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He laughs, turning around and heading out the door. I amble into my dressing room.
It’s a tiny space backstage, but it’s all mine. I close the door behind me, plaster my forehead to the cool wood of the door, and suck in a cleansing breath.
“You’re fine. Everything’s fine,” I tell myself out loud.
“I beg to differ,” someone drawls behind me, making me jump out of my skin. “Not many people who talk to themselves are considered fine.”
The voice, wry and amused, belongs to the only man I do have some feelings toward these days. Pure loathing, to be specific. I find Arsène sitting on a tattered yellow couch, one leg crossed over the other, the forbidding emperor that he is.
“Mr. Corbin, what a surprise.” My heart ripples in my chest. It’s the first time I feel the organ in months, and I don’t like that this Byronic, tortured man is the reason. “What brings you to my little den?”
“I’m currently between meetings. I’m thinking of acquiring an escape room on Bryant Park. Medieval-dungeon themed. They seem to be all the rage.”
“Thanks for sharing. It means a lot. Now, let me be specific. What are you doing in my room?” I gather my hair into a ponytail.
“Your room?” He arches a skeptical brow. “I hadn’t realized you’re so fiercely possessive of it. Grew up with siblings, huh?”
Yes, but I’m not going to give him the satisfaction by sharing this piece of information with him. Also, I hate how his tone is always friendly and mocking, like he can stand me more than I can stand him.
“You grew up with a sister too. Though I can’t say you felt very brotherly toward her at all.” I cross my arms over my chest, leaning against the door. “Cut to the chase. I have things to do today.”
“I didn’t know they taught you sarcasm in God’s Country, Bumpkin.” He runs a hand over his athletic thigh, and I resist the urge to follow the movement with my eyes. “I think it’s time we exchange notes about what happened that night.” He drapes his arm along the back of the couch. “Everything we found out in the aftermath. I’ll show you mine, and you’ll show me yours, so to speak.”
“I don’t like to be shown anything by you.” I wrinkle my nose.
Truthfully, I want to do this. Badly. The amount of times I’ve considered reaching out to this man to ask him what he knows is countless. But I also don’t trust his intentions, considering our brief history.
His lips twist in a grin. “How many Hail Marys do you need to say for lying, Winnifred?”
“I’m not lying.”
“Yes, you are.” His smirk widens. “I know because your lips are moving.”
“Even if I do want to exchange notes”—I roll my eyes—“how do I know you’ll tell the truth? You could lie just to spite me. What if I fulfill my part of the bargain and you bullshit your way out of it?”
“I’ve no particular interest in hurting you,” he assures me calmly. “Nor sparing you any pain. I simply want to put together the most accurate picture of what happened.”
“And you want to get this information from a—quote—gold-digging bitch like me?” I fail to keep the hurt out of my words.
“Winnifred, darling!” He tips his head, roaring with laughter. I really want to stab him. Right in the throat. “Don’t tell me you got offended? Sweetheart, you being a gold digger earns you nothing but brownie points from me. Don’t forget I work on Wall Street, where greed is welcome—even celebrated.”
“You’re a horrid person.” I shake my head.
“Why, thank you. At any rate, as I said, I have a few spare minutes and some information I’m sure you’d be interested in. I gathered that Lucas’s rehearsal is over, so if you feel like exchanging notes, there’s no time like the present.”
I finger my chin, my curiosity piqued. The need to know what happened is greater than the desire to stick it to him. Plus, I have nowhere else to be right now. My schedule’s wide open and consists mainly of staring at the walls in my apartment.
“All right.” I cross the tiny space between the door and my vanity, plopping onto a chair opposite him. “But be quick about it.”
He shakes his head. “Not here.”
“Why?”
“We could be seen.”
“And?” I narrow my eyes at him.
“And I don’t want to be affiliated with you for numerous reasons, all of them highly logical.” He spells it out for me. “The main one being that, technically speaking, I’m your employer. We shouldn’t be in a closed room together.”
“Gosh, employer. That’s a big word for someone who barely pays us minimum wage around here.”
He grins again, satisfied with the trouble I’m giving him. “It’s a free country. If you wish to be employed somewhere else, I’d be the last person to stop you.”
