Page 42 of Golden Touch
I’m watching Nash arrange an order of friesandan order of onion rings in the middle of the table when he asks, “So…what’s the deal with your ex and his flying monkey? I got his license plate, by the way. I’ll be asking a friend to run it later.”
“No!” I gasp, in spite of the fries I’m shoving into my mouth.
He quirks a bushy eyebrow. “Problem?”
“Look. I appreciate the way you helped me today. And I appreciate thehellout of this dinner. But you cannot antagonize that guy. It won’t help me. My only two choices are hide or run.”
He sets down his burger, and that’s when I know I’ve said too much. “Livia,” he says quietly. “That’s not an answer. That guy lied to my face today when he told me why he was looking for you, and I had no trouble lying back. But what if next time he asks Badger instead? You think Badger is quick enough on his feet to cover your very fine ass the same way I can?”
I slump into my chair. “I guess I better run, then, because hiding isn’t working out so well anymore.”
He pushes the onion rings toward me. “Eat some of these, because it’s either you or me. And I got a six pack to protect.”
I take an onion ring and bite it. Viciously. My traitorous eyes go right to the waffle knit shirt that’s stretched across his tight body, because I’m only human, and I wish I had x-ray vision.
“All right,” he says calmly. “Please tell my abs why you feel you need to run away. I’m not trying to dig into your past. But you’re the only person left standing around here who knows how my father’s business operates. And when you talk about running away, I’ve half a mind to chain you to that chair.”
The moment he says it, the food turns to ash in my mouth.
CHAPTER 17
NASH
Until this minute, I’ve never seen anyone turn white in front of my eyes. But the color drains from Livia’s face by the time I finish the sentence. Somehow I’ve triggered an awful moment from her past.
Way to go, Giltmaker.
Cursing under my breath, I push back my chair. In two paces I’m across the room and grabbing a glass for Livia. I fill it with ice cubes and some Coke I’d stocked in her fridge. Then I place the glass in her hand. “Drink this.”
She takes a sip, and I root around in my rucksack again, coming up with my flask. “Want a splash of rum?”
Livia shakes her head.
“Okay. I get it. That was poorly stated. I’m sorry.”
She shakes her head again. “Nothing. It’s… You were just making a joke. Never mind.”
But this isn’t anever mindkind of situation. Livia is strung out, and I just made it worse. “Look, I understand that you’re in a tight spot right now. But within these walls, nothing bad is going to happen to you.”
Her eyes flick toward the flimsy door lock, and then back tome. “If he saw my car, he’ll be back. What was he riding, anyway?”
“Not riding. Driving. No bikes in the lot at the time.”
She flinches again. “Shit. If he was in a car, that means he was ready to grab me.”
But why?I want to shout. Not that I’ll get answers. And she’s too shaken up for me to press it. “How about you stay at my dad’s house for a few nights? He’s up on a hill. Nobody for miles.”
If possible, this idea seems to terrify her even more. She actually shivers. “Nobody to hear me scream? No thanks. Besides, Lyle hates people in his space.”
Too true. “Finish your burger. Then we’ll switch bedrooms. You’ll feel safer upstairs, I’ll take your room.”
She takes a deep, steadying breath. “No. I’m a big girl. Don’t inconvenience yourself any more than you already have. I’m fine.” She pops up out of her chair and begins tidying up the kitchen with nervous hands.
I watch her, thinking. There must be a way I can make her feel safe enough to relax. If she has to leave, I’ll deal with it. But it would be better if she didn’t. Besides—running scared with no plan usually doesn’t play out so well.
Ignoring me, Livia finishes wiping down the counter. Afterwards, she hangs the final set of those hideous curtains over the living room window, before retreating to her bedroom, where she shuts the door.
I sit down on the living room sofa and contemplate the awful curtains. They’re familiar—a piece of my past.
