Page 3 of Silver Player

Staring back at her, I note her eyes for another second. Although she’s all of forty-something, the piercing glare matches the younger eyes stabbing me a half hour ago. My knees shake, and I want to lower to my seat, but I won’t give Roxanne the satisfaction.

Speaking of satisfaction, she’s one woman I can scratch off my list of potential past pleasure-seekers. I wouldn’t touch her if my pole was ten feet and—

“William,” she barks my given name. “Must I repeat myself? What did you say to Sadie?”

“Who’s Sadie?”

I don’t think a person can perfect a glare like the one Roxanne gives me, and then her brows slowly rise, and an expression of dawning occurs.

“Didn’t she tell you?” Her tone sounds puzzled.

“Did who tell me what?” I think on my question. “You know what, I don’t have time for you today.” I lower to my seat after all. My eyes drift to my desk as if I’m busy, but there isn’t a chance I can read a single invoice before me. Words blur together, and papers blend with other objects. My hands shake as I push around a few items. Then, I scoop together a spread of papers, stack them together, and collectively tap them on the desk hoping to express my disinterest in her.

“Sadie. Your daughter.” The disgust in Roxanne’s tone makes my blood boil, but her displeasure isn’t misplaced.

How did this happen? When? Who?

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I lie as Roxanne takes a step toward my desk. But my tongue trips over the truth before I can keep the next words inside. “And how would you know such things anyway? Look into a crystal ball and view my past? I know you’re obsessed with me, but that’s a bit much even for you,” I mock as I roll my hands over themselves mimicking her staring into a glass globe to learn all about me. She isn’t really obsessed with me. At least not that I can tell. I seem to repulse her at every encounter we have, but she’s darn good at poking the bear in me. And for some reason, I prod right back at her just as eagerly. One way I do that is by flirting with the assumption she has a crush on me, which would never be true.

She seems immune to my charm and has no interest in playing with me. Sexually, that is.

“You aren’t that interesting, actually, but I do know a bit about your past. Sadie McAllister is your daughter because you slept with my sister.”

“Excuse me?” I stare at those piercing orbs. Roxanne has these dark gray eyes, and I hate to admit I always notice them. Exotic. Rich. Gemlike.

“You.” She points at me, distracting me with her own form of sign language. “Slept.” She sticks her index finger through the circle made by her thumb and forefinger of her opposite hand. “With my.” She points at herself. “Sister.” Her hands return to her hips.

“Who’s your sister?”

“Theresa McAllister.”

“Trixie McAllister is your sister?” How did I not know this? Because you make it your purpose in life not to know anything about Roxanne other than her opening a bookstore across from the pub a few years ago and being a sour beer ever since. However, Theresa, nicknamed Trixie, I vaguely remember. She had a crush on me back in high school, and I haven’t seen her in, gosh…fifteen or sixteen years.

The timeframe rolls through my head like flipping back through an ancient calendar. Fifteen or sixteen years. I was thirty back then. Rachel and I had recently divorced. There was some sort of girls’ weekend reunion happening here in Blue Ridge. I’d slept with Trixie, fulfilling her high school fantasy of me and firing the starter pistol on my race to screw every woman I could.

The gleam of Roxanne’s eyes laser beams into mine, and I see the vague resemblance to her sister.

“What happened to you?” I snark, knowing I don’t mean it. Trixie was a looker back in high school and equally as good looking during our night together, but Roxanne and her look nothing alike.

“What do you mean?” Her arms lower to her sides, and she presses her fingers on the edge of my desk.

“Your sister was so pretty.” It’s a low blow, and I don’t miss her flinch at the insult. It’s an asshole comment because I’m in a shit mood. I actually think Roxanne is rather stunning. That eye color, with its strange mix of cold steel and sparkling silver, and how her light tan skin enhances the shade. However, as she’s the last person I want to see right now, I lash out at her. Then again, she’s the first person I need. “How did this happen?”

Roxanne smirks at me. “Well, William,” she begins in a mocking game-show announcer voice. “When a man loves a woman…” She stares down at me again, those swirling eyes quickly regaining a mask. “Oh wait, in your case…when a man only wants one thing, and he takes it—”

“Now wait a minute,” I seethe, standing back to my full height and leaning my hands on my side of the desk. “I never need to take, darlin’. Your sister gave herself willingly, repeatedly, and in more ways than one.”

“You’re disgusting,” she spits.

“The truth doesn’t hurt. I can admit my faults, but disgust wasn’t the expression on her face when we finished.” I dig the knife deeper, feeling the need to strike at her in my fear—the real fear—that there is a teeny-tiny inkling of possibility her sister and I created a child. “How do I know she’s even mine?”

“Did you look at her? She has Harrington written all over her.”

Actually, I did look at the girl, but I didn’t see a single trace of me in her. Of course, I didn’t realize I should be looking for signs, but with the raven-colored hair and the icy brown eyes, she doesn’t come remotely close to looking like a Harrington. As I glare back at Roxanne, I realize the eyes burrowing a hole into me from the young thing at the bar match the shape of the woman’s before me digging just as deeply.

“I don’t understand.” I hate the tremble in my voice.

“As I already said, William, when a man puts his penis in a woman’s vagina, things can—”