Page 72 of The First Taste

“Because!” she says, exasperated. “I want to go home, Keir. And she is the only reason that I can think of that I am still here.”

“Ah.” I push out my cheek with my tongue, studying her. She seems as if she’s telling the truth. But she just lied to me a minute ago, and I couldn’t detect her deception.

Who’s to know whether she is lying to me now?

“I told you. It will take some time for this situation to resolve itself,” I grumble.

She prickles at my tone. “You can’t just keep me here against my will, Keir.”

Pinning her in place with my eyes, I advance on her, pointing a finger and raising my voice. “It will take as long as it takes! For god’s sake, Ella. I’m trying to run a business here, not some sort of home for forgetful former ballerinas!”

She rears her head, as if she isn’t sure if I will hit her or not. Her face contorts.

She leans in, her expression direct and intense. “I am not your employee, Keir. I’m not being paid to stand around here and soak up your abuse. And you shouldn’t raise your voice like that to anyone.”

I run my hand down my shirt, pressing my lips close together.

“It’s a good thing you’re not my employee, Ella. Because you would have been fired on day one.”

Ella looks angry, “Can you not just tell me what the PI said about Wendy?”

I stare at her for several seconds. For some reason, when we are both a little hot under the collar like this, I have the hardest time not finding her insanely sexy.

Sneering, I jerk my head toward my office. “Come up to my office with me. I am willing to bet that I have an email from my lead private investigator. He said he’d have something for me by this morning.”

Ella blows out a breath and nods. “Okay.”

She obviously has something else on her mind as I lead the way upstairs. I keep hearing a slight thump as I climb the stairs. Turning when I hit the landing, I realize that she occasionally hits her right foot against the stair before she corrects her footing.

Ella sees my appraising look and flushes, avoiding my gaze. I swallow my questions about where she is in her physical therapy journey. After aggravating my ACL a few years back, I did a little physical therapy, so I know how it works.

But I bite down on any questions I have for now, because her expression doesn’t exactly welcome any intrusion.

We step into my office, a dingy little room crammed full of my books on journalism and journalistic ethics. I clear off a plain straight backed chair for her, stacking the books into yet another towering pile of books. When I skirt around the massive desk and take a seat, I notice her raising a brow as she looks around the room.

“What?” I snap, sitting down and jogging the mouse.

Ella makes a face and shrugs. “Nothing. It’s just… you choose to work here, of all places?”

“It’s the only quiet space in the whole fucking castle.” I glare at the screen, typing the name of my private investigation team into my email search function.

She nods and keeps looking around. I see her reach and and lift one of my books.

“Ethics and Journalism In Today’s Fast-Paced World,” she reads aloud. “Is this yours?”

“Yes,” I reply flatly. “Now do you want to hear about what my PI uncovered? Or do you want to crack open one of my books?”

Scooting forward in her seat, she purses her lips together. “Go on, then.”

I scan the email that the investigator sent very briefly, making sure that there are no bombshells. But I don’t have to be worried about that yet; it seems my PI team has found very little on Wendy besides basics.

“Wendy Allen. Thirty two years old. Parents born in South Korea, immigrated here before Wendy was born. Originally from Massachusetts. Went to Cornell…” I scan the page again. “Works at the Boston arm of NewsCorp, the website Boston Facts Daily. She dated and was engaged to Max Hershel for a brief period about two years ago… but her sister says they called the wedding off. Max moved to New York City a few months ago… Wendy did not immediately follow, so it is possible they were no longer seeing each other. Let’s see… she owns her house. She has a huge amount of student debt. Twenty thousand pounds on her credit cards.” I suck in a breath, disappointed. “That’s all that he has to report, although he will keep digging.”

She sits back, crossing her arms and releasing a disgusted sigh. “I don’t see how that gets me any closer to leaving.”

“It doesn’t, really.” I cross my arms and lean back in my chair, trying to measure her reaction with my gaze.

Twenty-Five