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He leans back in his seat and surveys me with a leisurely gaze. “Actually, Shiv,” he says with a smirk, “’twas yourself, darlin’, who reached out to me. And I ’ave ter say, I was rather surprised by your text. Delighted, fer sher, but definitely a wee bit taken aback.”

I shut my eyes for a moment and take a deep, cleansing breath, trying to steel my resolve. Somewhere inside me is a bubbling cauldron of knowledge and wisdom, but when it comes to dealing with this clown and his bullshit fake accents—my last nerve is stretched to the breaking point.

Setting my focus on Killian again, I say, “Not how I remember it. But if that’s the story you need to tell yourself, fine, be my guest.”

Killian smirks. “Your concession is noted. It’s so generous of you to acknowledge your role in putting this whole thing into play.”

I’m about to unleash, but luckily, I’m saved by Maisie, who arrives with Killian’s pint, though my water seems to have slipped her mind.

“So sorry,” Maisie says. “I guess I forgot about you—erm, the water, that is.”

When she’s gone, I turn back to Killian. “You might want to reassure her that I pose absolutely no threat to whatever it is you two have.”

Killian raises a brow, takes a slow sip of his beer. “And why would I say something like that?” He returns his pint to the table. “Why would you ask me to lie to the poor lass?”

Silently, I count to three. When that doesn’t work, I do it again. When my composure is somewhat intact, I say, “Here’s what I know. One—you killed my dad. Two—there is zero chance of anything happening between us—never, ever, ever, forever—because of the first reason. The sooner you make peace with that, the better for everyone.”

Killian leans way back in his chair, tipping it on its two hind legs. “I wouldn’t be too certain of that,” he says.

“Well, then you grossly overestimate your powers of charisma,” I snap.

Killian offers a sardonic grin. “I seem to remember you threatening to go back in time so you could kill me and save your father,” he says. “And yet, I’m still here.” He rights his seat and spreads his arms wide, presumably so I can marvel at his impressive wingspan. “Which leads me to believe that you rather enjoy having me around. If nothing else, I’m witty, amusing, and as many will vouch, devastatingly handsome as well.”

“Or maybe,” I say, a sharp edge to my voice, “and far more likely, I just haven’t gotten around to it yet.”

“But you did Trip, Shiv, didn’t you?” he prods, looking at me with an all-knowing gaze.

I refuse to confirm or deny.

“Because when I returned to Gray Wolf, I found you and your pal Elodie notably absent. Of course, I covered for you, and told Arthur you were feeling unwell. Which, by the way, you still haven’t acknowledged.”

“I’ll be sure to pop a thank-you card into the mail.” A smirk tugs at my lips. “Tell me, Killian,” I say, “were you worried? Were you checking every five minutes to see if you still exist?”

He hesitates, giving Maisie the opportunity to set down our shepherd’s pies without having to listen to this. Of course, my water is conspicuously absent.

“Maisie, darling,” he says. “Aren’t you forgetting something?”

Maisie casts a wary look my way before departing.

“So, Shiv, where were we?” Killian asks, refocusing on me.

“You were worried I might actually follow through on my threats against you.”

“Right.” He nods. “That.” Attacking his plate with the vigor of one who hasn’t eaten for a week, he glances at my own untouched meal. “Aren’t you at least going to take a bite?” He gestures with his fork toward my plate.

I shake my head and slide the pie across the table toward him. “Look,” I say, “let’s cut through this charade. We both know you’re the one who asked to meet when I saw you in Arthur’s office. So can we please just skip this unbearable back and forth and just tell me what this is really about?”

He chuckles, pausing mid-bite, fork hovering before him. “Boy, you really have quite the aversion to the small pleasantries in life, don’t you?”

I roll my eyes, seconds from walking away if he insists on continuing with this.

“All right,” he concedes, “here’s the bottom line…” He pauses, drawing out the moment in a clear display of dominance that annoys me to no end.

Still, I sit here and watch as he leisurely forks a piece of shepherd’s pie into his mouth, deliberately taking his time to chew. After swallowing, he sets his fork down and indulges in a lengthy sip of beer. Then, with exaggerated precision, he grabs a napkin and dabs at the corners of his mouth.

While I’m sure there’s someone out there who would really get off watching a man as objectively handsome as Killian eat with such gusto, for me, this absurd display is totally nauseating.

Finally, when it’s over, he motions me closer, another obvious power play, but I remain right where I am, refusing to yield to him.