“No.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“Yes, it is.”
“It’s a refusal.”
“Correct.” I shivered.
Dean stared at me. “What exactly do you think I’m suggesting?”
“I don’t care.”
As soon as the words left my mouth, I knew they were a mistake.
Dean pressed his lips together, his face tightening. “You don’t care.”
I shoved the blankets aside and got out of bed, walking over to the window.
Behind me, the sound of the game show disappeared.
“I would call that an overreaction.”
“To what?”
“To travel plans.”
I faced him, blinking. “Travel plans?”
“Yes.”
I laughed, even though this whole conversation wasn’t remotely funny.
“You think that’s what we’re discussing?”
Dean set his jaw. “No, I think you’re doing that thing where you decide we’re discussing something else and refuse to tell me what it is.”
I looked through the window. Outside, headlights moved through the street below.
Tomorrow.
The gala wastomorrow.
Helen Brooks had sat across from me four days ago. I still hadn’t come to a decision.
And Dean was waiting for me to explain.
I took a deep breath, then faced him once more. “You wouldn’t like it there.”
“Why not?”
I folded my arms. “Because you wouldn’t.”
Dean continued to stare at me. Then he barked out a laugh, short and reeking of disbelief. “Wow.”
My heart pounded, and my breathing sounded too loud.
“You’re being dramatic.”
