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“No,” I say, looking at my plate as I eat.
“Interesting. Why not?”
Interesting. My misery isinterestingto him. I glare down at my pasta. “A glimpse of the outside world, as a patronizing pat on the head for being a good little girl? It would be torture, not pleasure. It would remind me of the freedom I can never have again.”
“I didn’t say a glimpse. We could walk outside every day that the weather permitted.”
“You could take me for daily walks like a dog chained to your leash, you mean? Again, no.”
He sighs, as if he’s a parent dealing with a very trying toddler. “Your sulky attitude is getting very boring, Toy. What would make you happy aside from freedom?”
I shoot him a nasty look. “If you shut the fuck up and let me eat my food without talking to me. Forever.”
“How unfortunate.” He gives me that bland, maddening smile that reminds me who’s in control here. “That’s not going to happen. Anyway. I find that I’m interested in your ideas, your perspectives.” I scoop up a forkful of fettucine, avoiding his gaze and trying not to let myself feel flattered. I know what an intellectual snob he is, how few people he respects enough to carry on more than a brief conversation. The fact that he never seems to tire of me, that he considers my thoughts and ideas worthy, it makes me feel good about myself. But also angry with myself. After everything he’s put me through, I refuse to be that easy.
“I’d like our conversations to be civil,” he continues, “and I’d like to achieve that without having to revert to my more brutal methods of chastisement, but my patience is nearing an end. And if you tell me to kill you one more time, I’ll hang you over the electric plate until you pass out. Or maybe I’ll heat up my branding iron.” And just like that, the warm feelings that were fizzing around inside me evaporate.
The thought of my flesh being burned makes me quail inwardly, so before I lose my nerve, I drop my plastic spoon, casually pick up my plate of pasta, and throw it in his face. “Kill me.”
And I brace myself for pain. A lot of pain.
Instead, his eyes flare with what I swear is arousal as he sits there with fettuccine alfredo sauce dripping onto his shirt.
He loves it when I fight him. It turns him on.
“I’m disappointed in you, Toy.” He picks up a napkin and mops strands of pasta from his face. “If you were smart, you’d start negotiating. How about a million-dollar donation to the battered women’s shelter?”
That sends a shockwave through me. He says it so casually, but that’s an enormous amount of money. My God, the lives that could be changed with that money. I could actually do some good before I figure out a way to end myself. He’s offering me a little bit of power.
“What would you ask in return?” I ask cautiously.
He cocks his head. “First answer a question. This is the first offer of mine that you’ve shown any interest in. Oh, and you briefly got excited when you thought I could use my software to benefit law enforcement. You talked to me then, but after that, you stopped. Why don’t you want things for yourself? Why do you care about helping people so much?” I hate the mockery lacing his voice.
How can you answer a question like that? How can you explain compassion and empathy to a man with an iceberg heart?
“Penance for my sins, maybe. I just… I want to make a difference to people.”
“That’s pure ego, you know,” he says with mild contempt as he picks up his napkin and scrubs at his face. “You just want to do good things for people so you can feel better about yourself.”
I shrug. “All philanthropy is selfish at heart. It doesn’t matter. Yes, it feels good to do good things for people, to make the world a better place. So what? Does that mean I should do bad things, and make the world a worse place, so I don’t feel good? That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Interesting point.” He chews it over, considering it, then nods. “This helps me understand philanthropy, on some level. So are we agreed? Anonymous million-dollar donation, in exchange for you answering questions when I ask them?”
Fuck. Damn. Hell.
He’s doing it.
He’s breaking me down. He swore he’d make me accept my life here.
And I’m letting him.
Just for now,I promise myself.
Not forever.
“I will accept the deal, if you answer one question for me.”
“Depends on the question.”
