Trust.
“I don’t know.”
“Well, I’m not asking. I’m telling you.” I hate how my body responds to his authority, the same authority that’s improved my swordplay more in ten days than two months of training with Nick. “I mean, as long as you agree…” He pauses, extending the mug like a peace offering. “Here, have a sip of this first.”
The cup of tea I brewed a few minutes ago sits forgotten on the kitchenette counter.
“What is this?” I eye the mug. “Because if it’s coffee, I don’t—”
He cuts me off. “I know.Vanity Fairmentioned you like English breakfast tea with honey. I guessed on the sweeter side, since you admitted to sneaking sugar in your mom’s sun tea.”
A shiver runs down my spine, one that has nothing to do with the morning chill. “Some might call it creepy to research someone so thoroughly.” Red flag number twenty-three waves bright in my mind, but I take the mug anyway.
“Butyoufind it endearing because you love research.” The knowing look in his golden eyes makes my stomach flip, and I hate that he’s right—both about the research and about how I feel about his attention to detail.
The first sip spreads across my tongue. It’s perfectly steeped, the honey melted just right. Damn him.
“Thank you, Mr. Hastings,” I manage, eyeing my script like a lifeline. “As much as I’d love to see whatever you have planned, I’m planning to spend the morning reviewing Felix’s notes and triple-checking my lines for next week.”
“Let me guess, Felix added more tears?” It’s a rhetorical question, because he knows the answer is yes. Every day, Felix is either wanting more cleavage or more waterworks.
“Once he gets into the editing process, he’ll see that my suggestions are superior.” At least, I hope so.
“Sure.” He says it half-heartedly. “And until then, we’re going for a drive.”
“I told you, I can’t leave the camp.” The words come out automatically. “And my lines—”
“Won’t go anywhere. Come on, Reese. When has playing it safe ever served you? Or Robyn, for that matter?”
“That’s different,” I manage, but my resolve is already cracking. “Robyn has a cause. She has—”
“Nothing to lose? Neither do you.” He takes another step closer, and the doorway shrinks. “Think about it. What if Robyn had stayed in the village? What if she’d never picked up a sword, never challenged the king’s men?” His eyes lock onto mine. “Some risks are worth taking, Reese. And I promise you, this one is. It’s just like how we danced that first night of training. You need to get out of your head.”
I do, but I shouldn’t leave. Not with him.
But this is about the role, I tell myself firmly, ignoring the way my skin tingles when he smiles.
Just the role.
To become a better Robyn.
Nothing more.
I raise an eyebrow at him. “No underlying intentions?”
“From me?” He gasps dramatically. “It’s my job to make sure you perform your best, and you’ve been so diligent in providing me weekly homework assignments that today I thought it’s time I giveyoua lesson.”
I shouldn’t go. Not when I’m thinking about what otherlessonshe could give me.
“Give me five minutes to change,” I hear myself say, even as my inner voice screams something about career suicide. But there’s no denying that his unconventional methods have results, do they?
“Yes, ma’am.” He turns away instantly, a gesture so respectful it aches. I dress in a sweatshirt, jeans, a cap, and sunglasses, adding lip gloss before I can question why.
When I emerge, his back is still turned. Something flutters beneath my ribs.
“I should give this back to you,” I say, holding out his jacket carefully to maintain the air gap between us.
“Keep it,” he replies, eyes dancing. And I reluctantly hang it back up on the coat rack by my door.
