So yeah, I'm rich."

Daddy's money, I think, silently. He can see the distain in my eyes, though. But the hunger's there. A thousand bucks would be fantastic. I need that money.

"Cash?"

"Cash or direct deposit. Your pick." He shrugs.

"What do you want?"

Dante's expression brightens. He leans forward. "You said you shift into people too, right? I need you to turn into a specific woman for me—"

I snap back, eyes widening. "Okay, absolutely fucking n—"

"Hold on!" He raises his hands. "It's not what you think, okay? I'm not gonna ask you for a good time or whatever—I can tell you're not that kind of person. I just need you to turn into this specific woman to basically be some arm candy for me at this party. Nothing weird will happen—promise. Scout's honor and shit. No kissing, touching; I can't promise no flirting, though—" he smirks, and I grimace. "The woman is a friend of mine. She's currently in Italy, having a fantastic time, living her life. My family—"