Page 57 of Merciless Daddy

She was trying to kill me.

Not efficiently, but with great enthusiasm.

“Do you call every useful woman a good girl?” she asked.

My pen stopped.

There it was.

“No.”

“Only kidnapped Russian women?”

“No.”

“Only the ones who discover failures in your security?”

“The words mean nothing unless you want them to mean something.”

Her teasing faltered, then returned sharper.

“And if I do? What if I do want them to mean something.”

“That would require a longer conversation.”

“I’m here. Bored. I have plenty of time.”

“You’re sitting on my revised access schedule.”

“Then talk fast.”

I put down the pen.

She watched my hands. The faintest smile touched her mouth when she saw my fingers tighten.

“You enjoy provoking me,” I said.

“Very much.”

“Why?”

“I’m a brat. And you’re prettier when you suffer.”

“That is unkind.”

“I have never advertised kindness.”

“No. You hide it under lies about coffee trays.”

Her smile vanished.

I had found the soft part and touched it. Not cruelly. Still, she resented being seen there.

So she drank my whisky again and crossed one ankle over the other.

“Say it,” she said. “Tell me to stop drinking the whiskey. Tell me I’m being bad. That you’ll teach me a lesson.”

“No.”