Hitman's Hookup: A Bad Boy Romance (2 page)

She
had taken it.

Again.

But there was nothing I could do about that. I’d made it to New York City. That was what mattered. I’d deal with the rest later.

The phone dinged as a message from an unknown number was delivered.

It was the name of an Italian restaurant along with a time. A quick Google search showed me that it was a sit-down place.

“Fuck,” I muttered. That meant that I would need a date. A guy eating on his own at a place like that was not exactly the picture of discreet and camouflaged.

I weighed my options. I realized that I needed help.

A dinged up flip phone that I kept disguised in a hidden panel at the bottom of my briefcase awaited me. I pulled it out, rubbing it on the sofa fabric to rid it of the dust and lint stuck to the surface. I wasn’t sure it would turn on. It did, creaking to life slowly, the tiny screen glowing in my hand. I clicked the buttons, which stuck slightly from lack of use. The phone only had one number programmed into it. I dialed it, holding my breath.

“Hello?” said a voice that was much deeper than the last time I’d heard it.

“Matthew,” I said quietly.

There was a brief pause on the end of the line. “Cruz?” he replied, sounding bewildered.

I held my breath, waiting for him to launch into yelling at me. But it didn’t happen.

“I haven’t heard from you in, what? Like…six months?” I heard a shuffling of papers.

“I hope that those are the pages of books you’re flipping,” I said with a false stern tone.

Matthew burst out laughing. “Nah, just rolling joints for my drug empire,” he said jokingly. “Jesus fucking Christ, man. How the hell are you?”

“You shouldn’t fucking curse,” I grunted ironically. “Your mom would have hated that.”

“You always
were
a great role model, Cruz. I actually
am
studying. Intro to astrophysics course. So what’s up?”

I felt a surge of pride hearing Matthew talk about college. He didn’t know that I was paying for his tuition. “Yeah, uh, I have a question to ask. I need…a date.”

Matthew paused. “Oh fuck, you’re serious. Wait – really?
You
can’t find one?”

“I’m travelling,” I said simply. Matthew knew not to ask too many questions, but he hid it under the guise of being disinterested. I’d told him I was a businessman who lead corporate mergers. But he was a sharp kid. I had started to think that he knew I was lying. “And it’s sort of last-minute. I could pay for a hooker, but I need someone who is guaranteed to blend in. And I’m…a little low on cash at the moment and can’t make it to an ATM.”

All of that was true, at least at the heart of it. But the reasons why I couldn’t make it to an ATM were not
normal people
reasons.

Matthew clicked his tongue. “Well, you could try Pyre,” he replied.

“What?”

“Pyre. It’s this new dating app for old people.”

I laughed. The sound was so foreign in my throat I almost scared myself with it. “I am not
old
,” I said. “You watch your fucking mouth.”

“You know what I mean. It’s for people over twenty-one and under twenty-eight. You’ll slip in just under the wire there.”

I sat down on the sofa and grabbed the iPhone. “Okay, so how do I do this?” I asked him. I actually knew the answer. But I didn’t want to hang up yet.

“Download it from the app store and set up your profile.” Matthew paused. “You want me to walk you through it?” He sounded slightly hopeful. I knew he didn’t want to get off the line yet, either.

“Yeah, bud, if you have time,” I said, trying to sound casual.

Matthew stayed on the line with me until I had everything set up. I’d felt like a complete fucking asshole taking a profile picture. I’d insisted on keeping my shirt on, despite Matthew insisting that I’d attract more women with a photo of my abs. I settled instead for the suit I was already wearing. I looked down at my stainless steel Tag Heuer watch. I only had an hour and a half before I needed to be at the restaurant.

“Well, I really hate to go,” I said. “You keep studying, okay? You don’t want to be a corporate lackey like me. You have to own your own fucking business.”

Matthew laughed. “You seem to be doing okay for yourself, Cruz.” There was a long pause. “Hey, could you not wait so long to call again?”

I felt a rumble of guilt in my stomach. I knew that I couldn’t promise that. “I’ll do my best, buddy. Keep your head down on those books, you hear me?”

“Yes, sir,” Matthew said sarcastically.

