Page 81 of The Colour of Revenge
I see it immediately—the flicker of paranoia behind his practised grin.
His eyes darted around the restaurant, scanning the room. Looking for threats.
Good. He should be scared.
"You're even more stunning in person," he remarks, his voice oozing fake charm.
I force myself to giggle, lowering my lashes like I'm flattered. Playing the part.
"Thank you," I murmur.
"So, Candy, tell me about yourself." He leans forward, elbows resting on the table, pretending to be interested.
I twirl a strand of hair around my finger. Demure. Sweet. The perfect prey.
"Oh, I don't know," I reply, biting my lip. "I mean, you saw my profile."
"Yes, but I want to hear it from you." His eagerness leaks through, his desperation poorly concealed.
So predictable.
I let out a soft laugh. "Well, I'm just a girl trying to figure things out. Life hasn't exactly been kind, you know?"
He nods, pretending to care, his expression sympathetic. But his eyes? They betray him. He doesn't give a damn about my story. He wants to know what he can take.
"What about you, Michael?" I ask, turning the focus on him. "What do you do?"
He straightens and puffs out his chest like a goddamn peacock. "I'm in investments. Big deals, high stakes."
"Wow," I breathe, faking awe. "That sounds… exciting."
"Oh, it is." He leans back, trying to play it cool. "But it's not without its challenges. The competition is fierce."
I nod, smiling wider. "I imagine someone like you has a lot of… enemies."
For a fraction of a second, his mask slips. His fingers twitch on the table. Then he chuckles, brushing it off. "No more than anyone else in my line of work."
The waiter brings our drinks.
I pick up my glass, swirling the liquid. "It's funny," I muse, keeping my tone casual. "Sometimes the past has a way of catching up with us, doesn't it?"
Michael's hand freezes. His knuckles whiten around his glass.
The fear is there. Just a flicker. But I see it.
"What do you mean by that?" His voice is tight now.
I shrug, sipping my drink. "Oh, nothing really. Just an observation."
But I watch as the seed takes root.
Michael glances around the room again, his paranoia simmering beneath the surface.
Perfect.
Nate
My girl is a fucking badass. I've said it before, and I'll say it until the day I die—or until she tells me to shut up, whichever comes first.
