Double? Modi. That would give me a break from the diner and put me that much closer to tuition for the next semester. But double? I couldn’t help wondering if the up in pay came because Ironside was desperate to make Ransom happy or if Ransom was that anxious to be entertained. “And why is that?”

“Because he wants you. He asked for you specifically. I give my friends what they want and when supply is low,” another glance over my chest like Ironside wished he could clone me and I had to lace my fingers together to keep from slapping him, “well, they owe more.”

“Since when are you and Ransom friends?” It was ridiculous that Ironside even had any friends. Ransom was nowhere near that bottom of a dweller and I suspected Ironside knew that.

“Since I made you dance for him.” He leaned forward and I instantly sat back, not liking the leer on his face, or the way he smiled with that stupid toothpick moving in the corner of his mouth. “I see you in here sometimes, working your ass off, slapping away motherfuckers who want inside that tight little body. You got spirit and you’re a tough chick.”

The idea of him watching me, that he knew about the drunk assholes and the unwanted attention they gave me, made me feel sick. Not about the drunks, but that Ironside had his eyes on me. “You trying to make a point or just kiss my ass a little?”

“Oh, baby I kiss nobody’s ass. Yours,” he looked at my breasts again, then underneath the table like he needed to verify the level of hotness my body gave off. “Hell, I’d make an exception if I didn’t know Ransom wanted you.”

“I don’t know if I am flattered or completely disgusted.”

That insult got ignored as Ironside stood and grabbed the coffee pot and a mug from the behind the counter. Carl watched him, so did the pissed off dishwasher, but I looked away from his movement, not willing to let that jackass think I was interested in why he walked around every place he frequented like it belonged to him.

“Thing is,” he said, his voice clear as he walked back to the booth, “you busting that sweet little ass of yours ain’t really necessary.” Ironside sipped on his coffee with his eyes trained on my face. “I got girls.” The seat dipped when he sat down and Ironside removed the toothpick to take another sip. “Not just at the club and they make a hell of a lot of bank for an hour or two of their time. I get a cut and they don’t work again until they want to. It’s an easy life. You’d fit in and hell, we both know you’d pull in some cash, looking the way you do, moving that body the way you do.” Another glance at my body, then Ironside’s gaze scrutinized my face. “Creole?”

But I didn’t answer. It was none of his damn business who my people were. Fact was, only bits of my family’s heritage slipped out in a few words I spoke every now and then. Mostly, when I cursed. My mother had been Cajun, but because she married a Creole, Haitian, not French, she’d been abandoned by her people.

My father, well, he wasn’t as interested in teaching me our culture, not like grann had been but then she died when I was young and I’d been left to figure out the language on my own and that only came with my father’s Kreyol cursing, usually at me.

Ironside’s gaze kept wandering over my body, down my chest and back again, making me feel like a fatted calf at the parish fair. I’d been on my own since I was seventeen. I worked hard to keep in shape, lifting weights out at the Y, dancing, running and, to be honest, I was generally so damn busy calories didn’t have a chance to get comfortable in my body. I knew what I looked like. I knew that physically, my body tended to garner attention, so did my nearly-green eyes. But my inability to seem friendly and open, typically made men not approach unless they were stinking drunk.

Ironside, though, that offer, shot down any ideas I had about being invisible. He didn’t care about me being broke. He didn’t, I suspected, really care about how hard I worked. He only knew that a famous NFL linebacker’s kid liked watching me dance. Ironside thought that me knowing Ransom, me being in his life, meant he could blackmail me into getting him whatever he wanted.

But a prostitute? He couldn’t be serious.

“Eskize mwen! Are you asking me if I want to be your whore? Lay on my back every once in a while to earn money?” I hated that flippant little shrug of his and how his stupid smile covered a badly contained laugh. “Are you out of your fucking mind?” The laughter ceased and Ironside quickly lost the shit-eating grin.

“Don’t get offended.” He sighed and I suspected I wasn’t the first woman to get pissed at him for an offer like this. “It’s as close to a compliment as I give.”

“Yeah? Well you suck at it.”

Over another hand wave, I spotted Carl walked toward the coffee machine, eyes searching, as though he wanted to make sure Ironside wasn’t becoming a threat, bless him. A quick nod and my manager walked back into the kitchen. Across the booth Ironside alternated between sipping his coffee and fingering that toothpick. He really was disgusting. Not just the worn, four season old suits he wore or the tacky gold in his mouth. He carried himself like a pimp—someone used to a constant hustle but not quite clever enough to pull off anything significant. How could Misty let this asshole sully her club? Summerland’s was beautiful, elegant and comforting and Ironside was probably using whatever he had hanging over Misty to run girls through her place.

“Does Misty know you ask her dancers to work for you?”

“Misty and I have a business arrangement.” There was a small twitch moving along his top lip as he spoke about her. “She stays out of mine and I let her keep hers.”

Loser or not, Ironside could carry out a threat. I knew that. It was in his demeanor. I didn’t like him, was convinced he was a complete waste of space, but I didn’t want to piss him off either. “I’m gonna say no to the whole being a prostitute thing.” I figured if I cut him off, ignored him, he’d disappear. Ironside didn’t strike as the sort to keep after someone, especially a woman, once he heard ‘no.’ Pad back in my apron I started to leave the booth, telling myself I’d had enough of this man for the night, but Ironside grabbed my wrist and held it onto the tabletop before I could walk away.

“And the dance for Ransom?”

I’d almost forgotten. Ransom. Dammit, Ironside was playing a card with the highest number. Being a whore, no. Not for anyone on the planet, but dancing for Ransom again without any inhibitions, without feeling any guilt for what I did or what my body wanted from him? That was a temptation I wasn’t sure I could avoid.

Ironside didn’t fight me when I pulled my hand away and I took a second to stare out of the window, trying not to let the memory of his taste and touch dictate my decision. He was hurting, I knew that. I also knew that Ransom wouldn’t let anyone help him. Not his parents, not his teammates and certainly not the girl he’d accidently kissed when the music and the dance had become too overwhelming.

But if Aly couldn’t reach him, maybe that dancer could.

Ironside didn’t care about Ransom. He gave not even the tiniest shit whether or not he’d recovered from the loss of his first love. I’d known men like Ironside my whole life, hell one of them was my father. He’d never do anything for anyone without expecting something in return.

“What do you get out of it?” I kept my body out of his reach, stepping back when Irosnide slid against the window with his feet on the seat.

“Kona Hale’s son owing me.”

The laugh was sudden and, I could tell, not something Ironside liked hearing from me. “I think you’re overestimating yourself and how entertaining I am. Ransom isn’t the kind of guy who needs favors, neither is his dad. He wouldn’t want to owe you a damn thing.”

“You know what he wants now?” Once again that toothpick appeared, Ironside nibbling on the tip as if he liked the tension between us, waiting to see if I’d back down from him. “You know all about him you think? Maybe you do. But does he know about you? He know that you were the girl in the mask getting him off?”