I hung up the phone and stared at the cracking case. It was beyond reckless for me to be carrying this thing around. But it was the only touchstone I had to remind me of how I’d gotten to this place in my life. I tucked it back in the lining of my briefcase and took a deep breath.

I thumbed through the Pyre app, flicking quickly past about twenty-five women.
Too eager, stock photo, too much makeup, too much plastic surgery, trying too hard
…the categorizing of people like this was something that made me great at my job.

Not just great. The best in the fucking world.

My stomach pinged as I heard a woman’s voice whispering to me from my memory.
“I’m actually the fucking best, Cruz. Not you.”
I shook the thought out of my head.

Corina could go fuck herself.

I turned back to the app and kept scrolling. It might seem harsh to some people, but making snap judgments and tossing people into neat categories was how I’d survived this long. I wondered if everyone would get better at that with the use of apps like this. Part of me shuddered at the thought. I didn’t like the idea of everyone using the same ruthlessness that I employed. It wasn’t just a survival tactic that had no negative consequences; the flip side was that I could never really connect with anyone on any meaningful level.

Not that I had much time for women anyway.
Not since
…my arm stung as if in reaction to the memory that flitted into view. Blindfold. Handcuffs. An eight-inch knife sticking out of my bicep. Almost all of my money gone.

“Focus, Cruz,” I muttered to myself. I checked my watch. I had just over an hour.

I scrolled through thirty more women, starting to feel anxious that I’d have to settle on an over-the-top bimbo who would stick out like a sore fucking thumb in the middle of the restaurant. I was officially pissed. Maybe I would just fucking show up alone, damn however it looked.

I took a deep breath. I’d learned by now that anger only ended one way: with someone dead. I made shitty decisions when I was panicking. Decisions that got other people killed. Innocent people.

“Cruz. One more swipe. If she’s not it, we figure out a Plan B,” I whispered.

I swiped one more time, afraid to look. When I finally opened my eyes, I felt my heart stop. She was the most gorgeous fucking woman I’d ever laid eyes on in my life.

Who said I couldn’t mix business and pleasure?

CHAPTER THREE

LILY

I spent an hour scrolling through profiles of the skeeziest men I’d ever seen in my life. Within ten seconds of logging into the app, I already had fifteen messages from assholes saying they wanted to cum on my tits. When I didn’t reply to any of them, most of them started threatening me.

I rolled my eyes.

Men are pathetic
.

I kept looking just for fun. What else was there to do? After a while, I started to drift off. My eyelids were fluttering when the app dinged. I sat upright, a surge of adrenaline going through my tiny body. I was disoriented and thought that I was on call. It was a well-practiced habit of being a surgeon that I could go from REM sleep to wide awake and on my feet in about five seconds.

Then I realized with a crash of disappointment that I was still in my living room. It wasn’t a page to surgery. It was an app notification.

You have one new message from Phillip Dawson.

I took a deep breath, bracing myself for the inevitable, unsolicited dick pic.

But that wasn’t a stock photo. And the message wasn’t a dick pic.

I felt my knees go slightly weak.

Phillip Dawson had hooded, brown eyes. His cheekbones were prominent and dovetailed into full, pink lips against a canvas of sand-colored skin. His dark hair was swept back in a style that seemed effortless but I was sure he’d spent some time on. He was wearing a perfectly tailored grey suit that must have cost several thousand dollars.

The message said:
Hi. How are you?

It might have seemed simple. It might have seemed uncreative. But after spending nearly two hours being endlessly harassed and called ‘baby,’ ‘sugar tits,’ ‘sweetheart,’ and ‘bitch’ along with a slew of racial slurs; a simple message was exactly what I was looking for.

Hey
, I typed back.

A response bubble came up almost immediately that showed he was typing.
This is my first time using an app like this. I’m sort of nervous.

I laughed out loud. I was not expecting that level of honesty.
Me too.
I paused. Then I kept typing.
You’re the first guy to not yell a misogynistic, racist slur at me all night. I’d say you’re doing great
.

The little white cloud that showed he was typing kept popping up and disappearing. He was obviously attempting to weigh his words carefully.
That’s a low fucking bar to jump,
he said.

