Page 50 of Heated (Burned, Inc.)
“I think you’re asking the wrong question,” she throws back at me. But I don’t miss the rasp in that voice. I know that rasp. Know what’s behind it. Intimately. “It isn’t whether I’m a good enough actress; it’s whetheryouare. Do you really believe your esteemed colleagues are going to buy you cravingme? Losing control forme?”
I still, her words from now and the past running so fast through my head they crash into each other like a pileup on I-70.
“You said something similar when I originally proposed this arrangement. Tell me why you think we wouldn’t be believable as a couple. And don’t avoid the question this time.”
Her lips flatten, her throat working as if she’s physically swallowing her answer. But finally she says, “Because men like you go for women like Val. As you’ve proven.”
“Men like me.” I pause. And here I thought I wasn’t hard to offend. I’m fucking offended. “Explain.”
“God, Cyrus, are you being deliberately obtuse?” she huffs. “Beautiful men who drop three thousand dollars on a suit, drive luxurycars, and think nothing of paying thousands of dollars for a plate of dry chicken at charity events.Thatkind of man.”
Beautiful men.
My dick jerks, focusing on those two words, but my mind zeroes in on the rest of her explanation.
“Better question, then. What makes you think a man like me wouldn’t want a woman like you?”
“Even better question,” she lobs back. “When was the last time you were with a woman like me?”
Shit.
Shit.
At my silence, Zora nods, her mouth twisting into a caricature of a smile. One that cuts me to the quick.
“Right,” she drawls.
After gathering her purse from the back of her chair, she removes several bills from it and places them next to her plate. She rises from her chair, slipping her purse strap over her shoulder.
“Thank you for lunch.”
With a tight smile that doesn’t reach her eyes, she pivots on her heel and exits the restaurant.
Dammit.
That did not go as planned.
