Page 7 of The VIP Doubles Down

He expected a frown, but she chuckled—a musical, throaty sound that pulled at something low in his body.

“My pa was partial to bourbon and branch water,” she said.

“Are you from Kentucky?”

“No, sir, I’m from West-by-gosh Virginia.” Her accent thickened. It was an answer he could tell she’d given often.

The “sir” should have made him feel old, but from her it sounded natural and charming. “So not quite southern, not quite midwestern. What brought you to New York?”

Discomfort flashed across her face. “A dream job. What brought you here?”

He applauded her technique. Answer the question so you put your inquisitor under obligation to do the same.

“Bright lights. Being at the center of the publishing industry.” He watched her register each item before he threw her a curveball. “Escape from a small town in Illinois.”

“You didn’t like living in a small town?”

“I didn’t like living with my stepmother.” Now why had he told her that? He tightened his arms across his chest, which sent a ripple of pain along his shoulders.

“My best friend had that kind of stepmother,” Allie said. “Just like the one inCinderella.”

That surprised a short laugh out of him. “Mine didn’t quite make me scrub the floors.”

“Lucky for you.” Allie smiled at him, changing from earnest therapist to sympathetic friend in an instant.

He wasn’t falling for it. “Don’t you need to ask me more questions, or are we done with the inquisition?”

“I have a few more.” She closed her eyes for a moment, as though consulting a mental list. “Is the pain worse in the morning or in the evening?”

“Aha, you’re trying to catch me out. I never mentioned any pain.”

She focused those limpid gray eyes on him and waited. He did his best to stare levelly back at her, but finally he broke and pushed out of the chair, his back complaining at the sudden movement. Stalking over to the bar hidden in an ornate English marquetry cabinet, he flicked open the doors. “Would you like some water?” he asked, rummaging in the minifridge.

“That would be nice, thanks.”

He set two paper-thin crystal tumblers out and poured bottled spring water into them. Carrying them across the room, he handed her a glass before raising his to his lips. As she lifted hers for a sip, he noticed her hand. Short, neat nails with no polish. Slim fingers, but the back of her hand was square, giving the impression of strength.

“Are you more comfortable standing than sitting?” she asked.

“Depends on what you mean by comfortable.” He gave her a slanted smile. “Physically or mentally?”

“I’ll take an answer to either one.”

He took another swallow, studying her over the edge of his glass. She sat straight with her knees and ankles together, her glass resting on one thigh. Her skin was creamy against the dark blue of her shirt, another clue that her hair color was real. Her gaze didn’t flinch from his, but he caught the creeping pink of a blush rising in her cheeks. Her composure was not as firm as she tried to make it appear. “I was attempting to interrupt your interrogation by standing up, but you refuse to be distracted.”

“I’ve heard that complaint before.” She inspected the table next to her chair before she set her glass down on a silver ashtray. Leaning forward, she locked her gaze on his face. “May I try something? It won’t take long.”

“That’s very open-ended. I’m not sure I can answer it.”

“Will you trust me?”

“And that is an even more difficult question to answer.” He looked at her supplicating posture. There was a taut edge of desperation in her face. He shrugged and sat down. “I’m not sure I can commit to trusting you, but go ahead and try whatever it is.”

Relief softened the line of her jaw. “Thank you.” She reached down to unzip her duffel bag, pulling a black plastic case out of it before she stood up. “I’d like to use a little electrical stimulation on your neck, if you’ll allow me. It will help the muscles release.”

“Why my neck?”

“I’ve been watching you move,” she said, walking toward him, the case almost hidden behind her thigh. She looked as though she were approaching a skittish horse. “You’re holding your neck and shoulders stiffly.”