Page 33 of Slumming It

Once again, I considered the contrast between his outfit and the stuff he wantedmeto wear. I turned yet again to face him. "But don't you think we'd be a little…" I searched for the right word and settled on, "mismatched?"

His cool gaze flicked the length of me. "Not the wayIsee it."

"But when you compare us—"

"Look, you're a townie. I'm not. What do you expect?"

I stiffened.A townie?

I hated that word along with everything it implied. Was hetryingto humiliate me?

If so, he'd succeeded nicely, but damned if I'd show it.

I was still clutching the single hundred-dollar bill. My skirt had no pockets, but I was wearing my nicest purse – a little black one that I'd gotten on sale just after Christmas.

It wasn't designer or anything, but itwasgenuine leather.Mostly.

Now, it felt shabby and cheap.

Ifelt shabby and cheap. And I would feel even more shabby and cheap if I wore those stupid clothes.

I bit my lip. "The money – is that adailything or…" I let the words trail off, hoping he would pick up the slack.

He didn't.In the modest hotel room, the silence stretched out long past the point of comfort as our gazes locked in a visual standoff.

His eyes were cold and jaded. His full mouth was set in a firm, uncompromising line. His thick hair was movie-star perfect. And even though his shirt wasn't open like yesterday, it still managed to accentuate his muscular torso and trim waist.

Was the shirt custom-made?

Probably.

Bitterness rose in my throat. Nothing but the best forhim. Still, I kept my mouth shut and eyes open, refusing to blink even as my eyes began to sting with the effort – or my growing humiliation. I wasn't quite sure which.

For the umpteenth time, I considered the clothing on the bed.Thoseitems weren't custom-made, not that I expected them to be. Off the rack was perfectly fine. I just liked the rack to be new – or at least clean.

I mean, Ihadpurchased vintage clothing before.

Finally, it was Reese Murdock who broke the silence by asking in a tight voice, "Or what?"

Finally, I blinked. "Excuse me?" I'd been so lost in my own swirling thoughts that I'd forgotten my own question.

His eyes flashed with new annoyance. "We're wasting time."

What he really meant wasIwas wasting time. But considering his attitude, I refused to feel guilty. "Oh yeah? Well, wewouldn'tbe if you didn't make me beg for simple answers."

When he replied with nothing but a cold look, I repeated the gist of my belatedly recalled question. "The money…will it be the same amount every day?"

His jaw flexed. "Yes."

For all kinds of reasons, I didn't quite trust him. "In advance, like this time?"

His gaze held mine. "That depends."

"On what?"

"On how well you do today."

The words sounded like a threat, and I guess they were, at least when it came to the money. Still, I wasn't quite done. "And what about that agreement? You know, the nondisclosure?"