Page 52 of Take Me, Sir

Kyndall

I keptmy eyes on Dean's face as I told him the truth. The fact that he'd been pushing me had me on edge, and my temper wasn't doing me any favors at the moment either, but I was trying to give him the benefit of the doubt. It was strange, I knew, to be able to spend as much money as I did without a job anyone could see. We were supposed to be working on having a relationship. That meant I couldn't just pull back like I would normally. I had to give him a chance to prove that he could handle the truth about me.

“Poker?” he finally said.

His face was blank, but it was the sort of careful expressionlessness that came with not wanting someone else to know what was going on inside. The problem was, I'd managed to see the things that had flashed across his eyes before he'd stopped himself, and I knew what he was thinking.

“Yes, Dean, poker.” I didn't bother holding back any of the sarcasm. “That game with the cards and the betting of money.”

“You're saying that you've made enough money at poker games to afford that apartment of yours.” His voice was flat. “That's why you have all that cash.”

“Do you have a better theory as to how I've been making money?” I took a step toward him. “What is it? What do you think I've been doing?”

His gaze slid away from mine, like he didn't want me to read in his eyes what I'd somehow managed to divine from his face. And that told me all I needed to know.

A sharp flash of emotion went through me, hurt quickly followed by anger.

“You're thinking the same thing my brother thought. That I'm a whore.”

His head snapped back, eyes wide. “That's not what I think.”

“It's not? You aren't wondering who I've been fucking to pay for my expensive apartment?”

He flinched, and for a moment, I thought I was mistaken, that I'd misread him. Then I saw the flash of guilt, and I knew he wasn't protesting because he hadn't been thinking any of those things. He was arguing because he'd been thinking exactly those sorts of things.

I twisted my mouth up into a bitter sort of smile. “Why don't you just ask me everything you want to know? I'm sure you've got a ton of questions. Do I work a hotel bar, or just down on the corner? How much do I charge? Do I take it on my back, on all fours, or whatever the trick wants?”

“Kyn–”

“Oh, no, come on, Dean, I know you're dying to know all the dirty details. How many men do I fuck a night? Was I doing anyone after I was done with you?”

Each question came out harsher than the last.

“Men.” I spit the word out. “Why is it none of you can believe that a woman can earn money from something that isn't sexual? If you didn't think I was a whore – or an escort if you want to be nice about it – you'd think I was stripping. A woman can still only make money if she sells her body in some way.”

“I don't think that.” He finally managed to get a word in. “Not about any woman.”

“Then it's only me?”

“That's not what I said,” he snapped.

“But it's how you're acting, and you know what they say: actions speak louder than words.” I took a step back. “You asked me for the truth, so I gave it to you. I told you that I've been earning money playing poker, and instead of believing me and maybe being pissed at me for that, you can't seem to fathom that it's even possible for a woman.”

“I can't understand how anyone can make a living playing cards,” he said. “Men or women. How could you earn that much money like that?”

I rolled my eyes. “Because I'm a fucking genius.”

He stared at me as if he was waiting for me to say something else.

“This is why I don't tell people. Not because I'm ashamed, but because no one takes me seriously. You have no idea...” I shook my head. “I graduated from high school when I was sixteen. Got a doctorate from MIT in mathematics, emphasizing statistics. My IQ's not at the Einstein level, but it's high. Is that smart enough for you?”

“I don't know what you want me to say.” He ran his hand through his hair.

“I don't know either, Dean.” I turned away, looked around us. “In fact, I don't even know why I bothered telling you. I should've just told you it was none of your damn business and walked away.”

“You are my business,” he said, stepping around so that he was in front of me again. “And if we're going to make this work between us, then we need to be honest with each other.”

“That seems to be working out well for us,” I said dryly.

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