“You didn’t answer my question,” I say, the words coming out more terse than I intended. I make an effort to relax my voice. “I answered yours.”
“I saw a man at work with a missing finger,” Alex says, his gaze steady, watching me. I know he’s looking for my reaction. “It was a reasonable assumption.”
No, it wasn’t. Not from that alone. Someone loses a finger—foranyreason—and Alex immediately assumes he’s offering one up?
He’s not so dumb as to think I’d miss that logical fallacy. It would seem strange if I didn’t pick up on it.
“How did that happen then?” I ask dryly. “Did he close it in a door?”
“He lost it at work,” Alex replies, neutral. Yet the subtext is there: he lost itthroughwork.
Shit.
What kind of company takes a finger in payment?
One that rewards in millions.
What is Alex into? How has he earned his fortune?
And what will he do to keep it?
To hide my thoughts, I take a sip of coffee, not tasting it, struggling to swallow, my throat constricting.
That murderous look in his eye. Who was it directed at? Fournier? Van Wyk?
Or me.
Would he go so far, if they ordered it?
Surely not.
I want to believe that. I’m just not sure I can.
He willingly put his hand on the table. He offered his finger, in place of my night with Fournier.
Unless it was all a game.
Itwasa sick game, as it turned out. But I can’t believe Alex knew that, going in. Not with the reaction I saw, that flare of rage, the blankness that followed so swiftly. Still the scariest expression I’ve ever seen in my life, and it doesn’t belong to Van Wyk, themurderer. It’s Alex’s, the man who sits beside me, on our bed.
He wasn’t willing to trade me for a night, but is he willing to give me up to save his job? His fortune? Hislife?
How far would it have to go before his choicewasn’tme?
Alex pats my thigh through duvet. “It’s almost ten. You should get ready.”
For what?
Damn, we’re going to go and buy lingerie together,after this?
I don’t know if I can. I don’t know if I’m that good an actor.
But I’d better learn fast.
My life might depend on it.
“This one has potential,” Alex says, pulling out a diaphanous silk and lace camisole in black.
I own T-shirts that are longer.
