Page 37 of Devil’s Promise

She doesn’t look at me as one shoulder comes up. But I set down the coffees on the shoe shelves that are tucked on one side of the closet. I barely have anything on them, though one shelf is now filled with Promise’s shoes.

“Your clothes are lot more revealing than I thought,” I say as I look at all the sexy pumps.

She doesn’t answer, obviously, but she doesn’t ask for my phone, nor does she make eye contact. Instead, she walks out of the closet and into the bedroom, where she returns to a suitcase on the bed.

From inside, she starts pulling out products that she carries into the bathroom.

I stand there, knowing that I’m being given the silent treatment from the mute girl.

I don’t like it one fucking bit.

“Promise,” I grit out, grabbing the coffee and following. “What’s the problem?”

She’s putting stuff on the shelf next to the sink, shampoo and conditioner in the shower.

But that’s when I see the tears on her lashes.

Fuck.

“I’ll repeat. What is the fucking problem?”

Her gaze snaps up, her expression pained as she shakes her head. Then she goes to brush by me again to get more stuff.

“Stop.”

She does, pausing next to me.

“Take your coffee.”

She slowly takes the cup from my hand.

“Do you drink coffee?”

She nods.

“Take a sip.”

She brings the cup to her lips, slowly drawing in a bit of the hot liquid.

“You’re upset.”

Her shoulders slump. She’s still wearing my T-shirt, her adorable toes curling into the tile.

“About what Axel said?”

She gives the smallest nod. I set my coffee on the counter. I spend a lot of my day with women.

And there are times when they just have to talk until they feel better. I know I said I’m not a good man, and I’m not, but I know when I need to convince a woman to perform, and that’s what Promise needs to do today.

So I hold out my phone.

She nips at her lip as she takes another sip of her coffee and then sets it down. I see her draw in a tremulous breath. And then she takes the phone and starts typing.

I won’t lie. There isn’t any love between me and my father. And what he just did to me, giving me away like I’m a piece of furniture and not a person…but I don’t have some grand plan. And I don’t need to turn you against my father. He’ll do that himself.

I read over her shoulder, softly grunting. It all feels like the truth.

I pick up my coffee, taking another sip, even as I rest my hand on her neck. And then I lean down and kiss her temple. But this action is more gray. Is it for me or for her? “What about the clothes?”