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“That should keep you occupied for a while.”
“I’m sure it will.” She gives a gentle smile in thanks. Again, I know it’s fake. She despises me under those heavy layers of goodwill.
“Have I earned your trust yet?” she murmurs. “Can we finally address why we’re both here?”
This is the tricky part.
The pivotal point.
I break eye contact and retrace my steps, placing the vodka back in the cabinet.
“The trust isn’t only for my benefit, Nissa. I need you to feel the same way about me, too. Otherwise what’s the point in sharing information you won’t believe?”
“Why wouldn’t I believe it?” She narrows her gaze. “I think we’ve come as far as we’re going to get today with our faith in each other. We’ve been civil for, what?” She glances at her watch. “More than an hour now. I think that says a lot.”
“I guess it does.”
She sits forward in her seat, moving closer. “So, tell me, why don’t you think I’ll believe you?”
“Because the information isn’t going to be what you want to hear.”
She bristles and slumps back in her chair. “You’re going to try and convince me your father isn’t involved.”
“Yes.”
“Then you’re right.” Her voice grows bitter. “I don’t believe you. Just like I don’t believe you had nothing to do with his escape.”
I chuckle, but the enjoyment is forced. I’m growing tired of this. “I guess this means we’ve returned to square one.”
“This isn’t a joke.” She throws back a gulp of vodka, the slightest tremble taking over her hand. “And I’m sick of your goddamn games. You need to tell me something. Anything.”
“I just did.” I keep my tone measured. Level. “What can I do when you’re determined not to believe me?”
“You can start by telling me anything with a glimpse of truth to it. Tell me something I can believe,” she begs. “Something true.”
Her pleas are music to my ears, sweet and powerless.
“How ’bout I come clean and tell you my comment about the little black dress in your closet was nothing more than a calculated guess?”
She stiffens, her lips pressing into a tight line of disbelief.
“What woman doesn’t own one of those dresses?” I smirk. “And I made an assumption about your preference for vodka. I haven’t invaded your privacy as much as I wanted you to believe.”
She keeps eying me, no doubt pondering my honesty, her tongue snaking out to quickly moisten her lower lip.
“But I did send you those flowers,” I admit, “and I enjoyed coming up with the notes. I even watched you myself. Every morning on your run, and every night when you returned home. The rest of the time, my men kept an eye on you.”
She swallows, her delicate throat working overtime. “I appreciate the honesty.”
I want to laugh. I’ve divulged my secrets, along with incriminating information, and all I’m getting is appreciation? “You’re a hard woman to please, Ms. Fox.”
“And you’re a hard man to trust, Mr. Torian.”
Being hard is definitely becoming an issue. The more time I spend with this viperous enemy, the more she holds my attention.
“But I will trust you,” she lies, her voice breathy with the rush of anticipation. “Now, please, tell me what you know.”