Page 108 of Double Fault

“I’ll try.” I set her back down and drop a kiss to the top of her head.

Sabrina comes closer, her face soft with sympathy.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” I bite out before she can speak.

She recoils, her face falling.

I’m an asshole. I know.

“The car’s waiting,” she says, her tone full of a forced flippancy. Without waiting for a response, she turns and walks away.

Maddie slips her hand into mine. “That wasn’t very nice, Dad.”

Leave it to my kid to call me out. Chest restricting, I huff a breath. “I know.”

“You should say you’re sorry.”

I look down at my daughter. Fuck, she’s too smart for her own good. “You’re right. I was rude, but let’s let her cool off.”

“All right,” she says, though she looks like she wants to argue. “Let’s go.”

A small amount of relief settles into my bones. “Best thing I’ve heard all day.”

CHAPTER 29

SABRINA

Sleep evades me,and with every minute that ticks by on the clock on the bedside table, my frustration mounts.

With a huff, I throw the covers off, then storm into the attached bathroom, yanking off my bonnet as I go. I need to get out of this room before I go insane thinking about my boss.

He’s so infuriating.

For the most part, I’m good at reading people. Noah, though, is an enigma. The mood swings are exhausting. I understand that the loss was hard for him, but there’s no need to be rude to me about it.

Annoyance hot in my veins, I grab my sweater and tug it over my head. I need to get out of this room. Some fresh air will go a long way in making me feel better.

I stuff my feet into my sneakers, not bothering to do the laces, and swipe up my room key. Carefully, I tiptoe to the door and close it silently behind me.

I doubt the pool is open at this hour, and I’m not wearing a suit, but it’s where I head anyway.

It’s on the roof, which seems strange, considering how often it rains in London. The moment I step out onto the deck, the quiet splash of water alerts me to the presence of anotherperson. Shit. Not wanting to end up being murdered on a hotel roof and tossed off the side of the building or stuffed down a drain, I quickly turn on my heel to go back in. But as I spin, I catch sight of the strong shoulders cutting through the water and freeze.

“Noah?”

He turns at the edge of the pool and swims toward the other end, clearly not hearing me.

I should leave. There’s a good chance he’ll snap at me again. But despite my better judgment, I sit at the edge and dip my feet into the water. As he gets closer, he slows, as if he’s realized he’s not alone, then pops up out of the water.

His wet hair is black in the moonlight, the droplets of water on his skin glinting.

“What are you doing out here?” he asks, swiping a hand down his face.

I kick my legs back and forth lazily. “I needed some fresh air. You?”

He lets out a gruff sound that’s somewhere between a laugh and a scoff. “Working off my frustrations.”

“Frustrations about what?” It’s obvious, but I want to make him say it. I want to make him suffer. Is that so wrong?

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