Page 18 of Stealing Infinity (Stolen Beauty)

Asshole.

Breathing an exaggerated sigh, he climbs out of the car and taps the roof twice. A second later, it’s gone, leaving just the two of us.

“You’ve had a rough night, Natasha,” he says. “I’m sure you must be exhausted.”

“What the hell did you do to me?” I take what’s meant to be a menacing step forward. Though, unlike me, Braxton remains so completely at ease, I can’t help but wonder if I should’ve taken a chance and made a big scene while those cops were still there.

Braxton raises both hands, clutching my backpack in one of them. “Whatever you’re thinking, it’s not what you’re thinking. You fainted, that’s all.”

“Fainted?” My laugh is sharp.“Despite the costume you wore, this isn’t actually the eighteen hundreds. Women don’t just have fainting spells anymore.”

The corners of his mouth tense. In a tight voice, he says, “I promise you’ll get your bag. But first, let me buy you some breakfast. There’s a diner up the road—they serve pancakes all day.” He gestures vaguely in that direction, but I keep my gaze fixed firmly on him.

“I have another idea,” I say. “How about I march back inside the station and tell them everything I remember from last night, along with everything I suspect. You do know I’m a minor, right?”

“I’m well aware.” His tone is weary. “Thing is, you’re not going to tell them anything. Mainly because you’ve been released into my custody. I’m the one who bailed you out. I’m the one who’s going to clear your name and get your record expunged.”

None of this makes any sense. From the moment I snuck out of school, I felt like I’ve entered an alternate world. At the most, Braxton’s a year or two older than me. Why would they release me into his custody?

Not to mention—where the hell is Elodie?

What I say is, “What’s really going on here? And don’t try to lie. You fucked my whole life. The least you can do is tell me the truth.”

I guess he wasn’t expecting that because, for the briefest moment, he loses a grip on his cool. I can see it in the tightening of his lips, the twinge in his jaw. But it’s his hands that really give it away. The second he starts to fidget with his gold signet ring, I take it as a sign that I’ve gotten to him.

When he notices me looking, he shoves both hands in his pockets. “I’m happy to answer your questions,” he says, the words laced with the slight hint of a proper British accent. “Perhaps over some scrambled eggs, or a short stack?”

I open my mouth, about to totally lose it on him, when my stomach betrays me by howling with hunger, and I realize it’s been almost twenty-four hours since my last meal.

“So much for theI’m not hungryexcuse,” he says, back to being an asshole again.

He offers his arm, but I shove right past him.

Making a show of rolling my eyes, I head for the diner.