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My heart skips a beat. Does he know?
"It's a small town."
"What does that mean?" he asks, his eyes narrowing.
"Everyone knows the Fishers. They're one of the richest families in town—if not the richest."
"That isn't what I asked."
"I'm sorry; what did you ask?"
"Did you know—"
"Deanna Fisher?" I cocked my brow. "Yes, I knew her. From a distance."
A bomb blast from the television jolts me, and I jump. I realize my heart is beating fast, and panic is coursing through my veins. I take deep breaths, trying to relax. Tristan reduces the volume of the television and turns to me.
"What was she like?" he asks, crossing his arms.
"What was she like?" I repeat his question, more to myself than to him.
"Yeah."
"I hardly knew her," I maintain eye contact.
"Why?" He raises a perfect brow.
"Because she attended a private boarding school and not the one in town."
"Tell me what you know then."
I take a deep breath as I gather my thoughts. He isn't what I imagined. He's attentive and clever—maybe a little too clever. What did I expect from a cutthroat billionaire who would do anything to gain a buck?
He is attractive, too, I begrudgingly admit to myself. I could see what Deanna saw in him. His dark eyes are unreadable, and his face is so chiseled it almost looks carved out of marble. He has shadows of beards on his jawline, and his delicate lips look like they know how to please a woman or tell her what she wants to hear. His long lashes batting as he speaks are enough to make a woman turn to butter. His long manicured fingers—
"Layla." His voice cuts through my thoughts, and I find myself ashamed. This isn't what I'm here for.
"Deanna was regular," I begin, "which sounds like an insult, but it isn't. She was the daughter of the wealthiest family in town but acted regularly whenever she was here. She went to the same parties as the rest of us, she used the same products as the rest of us, and she ate the same junk shit as the rest of us. She helped whoever asked for her help, and she always wore her heart on her sleeves. Deanna was regular, but she was also special. So damned special."
My eyes water, and I quickly dab them with the back of my hand. This isn't going according to plan.
"You said you didn't know her." His voice sounds throaty, as if holding concealed emotions.
"I don't, not really."
"You're crying."
"A couple of tears is hardly crying."
How do I throw him off my scent?
"How do you know Deanna?" I ask as coolly as I can.
"You don't know?"
"Know what?"
He stares at me. I can see the gears turning in his head as he thinks about his answer. "I don't think this will work out."
