Page 46 of House of Lies

“Mm-hmm.”

“Thank you.”

When I spin to look at Ethan, his eyes come slowly back to me from the oven. Then they drop to the pendant dangling from my neck. I grab it and hastily shove it back behind my uniform.

He frowns as if he’s wondering whether I stole it, but when our eyes meet, his expression quickly clears.

That’s right, Remington. None of your fucking business.

As if hearing my thoughts, Ethan leaves the kitchen.

I sag back against the stove, closing my eyes for a moment as the heat warms my butt. It makes the bruises sting, but it’s not an unpleasant sensation.

“Red or white?”

I blink up at him in surprise. He’s holding a bottle of wine in each hand. “Um…”

“It’s not a trick question,” he says, putting down the bottles and going over to a cabinet nearby.

“Red, I guess. Goes better with pasta.”

“Debatable.” He picks up two large wineglasses and sets them down, grabbing a corkscrew from the drawer to open the wine.

When I reach for one of the glasses he filled, he grunts under his breath. “Let it breathe.”

“Lucky wine,” I mutter to myself.

“What did you say?” He narrows his eyes, darkening the gray irises to the color of wet concrete.

“I said, what a lucky girl I am.” I give him a deadpan stare that turns up one corner of his mouth.

He pulls out a barstool for me near the corner of the island. “Sit.”

I don’t argue. My legs are happy for the break, even while my ass complains mightily at the hard surface. As I slide into the chair, I throw the wine a longing glance. I’m not a big drinker, but I love to have a glass in the evenings to unwind. And sure, sometimes one glass leads to two, then three… but I’ve never had more than one bottle by myself.

I’ve always been very careful about how much, and how often, I drink. I have my father to thank for that.

“A toast,” Ethan says as he pulls out the stool beside mine, on the other side of the corner. He sits, lifts his glass. I mimic him, but with a wary slit to my eyes. “Out with the old, in with the new.”

I keep my glass where it is, but he clinks it anyway.

“Is that why you want to sell? You need something new and shiny in your life?” I glance around the state-of-the-art kitchen. “High-end appliances not doing it for you anymore?”

He chuckles darkly into his glass, his eyes boring into mine. “Pity you have to work for a rich jerk like me, isn’t it?”

My jaw flinches.

His words are eerily similar to what I said to my father over the phone earlier. Was he eavesdropping? I wouldn’t put it past him. He seems obsessed with me. All those times I felt someone watching… Was it because he was nearby, staring at me while I worked?

It should creep me the fuck out… but I shift in my seat as a faint tingle starts up between my legs.

Big mistake.

It’s one thing to warm my ass by the oven, it’s another to shift around while I’m sitting on it. I can’t stop a wince, and Remington doesn’t miss the gesture.

He drags his fingers so hard against his slacks, his nails scrape over the fabric.

God, Cassidy, say something.

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