Page 91 of Sins (The Sins Trilogy 1)
“Really expensive and glitzy,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “I’m wrong, aren’t I?”
“Expensive and glitzy is fine. If you want, we can head to a place like that.”
She shakes her head emphatically. “No!”
“Good, because I like this place more. It isn’t fancy, but it’s cheerful and bright.” Just what I need at regular intervals.
A host seats us at a table for two in the middle of the restaurant and leaves a couple of laminated menus. I don’t pick mine up, and neither does she.
“They have great French toast,” I say. “And bacon.”
“I’m not that hungry, so if they have a half-portion French toast, I’ll take it. I’m really here to keep you company and buy you brunch.”
“You are?”
“You saved me last night. It’s the least I can do.”
“I didn’t do it for some kind of repayment.” Her money is the last thing I want. But her company…that I can’t refuse. I just wish I’d known she wasn’t hungry. I would’ve suggested something else.
See? Another bit of proof she isn’t Ivy. Ivy enjoyed her food, and she ate more than just granola and coffee in the morning.
“I don’t like owing people,” she says.
“Accepting kindness isn’t owing. Nobody’s following you around with a ledger.”
“Kindness comes with a price tag,” she says softly, the light in her eyes subdued.
“Not this time.” Who’s tried to manipulate her? Then what Jamie Thornton said last night surfaces back into my mind.
He wouldn’t have minded! The fucker said she owes him her life!
Sam is still healthy only because Jamie explained—after a few more broken fingers—that he never received explicit permission from Sam to assault Iris. But I don’t like the precise way Jamie put it—that she owes Sam her life. The only thing he did was deal with her medical care while she was in the hospital. Given the kind of shit he is, I doubt he did it out of altruism.
“Did Sam make you do things you didn’t want to do?” I ask bluntly.
“You mean like sex?” She looks horrified. “No!”
“Not necessarily sex. Anything.”
Lips parted, she stares at me like I’ve grown two horns. Maybe even hooves. But I also catch a flash of anxiety in her gaze. “What are you talking about?”
“I know Sam took you in nine years ago. He told me,” I say, since I can’t tell her about my conversation with Jamie.
“He’s done a lot to help me.” Her voice is almost too quiet, her intonation like a child reading a schoolbook. “Without him, who knows what could’ve happened?”
Our server comes by, interrupting the conversation. Iris gestures at me to order.
“French toast and bacon. Same for her. Grapefruit juice and coffee,” I say.
When the juice arrives, I push it toward Iris. She looks at me, surprised. “For me?”
“Yes.”
“How did you know I like grapefruit juice?”
The question is like a jab to my mind.
“Most people would’ve gotten OJ. Even Byron does when I have him order for me.” Then she quickly adds, “Byron’s my friend. You might’ve seen him when I left Hammers and Strings.”
