Page 16 of 1001 Dark Nights: Bundle Forty-Two

“No. That’s not—”

“I mean, I know it’s not like your castle, and I’m sorry tomake you go slumming, but I think it’s the best thing for the night, just incase we were followed. Better to stick for a bit, and I promise you, thesecurity at this place is at least as good as what Mario just installed. It maynot look like much, but I assure you it’s as safe as your fortress.”

“Fuck you,” I say. “And fine. I’ll sleep on the couch. Foryour information, you sanctimonious ass, I do like thisplace. It reminds me of the first house I bought when I finally—finally—movedout of Beverly Hills and that ridiculous cake-topper of a house my dad had metrapped in.”

“Trapped?” He puts down the carafe and looks at me. “In yourfancy child star life?”

“Fuck. You.” I stand up, wishing Icould just walk away from this guy. From his comments and questions and bullshit assumptions about some shiny perfect childhood,when the reality is I always felt like a prisoner in my own damn life.

But that’s not something I talk about, and now this bastard is painting some damned rosy picture, and because Iwas too stupid to insist that Ryan assign Leah, I’m stuck like glue to Mr.Holier Than Thou because someone is trying to kill me, and I really don’t knowhow—

Fuck.

My heart is racing and the world has gone blurry, and Irealize I’m looking at him through tears. I push backthe chair, then move the short distance to the couch. I kick off my shoes, thensettle into the corner, my feet curled under me. There’s an olivegreen throw pillow, and I pull it close, then hug it tight to my chest. Fuck, fuck, fuck.

I do not show vulnerability, and I donot cry in public. Not ever.

And yet here I am, about to lose it to a waterfall of tearsand sobs in front of this utter and complete a-hole,and I don’t know if it’s because he brought up my dad or because he’s a jerk orbecause I’m just plain scared.

“Frannie…” He’s standing at the end of the sofa looking downat me, his face full of contrition.

“It’s Francesca,” I snap. “Just leave me alone.”

He frowns, then sits on the opposite end of the sofa.

I start to get up—if nothing else, I can find the bathroom,lock the door, and hide alone in there. But he puts his hand lightly on myknee.

“Hey,” he says.

I want to slap it away. Hell, I want to run away.

Instead, the tears start to fall, and right then all Ireally want to do is sink into these cushions and disappear.

“Francesca,” he says, “I’m sorry.” It’s that gentle voicethat does me in. I can feel the band inside me that’s been holding everything.It’s tight, stretched to the limit, and now it just snaps, and all the wordsinside me come flying out, my voice hard and harsh and full of tears.

“I have done nothing—nothing—to giveyou reason to be such a goddamn prick to me, and every time I think that maybeyou’re going to be just a tiny bit human, you prove mewrong. But I’ve let you under my skin. I’ve hired you. Hell, I’ve trustedyou. And then you go and slash me with a knife. So you tell me, Simon. Why areyou here? Why are you the one protecting me when as far as I can tell, youcouldn’t care less if I live or die. Why, why, why?”

Chapter Six

Simon forced himself not to cringe.

He had no idea what had actually sether off. Something more than the fact that he’d basically called her a spoiledchild star, that was for sure. Not his most shining moment, but he knew damn well she’d been called worse in the tabloids.

It wasn’t that.

But damned if he knew what the realtrigger was.

Right now, though, it didn’t matter. At the core of it, he’dlit the fuse.

He was an ass, just like she’d said, and he’d been baitingand belittling her since the moment he’d met her. He’d put his own shit between them, and it had sat there like a ticking timebomb until it had finally exploded.

But, dammit, he wasn’t letting hisshit destroy her. Frannie was too damn strong, and hewasn’t going to be the one who broke her.

“I’m sorry,” he said, reaching tentatively to put his handback on her knee. “I’m really sorry. It’s not you.”

She released the pillow long enough to slap his hand away.“Screw you,” she said. “You think you’re so much better than me. You think allI do is playacting. That you’re out there saving people and making the worldsafe for democracy, and that what I do doesn’t matter. But you’re wrong. Mywork matters, too. I give people an escape. I give them empathy.”

She drew a breath, and he almost started to speak, but she continued on, her words coming out like the rat-a-tat of amachine gun.