Page 68 of Under the Lies

Today it’s the little crease that forms between her brows as she glares at me. I like it. Like that her face moves, unlike the Botox injected Barbies of this town.

“Noah!” She’s three seconds away from stomping her foot. The crease deepens.

“Yes?”

“You’re doing it again.”

“Doing what?”

“Not listening to me.” She tries to keep the hurt out, but I hear it. Sayer’s spent most of her life with her voice not being heard.

“I feel like you’re not the one listening here. I don’t even know why we’re having a discussion when there’s nothing to discuss.” My phone vibrates and I’m reaching for it when Sayer stops me.

“I swear to God Noah if you reach for that phone, I will yank it from your hand.”

I’d like to see her try, but my hand falls to my side. “You came here for help, right?” I don’t wait for an answer. “Well, this is the only way I can protect you properly.”

“You can’t just hire a security team or something?”

“Would that make you more comfortable? Having strangers following you around, living in an apartment you no longer feel safe in?”

She swallows before biting at her nail. She won’t answer, not when she knows I’m right.

“You should be thanking me.”

“For what?” she asks around her nail but when I don’t answer she pulls it away. “You’re joking.”

She eyes me, waiting for a punch line.

I don’t give her one.

Walking to my desk, I unbutton my suit jacket before sitting down. Once comfortable, I level Sayer with a serious look. “For offering you my place. No one is hardly allowed over, let alone live there.”

One time my cousin was visiting, and I made him get a hotel. When I hook up with women, it’s either in this club, a storage closet or I go back to her place.

My space is for me. No one else.

So Sayer should feel honored that I’m being this generous.

At least, that’s what I keep telling myself to distract from the unfamiliar pang in my chest at the idea of Sayer being in danger.

Sayer stands in the middle of my office, wringing her hands in front of her. The sight alone stirs up that discomfort of wanting to take care of her. To comfort her. To distract her.

To hold her in my arms again.

Getting up, I walk around my desk to meet her.

“Are you scared to live with me, Sayer?” I tilt my head toward hers. “You are, aren’t you?”

She doesn’t answer, too busy worrying at her bottom lip.

With my thumb I pull it from her teeth, tracing it slowly, watching as her eyes start to close only to snap back open.

Her head jerks back. Remembering herself, this place, and me. “Why do you want me to?”

“I don’t appreciate someone messing with you.” Her eyes narrow. “And if you move in, well…” I shrug. “It can only help my plan.”

One stone, two birds.

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