Page 60 of Filthy Little Lies

“Why are you in my office?” I shut the door behind me, flicking the lock to be certain we aren’t disturbed. Mrs. Neville is gone for the evening, but Roman can be unpredictable. I don’t need him wandering in and trying to insert himself.

She smiles and with a shrug says, “I wanted to snoop.”

“At least you’re being honest.” I make my way to the wet bar in the corner and pour a whiskey. If I’m going to go toe to toe with her after the way my day went, I’m going to need some help.

People think being a criminal is hard. Having to maneuver through the underworld of liars and cheats, always having to be one step ahead of your adversary. But the real stress is working within the law. Having spent the last twelve hours ironing out more plans for shipping hubs here in Chicago, and two more in New York, I’m fried.

“Seems fair, right? Since you’ve done your own share of it.” She taps her fingers on the papers.

I lean against the bar taking a long sip of the whiskey, enjoying the sting of it as it glides down my throat.

“Did you think I wouldn’t look into your background?”

Her eyes flicker to the glass in my hand. She straightens her posture.

“I guess not.”

“I caught you trying to scam my shop. I had you in my house. Why wouldn’t I want to know everything about who you are and who you were? You wouldn’t even give me your real name until I had my belt off.”

She presses her lips together into a thin white line.

“You never even asked me,” she says softly then looks away. “You could have asked.”

“Would you have told me? There’s a lot in those files.”

“I’ve known you for ten days, Gabriel. Why would I tell you anything? This isn’t some financial report, this is my life. The things that have happened to me are not for your entertainment.”

I throw back the rest of the whisky and put the glass down, harder than I intend. She stiffens when it bangs into the glass top.

There are things not in those files. It’s that knowledge that makes my blood heat.

“You think I was entertained?” I discard the idea of having another drink.

I want her comfortable. I want her secrets. All of them. That means giving her what she needs. Right now, she needs a safe place to put those thoughts, those secrets. And at the moment, she’s looking at me like I’ve betrayed her in some way.

This sinking feeling in my chest must be guilt. It’s been so long since I’ve felt anything like it, I can’t be sure. But one thing I know, I fucking hate it.

I take a step toward her, pressing my hands into the back of the chair. “Answer me, do you think I was entertained by what was in there?”

She curls her fingers until they’re scrunching up the folder at the edges.

“I don’t know.”

“Savannah.” I snap her name, bringing her eyes shooting up. “I needed to know who you were. That’s all.”

“Then why is it still here? On the top of your desk. I didn’t even have to open a drawer to find it. It was just there sitting front and center on your ink blotter.”

“I haven’t looked at it since the first time I read it. If it was on top of the desk, it was because I probably shifted stuff around when I was getting ready to leave for New York and it got moved. That’s all.”

“Well, now you know who I am.” She stands from the couch, brings the folder back to the desk and drops it. “A delinquent who spent three months in juvie and a failed foster kid no one could ever love.”

“Is that who you think you are?”

“You’re right.” She points a finger at me. Her jaw tightens, and every muscle in her neck constricts. “I’m also a petty thief and low-level con artist.”

She storms to the door, but I get to her first, grabbing her arms and spinning her to face me. While she doesn’t fight me, she won’t look at me, either.

That’s fine. I’ll wait.