“Dating? No.”

“Oh.” She licked her lips, staring at me through her extended eyelashes. “That’s good to know.”

“Not for my lack of trying,” I said after a calculated pause, making sure the sentence left the desired impact I was looking for. I stared through her, the way I did when I wanted to dismantle people with egos bigger than their mansions. In my experience, the more insecure you were about holding onto what you had, the bigger your ego was. “She’s not too hot on buying a cow that every farmer in town has already milked, and I can’t blame her. I only attract a certain type of woman. Not the picky ones.” I cocked my head sideways, giving her a thorough scan.

If Pam had balls, they would have shriveled in my fist. But she didn’t, so she simply tilted her chin up in mock defiance, batted her eyelashes when she realized she’d chosen the wrong person to talk shit about her daughter with, and stepped back. Jesse selected the exact same moment to drag her ass back downstairs, skipping two steps at a time with a black leash in her hand. I successfully suppressed the mental image of collaring her with it and taking her on a nice, lengthy stroll inside her fancy bathroom before fucking her in front of what I bet was a Jack and Jill mirror. And by ‘successfully’, I meant not really.

Same. Fucking. Difference.

“Ready?” I asked. Jesse’s eyes darted from her mom to me, her face rippled with concern. I offered her an easy smile that hopefully conveyed she had nothing to worry about. It was the first time I truly felt sorry for Snowflake. Because even after everything she’d been through, she was tough as nails (and just about as friendly). But being betrayed by your own parent…that’s a whole new level of fucked up. I knew because I wanted to be sick in my mouth every time I thought about who I came from.

Pam’s eyes finally flickered to Jesse. “So. Bane Protsenko, huh? Least now we know you’re my kid.” She snort-laughed, shaking her head.

Of course Pam knew who I was. I was an official gigolo, the Lululemon housewives’ favorite toy. I spun around to stare at Jesse’s mom, this time without the coat of indifference and fake politeness, but with my real expression. The one I saved for people who overstepped their boundaries.

“Is there a problem, Pamela?” I didn’t call her Mrs. Morgansen because I didn’t want to show her respect, and ‘Pam’ felt too friendly. Pamela was a nice fuck-you way to address her without using the b word.

“You tell me.” She took a step toward us. “I just want to make sure your intentions for my daughter are nice and pure.” She tongued her lower lip again. “I would like to discuss your relationship with Jesse privately.”

What she wanted was for me to dick her down until she was buried in orgasms. I smiled tightly. I was going to play her little game. I needed to make it perfectly clear to her that I’d never touch her. It would also put Jesse’s mind at ease.

“Tomorrow afternoon,” I said dryly.

“Perfect. I’ll meet you at your café.”

Bitch knew everything worth knowing about me, apparently. It was perfectly possible she’d tried to hire me sometime the last couple years, and I’d just never noticed, because I didn’t take any unknown calls since I’d closed my list of clients.

“Perfect,” I echoed, my tone implying it was anything but.

Jesse and I were out the door a minute later. She helped Shadow climb up the back seat of the Rover, then rounded her vehicle and slipped in. I started walking over to my Harley across the street.

“Where to?” I asked over my shoulder. She rolled her window down, her brow worried and her eyes inquisitorial.

“What was all that about with Pam?” With Pam? What the fuck kind of family was that? My mom would club me with a jar of pickled cabbage if I referred to her as Sonya and not Mamul.

“Guess she’s worried about you.” I shrugged, turning to face her. I wasn’t going to add that she’d hit on me. I was in the business of saving Jesse, not hurting her. And she was a smart girl. She didn’t need me to spell it out for her.

“She is worried about getting laid.” A flame kindled in Jesse’s eyes. “If you take her on as a client, I won’t hang out with you anymore. It’s not an ultimatum. I know you have a business to run. I’m just letting you know.” Her voice was firm and resolute. It was the only time I could recall that the idea of punching a woman—Pam, in this case—felt somewhat appealing.

“There you are.” I grinned. She cocked one eyebrow, waiting for an explanation. “The old Jesse. I was waiting for her to make a cameo.”