Page 78 of Bitter Secrets

He stared at her for a long moment before he said, “Physical work has a way of putting things into perspective and clarifying things for me. It clears my head in a way that sitting in a dorm, classroom, or office never could. If people did real, grueling work, they wouldn’t complain about putting in hours in front of a computer in air-conditioned comfort.”

She propped her chin on her hand as she took in the intriguing puzzle that was James Roth. He was a mathematical genius millionaire who chose to work blue-collar jobs to clear his head instead of going to the gym? She had never heard of anything so outlandish, but she absolutely loved it. No wonder Dad had been so determined to bring him to heel. Roth was a different breed of man, one who wouldn’t let anything get in his way.

“Why do you go by Roth?” she asked absently.

“I had two classmates with the same first name as me.” He shrugged. “I volunteered to go by my last name.”

“You don’t have a nickname?”

He shook his head.

“Not at all?”

“Like what?”

“My sisters call me Minnie.” She grimaced. “But I prefer Jas if people don’t want to say my full name. Nobody’s ever called you…?” Her lips twitched. “Jamie?”

“No.”

She tried to keep a straight face as she said, “I think it suits you.”

He raised his coffee as he said in a cool tone, “You think so?”

She couldn’t hold back her grin. The nickname didn’t match him at all, but the fact that he wasn’t vehemently protesting showed how secure he was in his masculinity. Roth suited him. It was blunt and to the point—just like the man. But everyone should have a nickname, even James Roth. She wondered if the women he dated ever called him honey or sweetie, but couldn’t imagine it.

“Jamie,” she murmured.

She didn’t look down as his fingers flexed around his cup. She wasn’t sure if that was a good or bad thing, but she was distracted by his eyes. Sunlight streamed through the window, gilding his harsh features and revealing that his eyes were a true liquid black with no hint of brown.

“What ethnicity are you?” she asked.

Again, the hand flex, but his expression remained neutral.

“American Indian, German, and Danish.”

Her eyes rounded. “Wow.”

“Wow?” he echoed in a dangerous tone.

“What a fascinating mix,” she mused as she took in his coloring and features. “I couldn’t figure out what you were. I never would have guessed… I was thinking Greek or Brazilian.” She leaned forward. “Do you speak the language of your people?”

“No.”

“Oh.” When he didn’t elaborate, she raised her brows. “Because your parents don’t speak it?”

“My mother does, but she didn’t pass it onto me.”

“That’s a pity.”

“Did Maximus teach you all the languages you know?”

Her expression went blank. Her father’s name was an unpleasant reminder that Roth was part of her father’s world, which meant that the next time they met in society, he would probably act like he didn’t know her. He would change. He had to. And so did she.

“No, he didn’t teach us. We had tutors.”

“What does he speak?”

“Just English.”

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