Page 15 of King of Players

“Mr. Niles.” No longer apologetic, her tone was now berating.

“What?” I walked around to the other side of the set, moving a black pawn. “I thought I declared candidness.” I paused, looking at her while my legs took me back to the white side. “I bet you secretly find me attractive. But a woman like you, with so much at stake, would never admit it to a man she only just met.” I knew I was pushing it, but what did I have to lose? Her foundation needed me, and she knew it.

“Mr. Niles.” She stood up, and I realized that she was now holding an empty glass, ice clanking against the crystal walls of its container. Something about that didn’t feel right. “It would appear that years of work in Hollywood didn’t paint an unrealistic picture in your mind… about how to talk to a woman.”

“Did I offend you?”

She walked to the cabinet and crouched down slightly. The skirt of her dress blocked my view for a second. When she held up her hands, I could see a bottle of wine and the opener she skillfully used on the cork. “Your simplicity doesn’t offend me.”

Oh, now I was offended. “Simplicity.” I forced out a chuckle. “Careful now, Kaira.”

She turned to face me, her hands frozen in the air with the half-tilted bottle and the fresh wine glass. “Chadwick? Or would you rather I called you Chad?”

“I genuinely thought that there’s more depth to your insightfulness.”

“And a shallowness to my directness, no?” Her eyes were challenging me, as if to push me over the edge and make me angry—make me leave and quit the whole thing. It was getting hotter, or so I felt. Pointing to the window, I asked, “Does this open?”

“Oh, even better.” She smiled, walking toward the corner by the window that I hadn’t even noticed. There was a small glass door, the knob of which she twisted. “Would you rather sit outside?”

It wasn’t really a question, since she pushed open the door and slipped out, walking toward a poolside pergola with the same Arabic elements. Wordlessly, I watched her leave her shoes behind and sit on the edge of the mattress, gazing at the pool.

Why did I follow her out? Wasn’t it clear that she despised me?

“In every film scene that builds up like this,” she said, as if pensively… as if to herself. “The tension between the characters is what sucks in our attention. It’s as if everything they’re saying, every move they make, is leading up to a kiss and a steamy scene underwater.”

So, she was negating that possibility. “Not necessarily,” I said as I approached the pool, making sure to choose the chaise lounge all the way across, leaving feet of turquoise water between us.

“Can you honestly say that it wasn’t the first thing that came to your mind?”

Sitting down, I chuckled, letting go of all filters as I sensed that that was precisely what she wanted. “Honestly, it’s impossible for me to see you in that light right now.”

“Because you’re angry with me?”

I took a sip of my beverage. “Because you’re making it impossible. You’re hostile, Kaira. You make sure of it.”

“Well, then. Now that you know it’s nothing personal—I don’t hate you per se. Did you get what you wanted from your visit?”

“I was hoping we could be friends.”

“Who says we’re not?”

“I’m not this uncomfortable with a friend.”

“Aren’t you one of the lucky ones, then?”

The look in her eyes let me know that she wasn’t exaggerating. “Are you ever yourself?”

“Of course. When I’m by myself.”

“That’s no way to live.”

“That’s what responsibility does to a person.”

My chortle came out cynical. “Careful, you’re starting to sound patronizing.”

“I’m not trying to dispute your sense of responsibility—”

“It’s how it’s coming out,” I quickly said. Through her concealed, hinted accusations, she was pulling me—forcing me—to resort to a more philosophical approach to defend my ways. I didn’t like that one bit.

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