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I blink at him.
“That might be the politest way anyone has ever told me that I stink,” I mutter as I rummage through the bottles and sprays—trying desperately not to gawk. Dior, Hermes… Jesus, Chanel does shampoo? The price tag on even one or two of these items could have fed me for a week.
“I meant no offense, ma’am,” Angus says, retreating to the door. “However, coincidentally, this room has some of our nicest showering facilities.”
Still distracted by the products in front of me, it takes me a second to process what he’s said.
“Hey!” I cry out in outrage.
Only Angus has already left. Presumably to get out of my line of fire.
***
After an ungodly amount of hot water, and after experimenting with almost every lotion and cream in my possession, I think I’m about willing to forgive Angus for his transgressions.
Especially considering how thoughtfully he picked out the clothing… and how much he must have spent on it. I tell myself that Arnie is footing the bill, so therefore, I should shake him down for every penny.
However, despite Angus providing me with an array of dresses, I opted for a pair of stretchy bell-bottoms (that I’m sure I have a dupe of back home) and a cropped blouse.
When I look in the mirror to comb through my damp hair, it’s an oddly reassuring sight. Despite everything, I still look like me. And the clothes only help me feel more at home in my own skin.
With the ringing in my head subsiding with every step, I leave the bedroom and follow my nose along the corridor. Despite the queasy feeling in my stomach, the scent of freshly cooked food makes me realize how hungry I am.
Finally, I round a corner and step through an open door into a dining hall. “Hall” being the operative word. The ceiling is so tall it must stretch multiple floors—making the wall of glass on the far side just that much more impressive. It feels as if I’m practically walking outside.
“Roisin.”
My attention is drawn to the table in the middle of the room, large enough to seat at least thirty people—and yet it’s only set for two. One chair, presumably meant for me, is across the table, at the other end; Arnie already occupies the seat furthest away.
I don’t acknowledge him as I sit down. Choosing instead to admire the spread of food already laid out for us. Not to mention the generous amount of red wine stacked to one side.
“Did you sleep well?” Arnie tries again.
I help myself to some mashed potato and a slice of meat that looks like it could be duck.
“You look better. Do you feel it?”
I waste no time shovelling what I can into my mouth. Huh, it’s just chicken.
“You can’t ignore me all evening, Roisin. You’re being childish.”
Finally, I let my gaze land on him lazily. Pretending to be entirely unaffected by the effortless way his dark hair falls across his face. The shirt that’s been loosened at the collar, revealing a few dark chest hairs, and his sleeves rolled up to his elbows.
“I’m sorry. Did you expect me to ask how your day went?” I snap back.
Arnie leans away in his chair with a sigh. “I thought you might have some questions.”
“I do.”
“Then why not jump at the chance to ask them? You seemed perfectly keen this morning.”
I pour myself a generous glass of wine as I seethe. Of course, I have questions. They’re all I’ve been able to think about. But right now, we’re playing a game that I need to win.
“Do you usually wine and dine your captives?” I ask lightly, my glass in the light.
“You’re not my captive.”
“Then care to explain what the hell I’m doing here?”
