Page 101 of Luck of the Devil

James shifted in his chair. His brow rose, but he said nothing.

“Harper,” Keith said, his voice full of forced warmth. “How are you?”

A year ago, I would have fallen for it. Hell, I had. But we were way past that now. “Cut the bullshit, Keith. You don’t give a single fuck how I am. Why are you calling?”

Keith paused, probably surprised by my tone. “I can’t believe you’re saying I don’t care. After everything we’ve been through?”

James’s jaw tightened, his fingers tightening around his mug.

I shook my head, my anger rising. “I’m not wasting my time going through our history, so once again, why did you call?”

“I heard about your mother.”

“Did you now?” I countered, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice.

“I know you two weren’t close,” he continued, ignoring my sarcasm. “But I can only imagine what you’re going through.”

I rolled my eyes. James shifted again, now bracing his forearms on the table, his body tense.

“You care what I’m going through now?” I asked, pissed that I’d taken the bait.

“You know that I cared,” Keith said in that soft, manipulative tone he’d always used when he wanted something. “We can’t have shared what we did without it leaving a mark.”

James released a low growl, barely audible, but unmistakable.

“That’s funny,” I said. “Since narcissists usually only care about themselves.” I forced myself to calm down. I needed to regain control. “Which means you’re calling for another reason, so again, stop wasting my time and tell me why you’re calling me after five months.”

“You’re wrong, Harper,” he said in the sultry tone he’d used when he was trying to seduce me. “I do care about you. I miss you.”

Once upon a time, it had worked. Now it filled me with disgust. I just rolled my eyes.

Across the table, James’s knuckles whitened around his mug.

I stayed silent, refusing to fall into whatever trap he was laying out.

“Like I said,” he continued when he realized I wasn’t going to respond. “I heard about your mother, and I was checking on you.”

“I’m fine. Thank you for calling,” I said in a professional tone. “So if that’s all, I’ll let you go.”

“Wait.”

A grim smile of satisfaction spread across my face. He knew how to play me, but I knew how to play him too. “Was there something else?”

James leaned in slightly, posture alert, like he was waiting for the first sign of a threat.

“I got a call yesterday.”

“I’m sure you got a dozen calls yesterday.”

“Fair enough,” he conceded, his tone shifting back to business. “But the caller was asking about you specifically.”

“Who was it?” I knew who had called, but I was curious to get his take on it.

“Someone from the Attorney General’s office. He was asking about your performance as a detective.”

I felt the tension in the room shift—tight, electric—but I kept my eyes on my phone, my expression neutral.

“Really?” I asked. “And did you tell him I was reckless and … how did you put it? Prone to flights of fancy?”