Page 71 of Daring You

“When would that have been?” Astor sniffs, rubs against her nose.

“What do you mean?”

Too late, I realize her saltwater tears were only turning her into an ocean predator.

“In college?” she asks. “When you fucked me then? Or this morning, before you fucked me at lunch?”

She’s not giving me time to think. There’s a right thing to say, but there’s also a complete wrong turn I could take at any moment. “Astor, what are you getting at?”

“Because I can totally see why you’d sleep with me now. Break down my barriers, so to speak. Turn me into the girl I was with you a few years ago, because that girl, that Astor, would’ve told you anything.”

Oh…shit. My entire face goes numb. “You think I’ve just been using you to find out what you know?”

Astor barrels on. “What I can’t figure out is, why then? Why did you sleep with me back in college? I wasn’t anywhere close to exposing you. I simply knew you as Ben, my brother’s best friend, my giant, huge crush who I would’ve done anything for—”

“Astor, no—”

“It’s okay, really.” Astor waves me off. She’s not looking at me anymore. “I’m the idiot here. I’m the one who can’t seem to get a goddamned clue. It might not have been my fault for sleeping with you back then, but it certainly is now.”

“You’ve got to let me explain.”

I so terrifically want to kick my own ass right now. Astor needs more—she deserves more—but all I can come up with is the cliched let me explain that only sends people into skyrocketing rage.

“Don’t bother.” When she meets my eyes this time, her cheeks are dry. “These are high stakes. You’re the sole survivor of the violent murder of your parents. I understand why you did what you did. I can’t deny you any desperate act, because I would’ve done the same thing.”

“Don’t do that. Don’t go all logical on me.”

“But you told me who you were before you could get any real information out of me,” she continues. “I can’t figure that one out.”

“Because I don’t want to be with you just to solve the murder of my mom and dad.”

But Astor keeps talking, as if she never heard me. “I followed the inheritance trail. The last will and testament of Tim and Rose Delaney. The money was put into a trust, and the trustee—the person in charge of it until you turned twenty-one—was a bank in Staten Island. But it was when you became of age that a mistake was made. Where the money was transferred to. Now, it wasn’t easy. There were a lot of holdings. A few LLCs disguising where the funds originated from. Not many people would’ve been able to follow the small dumps of cash in various shell companies. But I’m good at what I do, and I traced the majority to a Connecticut bank. Taryn was in the middle of finding out who signed over the checks this morning. Who would’ve signed the checks, Ben?”

I sigh, thinking that Aiden, who as proud and cockatoo as he says he is, couldn’t pull one over on a very dogged, extremely dedicated woman. “My dad. Ronnie Donahue.”

“So I would’ve found out anyway, you’re saying.” Astor’s expression goes flat. “Which is why you intervened this morning, to try to appeal to me before I connected the dots and brought your identity to my boss.”

“You’ve got this all wrong. Can we go somewhere? Sit down? I want to tell you everything, Astor. I do.”

She shakes her head, and it might as well be the world shaking beneath my feet. “Your secret’s safe with me. We haven’t brought the endorser of the checks to Altin Yang yet. I won’t tell my boss, or anyone, not even my brother, who you are. It’s clear you want to be left alone.”

“Don’t walk away. Please.”

Astor turns to face the stairs. “I can’t stand here—” her voice cracks, but I know, if I touch her now, I’ll truly break her. “I can’t continue this conversation anymore, B—Ryan.”

“Ben. I’m Ben Donahue, Astor. I’m me.”

But I’m speaking to a straight back in a very expensive suit. “I know who you are.”

I don’t understand what she means, but the weight of her words are heavy on my chest. I try one more time. “Don’t go. Talk to me.”

“It’s better that we’re not seen talking. You shouldn’t even be here.” Astor continues down the last flight of stairs, until she reaches the door to the outside. “I need time to collect myself before I go back to work, and you know better than anyone that the vultures out there will peck at any weakness they see.”

Astor gives her eyes a last rub and pinches her cheeks. Then she tips her chin up.

I race down the steps to halt her, to keep her—to salvage any part of her that remains, because I can’t be the one who sieved away the last of her soul. I’ve already taken too much.

But my palm slams against the metal door Astor shuts as she walks out.

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