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She’s silent for a beat, an expression I can’t discern flitting over her face.
“How do you even know all that?’
“I did some research after you left,” I tell her off-handedly, leaning forward to dish some of the food onto my plate. I ask the maid to send my compliments to the chef. Daniella’s a little silent, although her eyes are fixed on my face.
“So you researched period cramps, childbirth, and gunshots after I left last night? Because I asked?” she questions.
“No, I did it because I was curious.”
“Oh, okay. That’s weird.”
I lean back in my chair and shoot her a look. “You don’t get to judge considering you’re the reason I fell down the rabbit hole in the first place. I now know more than I needed to know about the female reproductive system.”
“Dude, I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Yes, but you put the idea in my head, and I had to figure out an answer to your question.”
Daniella smiles. “You have OCD.”
“Did I miss the part where you have a degree in psychology and are able to diagnose mental disorders?”
“I took a class sophomore year. I know a little.”
“I’m not obsessive, Daniella. I do not have OCD.”
“Not even a little bit?”
I grit my teeth. “Are you incapable of not pissing me off?”
Her eyes flash. “That depends, are you incapable of not being a dick? You know what? Forget this.” She gets to her feet, the movement so sudden her chair falls to the floor. “I’m not losing any more sleep for this.”
My jaw tightens as I stare at her. “Sit down, Evans.”
“Make me.”
My lips curl into a smile. “You really don’t want to test me right now,tesoro.”
Her gaze flares with annoyance. “No, you don’t want to test me! I’m done with this bullshit, Christian.”
“You’re the one trying to make sure this relationship works out. Have a little more patience. Eat your food.”
“Don’t patronize me,” she retorts.
“Sit down. We’ll give this getting-to-know-each-other thing another go,” I tell her.
Finally, she grabs her chair from the floor, placing it upright before taking her seat. I lean forward.
At the risk of pissing her off again, I have to say, “You know you’re a little immature right?”
“You know you’re an asshole, right?”
“Yes.”
“Then yes to your question as well,” she agrees. “Can we move on to the getting-to-know-each-other bit?”
“What do you want to know?” I ask her.
“Something easy. Tell me what a normal day looks like for you. You can leave out all the murder bits since they’re so sensitive.”
