Page 12 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
In my experience, the only people who are that familiar with the law have studied law, are breaking it or are defending it. These are people in law school, criminals, or people that have too much time on their hands. I’ve never been one to stereotype, but he doesn’t look like any of the three.
In fact, he looks like a movie star—one of those ruggedly handsome Hollywood A-list celebrity types with haunted eyes, who star in action films until they’re Liam Neeson’s age and still haven’t retired.
I actually wouldn’t be surprised to learn that he is an actor. I wouldn’t know. I don’t have much time to watch television, nor do I have the money to go the movies. The guys I date aren’t the movie going types either. They’re, much to my dismay, usually of the staying-in-bed-naked-all-day variety.
Judging from the slightly pleased look on his face, I’ve been silent for too long, so I glower and say, “True.”
Because he’s right. Loitering is codified in New York penal law under those sections, but he’s also trying to play me, and if it was anyone else standing in from of him, he’d probably be doing a darn good job with that impressive poker face of his.
But it isn’t anyo
ne else in front of him. It’s me, someone who’s spent the past four or so years studying the ins and outs of New York and federal laws. And also someone who isn’t and never has been the type to let things go.
Of course, that’s a personal favorite character flaw of mine. It’s certainly the most fun. With that in mind, I draw upon my extensive knowledge of New York law. And while the sections he mentioned cover loitering, they don’t cover the type of loitering I’m doing.
Obviously, he’s trying to intimidate me with vague but true knowledge of the law. Laws that are technically true, but for this purpose, they don’t apply. But given my major, he’s chosen the wrong subject to talk about, and I’m not about to show him any mercy.
Not with this ridiculous lust coursing through my veins. I need to remind myself—and maybe even him, if he’s interested, but why else would he bother approaching me?—how incompatible we are.
I continue, “Except those sections don’t apply to me. We’re not in a transportation center or on a school campus, and I don’t have a mask on my face.” When his eyes flicker briefly with shock, I don’t stop. “I’m not drug pushing, and I’m not a prostitute.”
Not really.
There are differences between prostitution and gold digging, but they’re not big enough for me to possess a superiority complex over prostitutes.
“Jefferson School of Law?” he asks without missing a beat, referring to Wilton’s law school and the law school closest to John’s neighborhood.
I nod stiffly, not wanting to give away more of myself than necessary. I don’t want him to know me. Being strangers is my only defense against my attraction to him.
“That’s a good school,” he continues, slowly.
“Maybe I’m a smart person. Is that so hard to believe?”
The jerk has the guts to lift a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “A smart person wouldn’t be here for John.”
Fire flashes through my eyes, and I’m instantly defensive.
Does this guy know that I’m a gold digger?
Either way, I push aside the part of me that enjoys this exchange of wits and snarl at him, “And let me guess… A smart person would be here for you.”
He lifts his lips in a taunting smile. “No. A smart person would run away from me.”
He leans in even closer to me, and darn it, I don’t run away, though I know he’s right.
I should be running.
From this life.
From John.
From him.
Instead, I stay rooted to the ground, my eyes on his and my heart pounding an unsteady rhythm. And when he leaves without another word, leaving me pissed off at the fact that he’s getting to me, I don’t want to listen to him on principle. But for some reason, I do.
I don’t go to John that night.
Chapter Six
