“She works at Katya?” The laughter in Ashton’s voice was barely contained.
He was reading a copy of the report our guy had put together in the last two days of following her. I’d gotten it earlier in the day, but that didn’t mean hearing it again was any less of a rub than when I’d first found out that she worked for me.
I made good money. Had a good life. And I slept with women when I wanted them, but it hadn’t always been like that. I’d had a steady girlfriend in high school and another one in college. I’d been faithful. Felt appropriate. If they were giving me their heart and body, I’d do the same. But I got older, and my dad’s “helping” in the family business was him “fucking it up,” and my uncle started calling me to take over and fix the mess my father always made.
I was tired of it. My uncle was tired of it.
But that part of my life began rearing up more and more, and I knew it wasn’t right to have another girlfriend, not in this life. It was too much with the two worlds already. So, casual sex or women who knew the score. They got dinner, drinks, a night where they felt important being on my arm, and I got sex with no strings. They were women who didn’t want a relationship, either, so it was a win-win for both of us.
But now, I wanted her, and for the first time in a long time, I was considering throwing out my rules.
For her.
But only one weekend. That was it. That was all I could take. Fuck her out of my system and move on, go back to my normal routine. All would be well then.
“You’re so screwed.” Ashton was back to laughing.
I gave him a dark look. “I have a gun in my drawer, you know.”
That made him laugh harder, and he leaned forward, shaking his head. “You want her to know you own Katya?”
“We own Katya.” It was our club, his and mine. Ashton had his family, too, similar to mine, but Katya was one of our endeavors that had no connection to either of our families. We wouldn’t allow it. If anyone tried to push in, it would be an internal war.
“Yeah, yeah. You know what I mean.”
Did I want her to know? No. “Call Anthony. Tell him the arrangements. I don’t want her to know, not yet.”
Ashton was pulling out his phone as my own began buzzing. It was our PI.
I answered. “You have something more on her?”
“She bowls.”
I frowned. “Bowls?”
“You wanted the file quick, so I didn’t get it in there, but every Sunday, her and her roommate go to Easter Lanes. It’s almost a religious event.”
That . . . was helpful. “When do they go?”
“They’re there by six, play till eight, and hang out till nine thirty.”
Easter Lanes. “Who owns the place?”
“Molly Easter. Bought it from her father, turned it around, and it’s doing well.”
“Who’s her father?”
“Shorty Easter, real name is Marcus. Gambler. He owes big to Ashton’s family.”
I glanced to Ashton as our PI was telling me this, and feeling my gaze, Ashton looked back to me. His eyebrow rose. “What?”
“Anything else?”
“Back to your parole officer. She’s tight with her brother, incarcerated for killing their father.”
My blood went cold hearing that. That hadn’t been in the report. “You just found that out too?”
He hesitated on his end. “I need to follow up on one more thing before I can answer that. Trust me, you’ll want me to wait.”
“Fine. Get it to me as soon as possible.”
“Will do.”
“What’s going on?” Ashton asked after I hung up.
I filled him in about Easter, and he snorted. “Yeah, I remember that guy. Family keeps him around because he’s funny, tells good stories, but he owes out of his ass.”
“You know the daughter?”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re going to make your approach at a bowling alley?”
I sighed. “Might have to, and you’re not coming.”
“I met the daughter once, when we were kids. She won’t remember me.”
“I don’t want to risk it, not yet.”
“A lot of work you’re putting in to get some ass when all you normally need to do is wave a hand, and they come.”
I shot him a look, because I was completely aware of that fact.
This was aggravating.
