He stands, slow and deliberate, and picks up the beer. He takes a long swallow, then wipes his mouth with the back of his hand.
“I’ll be in my office,” he says, voice flat. “If you need anything.”
I don’t watch him go. I just stare into the embers, willing them to flare back to life.
They don’t.
I siton the couch an hour later, brain sloshed with adrenaline and misery, when I hear his footsteps again. This time, they’re heavy, decisive. He doesn’t pause in the kitchen, doesn’t loiter in the hall. He just comes straight for me, a shadow looming in the doorway, broad shoulders blocking out half the light.
I shrink back, wishing I could disappear into the upholstery. He stops at the edge of the rug, arms folded, and just stares at me. There’s no warmth in his face, no glimmer of the man who used to call me “sweetheart.” If anything, he looks annoyed that he’s been forced to repeat himself.
“I’m not going to apologize again,” he says, voice a dead monotone. “You deserve better than a half-assed sorry. You want the truth, I’ll give it to you.”
I want to tell him to fuck off, but my tongue won’t work. I just hug my knees tighter.
He walks over to the fire, pokes at the coals with the iron poker, and stands there, backlit by the orange glow. It makes him look even bigger, even more dangerous. His eyes never leave my face.
“I’m a thriller writer, Kat,” he says, matter-of-fact. “That’s what I do. My agent, Jonah, said I needed a break. ‘Get some inspiration, get some fresh meat in the cabin, see what comes out.’ So I did. And for the record? It worked. I’ve written more since you got here than I have in the past two years.”
I flinch at the word “meat,” but he doesn’t slow down.
“The romance novel stuff, the ‘research’—that was Jonah’s idea. He said it would be easier to get someone like you out here if I pretended it was for a legitimate reason. He was right.”
I can’t breathe. My ribs are knives under my skin.
Talon keeps going, unblinking. “This arrangement was designed to provide inspiration and physical release during my writing retreat. You were the solution to my writer’s block, Kat. A very sexy solution, but a solution nonetheless.”
I want to scream, but all that comes out is a dry, wounded gasp.
“Fuck you,” I whisper, but it’s not even angry. It’s just empty.
He tilts his head, eyes narrowing. “Look. If you want to hate me, go ahead. If you want to trash my name all over the internet, be my guest. But don’t pretend you didn’t get exactly what you signed up for.”
I shake my head, shaking all over. “That’s not—” My voice breaks, a guttering flame. “I thought it was real. I thought you needed an assistant—” I can’t say more. The words are stuck in my throat, a lump of razor wire.
He doesn’t blink. “You got paid six figures for your help. I got company. That was our arrangement. It doesn’t matter what I was researching, and what kind of book I put out in the end. That’s not your concern.”
I’m cold all over, but my face burns with humiliation. The words land like blows.
“So I was just a whore to you?” I say, the syllables stabbing out of my mouth like shrapnel.
He shrugs, so casual it makes me want to claw his face off. “If that’s how you want to look at it, sure. You got something out of it, too. That’s why these things work.”
I curl tighter, breath coming in ragged hitches.
“You lied to me,” I hiss. “You lured me out here under false pretenses. You fucked me. You took my fucking virginity and made me think itmeantsomething!”
He shakes his head, lips curling in a shadow of a smile. “Sweetheart, you don’t get to rewrite the script just because you don’t like the ending. I was honest about what I was doing. I paid you handsomely for it. That’s more than most people ever get. How many girls give it away for free, only to regret it later? At least you have a big number in your bank account now.”
I can’t take it anymore. I scramble to my feet, dizzy and off-balance. My legs give out and I hit the coffee table, scattering beer bottles and empty mugs. I’m crying so hard my vision is smeared.
I run—up the stairs, down the hall, into the first room I find. I slam the door and collapse on the floor, sobbing into the crook of my arm.
I can hear him moving around downstairs, unconcerned. A chair scrapes, a door opens and closes, and then nothing. It’s like I never existed.
For the first time since I got here, I wish I never had.
13
