Page 47 of Sinfully Yours

She glares at me now, stepping closer, poking a finger into my chest. "Oh, I'm sorry, were you planning on actually telling me those answers? Because from where I'm standing, you've been more than happy to keep me in the dark."

"That's because I don't want you anywhere near her!"

"Well, too late for that."

I curse under my breath and rub my jaw wearily. I need to shave and sleep for ten hours straight. "Ava, you don't know what Vanessa's capable of."

Her scowl just deepens. "Then why don't you tell me?"

I stare at her. She stares back, breath coming faster, chest rising and falling in sync with mine. The pull between us is stretched to breaking, and maybe—just maybe—some part of me knows it was always going to come to this.

I take a slow step back. Exhale. Then, finally, I tell her.

"She sabotaged me," I say, voice steady but low. "A few years ago. A deal, one of the biggest I'd ever worked on. We were supposed to be partners, but the entire time, she was using me. Playing me. Positioning herself so that when it all fell apart, she'd walk away untouched and I'd be the one left bleeding."

Ava's eyes widen slightly, but she says nothing.

I keep going. "It cost me millions. Set my company back years. But she didn't care. Because she got what she wanted." My voice dips, and I have to swallow before I can keep going. "That's who she is, Bennett. She doesn't forgive, and she sure as hell doesn't forget. And now you've walked right into her crosshairs."

Silence.

For the first time tonight, Ava doesn't have a sharp retort, doesn't immediately fire back. Instead, she just watches me, her eyes searching my face like she's seeing something new, something different.

And maybe she is.

Finally, she sighs. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Because I didn't want you to look at me the way you are now. Like you pity me.

I roll my shoulders, flexing my fingers like that might do something about the pressure building behind my ribs. "Because I was trying to keep you out of this."

Ava huffs out something that technically qualifies as a laugh but has all the warmth of a winter breeze. "Right. That worked out brilliantly."

I don't answer. Mostly because she's right. But also because she's looking at me like I'm a particularly disappointing plot twist, and I hate that I don't know what's going through her head.

She tilts her chin, just slightly. A move I've learned is the precursor to either an argument or an execution. "You really thought keeping this from me was the best option?"

I drag a hand down my face like that'll somehow stop the incoming headache. "I thought keeping you safe was the best option. Digging up the past doesn't do anyone any favors."

Her lips press together, eyes narrowing like she's debating whether or not to throw something at me. "Right. Except when the past comes waltzing back in stilettos with a personal vendetta."

I glance toward the counter and rub my eyes. "Do you have any whiskey?"

That catches Ava off guard. It takes her a minute to compose herself before she manages, "Of course."

I rub my temple. "Tequila?"

"Depends. Are we celebrating or commiserating?"

I shake my head with a quiet huff, leaning back against the couch. "Figures. You have everything, but I bet you're about to hand me something else, aren't you?"

She doesn't answer, just tilts her head, studying me like I'm a particularly stubborn math problem, then stands and disappears into the kitchen. I hear the rustle of cabinets, the quiet clatter of a mug being set down, the faint hiss of a kettle heating.

Not exactly the sounds of a stiff drink being poured.

When she returns, she hands me a glass of something golden, cloudy, and deeply suspicious.

I frown at it. "Bennett."

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