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“I’m sorry?”
“To the builders. When they asked you to move your van, you could’ve said no. But you didnae. That’s on you, no me. Doesnae make it your space.”
Colour rises up her neck and into her freckled cheeks. I shouldn’t enjoy the sight of her all flushed and furious as much as I do.
“The old neighbours—”
“I’m no the old neighbours, princess.”
Her mouth falls open. “Don’t call me that.”
“Then stop acting entitled.”
“Entitled?” She laughs. “That’s interesting. On Friday I was privileged, and now I’m entitled. You really think you’ve got me worked out, don’t you?”
I perch a hip against the bonnet. “Aye. I think I do.” I make a point of looking her over, head to feet then back. “Private school,” I say.
She doesn’t correct me.
“Thought so. Grew up in a big house somewhere around here. A garden. Two cars.”
Her jaw goes tight, but she’s not denying it.
“You must be, what, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-four,” she says. “Nearly twenty-five.”
“Twenty-four.” I wave a hand at the shop and the flat above it, the whole lot. “Tell me, how does a lassie of twenty-four end up wi’ a West End flat and her own business?”
“Through hard work.”
I snort. “You sure Mummy and Daddy didn’t help you out?”
She holds my gaze for another few seconds then looks away. A concession.
That’s enough now, a voice in my head says, but I don’t listen to it.
“See,” I say. “I know your type, princess.”
When she looks back at me, the hurt in her eyes wipes the satisfaction right out of me. Ah, fuck. She’s not the one I’m angry with. Not really. I’m searching for something to say that won’t make this worse when she points a finger at me.
“You,” she says, “are in no position to judge anybody.”
“How’s that, then?”
“Because you hurt people for a living. What you do…it’s basically human cockfighting!”
Well, someone’s been looking me up. The slur suits me better than the hurt in her face. Somebody having a go at me—I know what to do with that.
“I don’t know what you’ve heard,” I say deadpan, “but we don’t actually use our cocks.”
She turns scarlet. Properly scarlet. Her mouth opens, then closes again. Nothing. Christ, posh girls are easy to shock.
I push off the car, open the door, and get in. She’s still standing there when I drive off, apparently still coming to terms with the fact I said “cocks” in her presence.
CHAPTER SIX
BRIONY