I laughed again.
Yeah, well. Men suck.

Phillip responded almost instantly.
We do
.

I cleared my throat nervously. I felt the surging of adrenaline that meant I was about to do something absolutely foolish.
Let’s meet up
, I typed.

The cloud bubble appeared and disappeared. Then there was nothing.

“Fuck!” I yelled, throwing my phone down. I pushed him too hard and too fast. I was always overly-eager. I’d been told my whole childhood to slow down, be careful, be steady. But I hated that. I liked going fast.

My phone dinged and I nearly broke a hand trying to unlock the screen.
Wear the nicest dress you have. I’ll send you my address in a minute
.

Game on.

***

An hour later I was standing outside the shiniest, newest skyscraper in New York City. I walked as confidently as I could past the doorman and into the elevators to the top floor. I knew that I looked the part for fitting in here; the floor-length, satin black dress that was the nicest I owned fell to my feet.

I felt like a little kid playing dress up. The absurdity of getting dressed in formal wear to go fuck a total stranger was filling me with the excitement I’d been craving for days. The elevator seemed to crawl up the floors. I bounced on my feet the same way I had in Poppy’s office all those years ago.

When I was finally standing at the enormous double doors of the building’s penthouse I had a fleeting moment of panic. I shoved it down like I always did. It was game time. I was built for adventure. I pressed my unmanicured finger on the button and made a note to myself to book a manicure. I had the time now, after all.

Within a few seconds, the door opened.

My heart seemed to skip a few beats. The photo hadn’t done Phillip any justice at all. This man was walking sex. I put my hand on my hip and cocked my head. “You don’t look like a Phillip,” I said. He really didn’t. The name didn’t suit him at all.

I saw a flash of something like fear come over his face, but it was gone in an instant. “Thanks,” he replied bluntly. His eyes were blazing as he looked at me, taking me in from head to toe. “Let’s do this.”

He stepped out of the penthouse and locked the doors behind him.

“I’m sorry,” I scoffed. “Are we
doing this
in the hallway?”

Phillip pushed past me, bumping into my arm. I realized suddenly that underneath his suit were layers of thick muscle. Phillip was
ripped
.

I jogged to keep up with him; he was already inside the elevator and impatiently holding the door open for me. I jumped inside and he pressed the button for the lobby. “Where are we going?” I asked. I was annoyed but my heart was pounding from the thrilling uncertainty.

“Dinner,” he said. He looked at his watch. “You took too long.”

“
Excuse me
? I didn’t realize that this evening was being run on a
schedule
.” Who did this asshole think he was?

Phillip didn’t reply as the doors opened to the lobby. Once again, I practically had to run to keep up with him. On the curb he raised his hand for a taxi.

“Have you heard of Uber?” I asked him sarcastically. Who the hell was this guy?

“I prefer to do most things the old-fashioned way when I can,” he said without looking at me, no emotion in his voice.

A cab pulled up and Phillip surprised me by opening my door so I could get inside. I couldn’t remember the last time a man had opened a door for me. Although, to be fair, it had been a lifetime since I’d had sex with a man much less gone on a date.

The inside of the taxi smelled like cherry air freshener and cigars. I nearly gagged as Phillip slid in the other side. I decided to keep flirting with him. “Old-fashioned. So is that why you’re taking me to dinner first instead of skipping right to the fucking?”

The cab driver, a man with a magnificent white-and-grey handlebar mustache, guffawed. “Feisty one, isn’t she?” he asked.

I bristled at being spoken
about
instead of
to
by this walrus of a man. “I’m right here,” I insisted, rolling my eyes.

“You fucking make another comment about her again and I kill you,” Phillip spat. I felt a chill go down my spine. “Get me to Gio’s,” he said. “And there’s an extra twenty in it for you if you can get me there sooner rather than later.”

I noted the word ‘me’ in ‘get me there’. “Oh, am I invited, too?” I asked sarcastically, even though I was still thrilled at how he’d defended me.

Phillip looked at me quizzically. “What?” he said.

“Never mind,” I replied, gazing out the window.