Page 35 of Twisted Knight

He studies me too, making me shift from one foot to the other.

“What more do you want from me?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want answers to,” he says, and there is something in his tone that says there are many different meanings behind that comment.

“Great. Perfect. I won’t.” Fuck this. I move toward the door. “Next time you want someone to spar with for your amusement, summon someone else. You’re wasting my time.”

“Rowan.” There’s something in his tone that has me stopping in the doorway. “You’re allowed to look but not touch, right?”

“What?” I turn to face him.

“What if I allowed you to touch? To matter to this company?”

My chuckle is disbelieving. “I’d think you’re full of shit just like the rest of them.”

He tilts his head to the side and studies me. “No, I think you’re scared that I’m not. What if I gave you the chance? What if I let you help me? Then you just might have to prove your worth and the thought freaks you out because maybe you’re all show and no substance.”

I grit my teeth, refusing to take the bait I think he’s throwing my way. The praise was first. Then the backhanded comment. Now the carrot dangled.

He’s waiting for me to act with the irrationality everyone in this town expects from a female. I think.

I don’t know.

“Nothing to say to that?” He chuckles. “Then maybe I was right. Maybe you talk a good game but can’t back it up.”

“This is amusing to you, isn’t it?” Just like every other male in my life.

“How about you start small and stay in your lane, then?” He quirks an eyebrow. “What if I told you that I wanted to revamp our advertising campaign. The ads—the ones with you in them—are stunning, but they call to me. A man. Women drink, do they not? Isn’t that a massive demographic we should be courting? When is the last time you walked into a party and saw a man drinking a mixed cocktail out of a can? They don’t. We need new slogans. Male models on the beach—with you, of course.”

“Alcohol is historically and typically marketed to men,” I say while staring at a man who is saying everything I’ve been espousing for months.

I reject his suggestion out of principle. Off the assumption that he has somehow seen the proposals I gave to Rhett on this and is just using them to try to win me over.

Minefield.

Everywhere I look it’s a goddamn minefield.

“And yet you’ve stated more than once in your online interviews that TinSpirits is anything but typical.” He folds his arms over his chest but keeps his eyes focused on me. “I think you’d jump at the chance to change things up. What’s wrong, Rowan? Afraid of change?”

“No. I’m afraid of you.” The words are out before I can stop them. An honest answer when I should be anything but.

He nods ever so subtly, arrogance brimming in every ounce of his posture. “A little dose now and again is healthy.”

We wage a visual war. One I’m more than certain I’m losing as the entirety of this conversation repeats over and over through my mind. As I try to pinpoint what his angle is and his sincerity behind it.

Or if I’m just a pawn in this game of his.

“I don’t trust you.” The words are barely audible.

“Nor I you,” he says casually. “But we have to start somewhere, don’t we?”

There’s a catch here, and I can’t exactly figure what it is yet.

“It takes a lot more than pretty words and flattery to win me over.”

“I wouldn’t expect any less.” He pauses and the silence weighs heavy in the air, almost as if it knows what he’s about to offer next. “The way I see it, Rowan, is that you can either work with me on this deal or against me. It’s best that I point out that one option is assuredly better for you.”

My curiosity is piqued. My reason is skeptical. “Why would I work with you?”