Page 59 of His Twisted Game
“Only that you haven’t said my two favorite words.” My insides burned as he stared at me, making my cheeks hot. “What’s going on?”
“Erica’s going to get the managerial position, isn’t she?” I asked, my shoulders sinking. “She deserves it. She’s probably better at programming. Quicker. Less distracted. She’ll be able to help the community more. She’s just—” I paused, shaking my head. There was no easy way to put this: “She’s better at it than me.”
He studied me for a second, melting me under his gaze. I looked out of the staff room toward the dim front entrance. I wished he would put his hands on me. Make me feel anything other than the shame of admitting that. Hell, I wanted him to tell meI was wrong,that I still had a fighting chance, that all I had to do was try, and I’d earn that position without having to win our game, without having to literally beg him for it.
Finally, he put a finger under my chin, forcing me to look at him.
“She’s a good candidate,” he said. My eyes widened, my body shuddering at his blunt truth. His smile softened. “But you need to give yourself a break.”
Those words shot through me. Was he making an excuse? Being sympathetic to me?
“A break?” I asked.
“She’s not going to school right now. You are.”
“A lot of good it’s doing me.”
“She’s not dealing with a hardass distant family member who keeps her on her toes. Or a game-playing rival who’s determined to make her lose. She’s dealing with a boss, plain and simple. When it comes to me, you’ve got the pain.”
Was he taking responsibility?
“Give yourself a break,” he said. Those words made me weak, like someone was finally seeing me in all of my vulnerability.
He pulled me up by my hand and a warm rush ran through me. “Pack your things,” he said.
“What? Why?”
“I’m taking you out.”
“You want to take me out?”
He was already at the staff exit. “Why wouldn’t I?”
Once I had my giant purse together, I followed him out. His driver took us to The Culinary Exhibit in the financial district. It was early—almost six o’clock—but there was always a waiting list for the place.
“How did you—”
Sawyer shuffled me in front of him as the server led us through the restaurant. The white walls were decorated with spotlights, hung with minimalist art resembling food. We followed the server through a door to a similarly decorated, large private room.
Once we had ordered our meals, I grabbed a bread roll, trying to be casual.
“Are we still playing the game?” I asked. I took a sip of water, trying to hide behind the glass.
“Why?” he grinned. “Are you still losing?”
“That would imply that you’re winning.”
“I always win, Fiona.”
My insides burned. He was so confident in himself, in his abilities, and it was maddening. Why were we at dinner together when he knew he was going to win? Why even play this game with me?
I rubbed my face, trying to steel myself. “Why did you take me here?” I asked.
“Because I wanted to.”
“Why are you pretending like you want me?” I asked, frustration burning my throat. “You don’t have to pretend. I know you’re just messing with me.”
“Why would I mess with you?”
