Page 18 of Twisted (Never After)

She scoffs, tapping her foot on the floor and crossing her arms. “You’re disgusting.”

I move toward her, wanting to rile her more because I like the way it makes me feel to see her on edge and bothered. Leaning down, I reach around the side of her body, so close I can feel the heat from her skin.

“And you’re pretty when you come,” I whisper.

Her breathing stutters, and I flick the lock on the door, then turn around and walk across the room until I’m leaning on the lip of my desk, facing her.

“I was also curious about whether you’d use your name to see me,” I continue.

She takes a step toward me. “I don’t use my name to get my way.”

“What a waste,” I reply.

She huffs, shaking her head. “You would think that.”

“Your name is your power, gattina. If you wanted to, you could rule the world.”

Her brows draw down before a laugh pours from her mouth. “Oh mygod. You’re fucking delusional.”

My smile drops, something dark hitting me in the chest with her insult. “I prefer the term ‘visionary.’ Regardless, you’re here, so I assume you’ve decided to lick your wounds and play nice?”

“I don’t have any wounds to lick,” she replies.

I slip my hands into my pockets. “I could give you some if you’d like.”

She points a finger at me, indignation flaming behind her eyes. “Quit doing that. It makes me uncomfortable.”

“Oh?” I tilt my head. “You don’t like honesty?”

“I don’t likeyou.”

Nodding, I wave my hand toward the door. “Then leave.”

She doesn’t speak, a contemplative look flashing over her face as she stares at me, and I don’t push her for a response. The key to manipulating someone into your favor is to make the other person think it’s their idea, so it’s important that she comes to me.

“You said you would help,” she finally murmurs.

“I said Icouldhelp,” I correct.

“My father…” She pauses and swallows, her delicate neck moving with the action. “My father wants me to marry.”

She looks up at me from under her lashes, as if she’s searching for a reaction.

I give her none.

“You knew,” she deduces, her voice dropping in disappointment. “I figured as much.”

Again, I don’t react.

She sighs, twisting her fingers together. “Well, not that anyone asked, but I don’twantto marry a stranger.”

Now I move, standing up straight and taking a step toward her. “Ah, your lover boy. Of course.”

She frowns. “He has a name.”

“Don’t we all?”

She groans, dragging a hand over her face. “You’re impossible to talk to.”