Page 58 of Hush Money

The suggestion seems to stymie him. “I had an idea. I acted on it. What’s wrong with that?”

Outrage nearly prevents me from getting anything out. “You’re not sorry at all, are you? You don’t see how manipulative this is, do you?” I have a sudden flashback of when I discovered that he’d manufactured the whole private tour scenario to get Mrs. Hooper out of our hair back on the cruise. He set it all up just so he could spend time alone with me. We had this discussion back then, when he admitted to his machinations. I thought I’d impressed on him the need for direct communication and honesty, but I guess not. Looks like I need to do it again now and be a lot more emphatic about it. “Why not try basic communication with a simple request or suggestion? Why does everything need to be some elaborate secret scheme with you? Is it just because you’re filthy rich and the rest of us are puppets in your world? Even me?”

He grimaces. “I see what needs to be done and do it. I’m used to making executive decisions. The end. There’s nothing more to it than that.”

I’m trying to come up to speed with his thought process here, but I’m having a tough time. “What are you talking about? I already have a job in the city. I already have an apartment in the city. Nothing needs to be done at all. It’s all set.”

He presses his lips together and says nothing for two or three eternities. He’s got the air of a brain surgeon deciding which artery to clip before his patient on the operating table strokes out. “We need to discuss that.”

That’s when the light bulb belatedly goes off over my head. Is he alluding to wanting me to stay here at Ackerley? To live here? My heart swoops. “What’s really going on here?”

“Nothing I want to get into now. Not when you’re upset.”

“I’m upset because you can be too overbearing and protective sometimes,” I say quietly, determined to deescalate. Especially if he has our future in mind. “I’ve told you that before.”

A shrug. “I’m a little protective with you, yes. You know that.”

“A little?”

“Stop being dramatic.”

He’s so controlling. It’s his nature. He can’t help himself.

I stiffen. The one thing I don’t need at this tense moment is an unwelcome interjection from Ravenna, but there she is, sounding sly and triumphant in my head. “I’m not being dramatic. It’s how I feel. Doesn’t that matter to you?”

He huffs out a breath, taking way too long to answer. He’s like a cyborg frantically trying to compute an answer that would fool the humans. “Of course that matters,” he finally says, easing down a little. “If you’d just think about the suggestion, you’ll realize how much easier your life will be if you work nearby. Think of all the time you’ll save without that commute. And what do you really have to keep you in the city?”

I find myself wondering if he’s got a point…if I really need to be so close to my friends, even though some of them have scattered now that we’re out of college…if Lucien’s feelings aren’t more important than my plans for myself or my love of the city…

And that’s when Ravenna barges back in.

He controlled every thought in my head. I never did anything without thinking about whether he’d be pleased or not.

“Oh my God,” I say before I can stop myself. “Ravenna warned me about this.”

“What?”

“She basically said you controlled every decision she made. That you slowly took over all her thoughts.”

His mouth twists. His brows sink. A vein rises in the center of his forehead and begins to pulse in time to his clenching jaw.

“You’re throwing her in my face?” he says, his voice deathly quiet now. “You believe her?”

I’m always with you, Tamsyn.

“I don’t know what to believe sometimes,” I say helplessly, fighting the urge to press my hands to my ears and block out the unwelcome voice that’s coming from inside my own damn head. “You both accuse each other of being controlling.”

He can barely get the words out. “Maybe you should believe that this is exactly the kind of poison she wanted to plant in your head. Doubts about me. About us. Do you want her to win?”

“Win? This isn’t about winning.”

A derisive laugh from Lucien. “It is to her.”

“This is about us.”

“How much us is there if you don’t have more faith in me that that, Ms. Scott?”

It’s a fair question. We stare at each other for a hard few seconds, deadlocked.

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