Page 99 of The Bet
“Okay,” she said, feeling sheepish. “I understand. I didn’t mean to be so mouthy.”
“I noticed you can’t help it sometimes.”
“You bring out the warrior in me.” She shrugged. “We seem to have this hate-hate thing going, I guess.”
But lately he hadn’t been a total jerk most of the time. Sure, he’d been a douchebag last week when she’d turned up and told him his MacBook had been stolen, but in hindsight, she’d lost everything—the USB stick included, and she hadn’t backed anything up, and his meeting had been the next day, she understood.
“I must admit, it’s not a reaction I bring out in most women.” His eyebrow lifted slightly, and she couldn’t bring herself to look away, taking in his features, noticing how attractive his dark hair and big blue eyes were. “I don’t know what I’ve done to deserve this.”
He was trying so hard, and it wasn’t fair that her mother’s phone call earlier had soured things for her, the way it always did. “It’s not you,” she said, slowly, letting a feeling of empathy guide her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come out tonight.”
“But you’re out now.” He peered at her closer. “Is something wrong? Have I done or said something to offend you again?”
She shook her head. “No.” But the way she said it, didn’t sound convincing.
“You’re upset about something, Laronde. I can tell, over and above your usual disdain for me, you’re got something else on your mind.”
Since when had they crossed the line intothis?
She couldn’t think of what to say, and maybe laughing it off first would have deflected his concern. But it was too late. “It’s nothing,” she waved her hand dismissively.
“Maybe you should take a risk and try me.”
It was embarrassing, and she didn’t want to. What would this rich boy understand of her problems? “It’s really nothing.” She smiled at him.
“Izzy.” His voice was low, and enticing, and tempting. It was enough to make her want to lose the heaviness from her chest, enough for her to be tempted to share her worries.
“It’s really nothing … “
“It’s really nothing?” he repeated, leaning forward on the table, as if he was all ears.
She let out a heavy, heavy breath. Stared at her fingers on the table. Didn’t meet his gaze. “My mom called earlier, and,” she shook her head, wondering why she was telling him. Xavier Stone would never understand.
“Your mom calledand…?”
She gazed at him, tried to find something in his face—a shadow of arrogance, a veil of cockiness, something, anything, of his former self that would hinder her from spilling all. But his face was impassive, and his attention was all on her. “Is your mom okay?” he asked.
“She’s fine. She’s not the problem. It’s my dad. He’s in one of his moods.”
The look on his face told her that he automatically assumed the worst.
“It’s nothing like that,” she said quickly, in case he thought her dad had beaten up her mom, or trashed the house or done something insane. “He’s not a drinker, and he doesn’t … he’s not abusive. They’re still sort of happily married.”
“Sort of?”
“I don’t really like talking about it. He gets down about things, like in a really bad can’t-get-out-of-bed way.”
“Is he always like that?”
She shook her head. “Just sometimes.” And she was sick of carrying the burden of it all.
“Why sometimes?” he asked, gently.
She shrugged. “Sometimes he just wakes up in a bad mood.”
“Why’s that?”
“It’s all to do with what happened years ago. I think he’s angry with himself. I think he blames himself for being a failure.”
