Page 8 of Bitter Confessions

“She’s asking you for help?”

The chill in Roth’s tone made Jasmine stiffen. “No. She just wanted to talk.”

He didn’t comment; he just waited. Knowing he recorded all her calls, Jasmine grudgingly elaborated.

“She’s been working overtime implementing the changes you suggested.”

“They needed to restructure.” His voice was as unyielding as his expression. “They should have done it years ago. It’ll reduce cost and improve productivity and efficiency.”

“I’m sure it will,” she said with a tight smile.

His eyes narrowed. “If your sisters need assistance, they should come to me.”

“Ariana doesn’t need assistance. She’s just having a bad day.” When Roth’s brows drew together in a forbidding frown, she hastily tacked on, “She’s being spread thin since she’s taken on Colette’s duties. I offered to help.”

He pushed off the doorjamb and started toward her. “Hennessy & Co. doesn’t exist to you. You haven’t been involved in seven years. You’re not about to start now.”

She scowled. “I have my degree. I know what’s required?—”

“But instead of following in your family’s footsteps, you chose to become a writer and married me to ensure the company’s headed in the right direction.” He stopped before her, forcing her to tilt her head back to maintain eye contact. “Don’t interfere.”

“I’m not trying to interfere,” she grumbled. “I want to help.”

“You are.” He fingered the ends of her wet hair that she’d carelessly slicked back. “Through you, they get me. I know what I’m doing.”

She wanted to argue but knew he was right. He was ten times—perhaps more—effective than she’d ever be.

She stared at his throat as he played with her hair. Roth’s touch was soothing, hypnotic. Her body associated touch with genuine affection—it couldn’t comprehend that he was using her love language to lull her into a false sense of security. She should step back, but retreating would incite him to pounce, so she endured and distracted herself by focusing on something else.

“I want to see what you have on Ariana that proves she’s an addict,” she said in a flat monotone. “I couldn’t talk to her without looking for hidden meanings in everything she said.”

“That can be arranged.”

His easy compliance caught her off-guard, but only for a second. “And Rami?” When he nodded, she pressed, “What about Lyle?”

“No.”

When anger replaced her grief, she embraced it wholeheartedly. Better to feel the surging heat of indignant fury than cold, helpless melancholy. “You take great pleasure in exposing my family’s faults. Why stop with him?”

“I owe him.”

“You what?”

“Lyle was there for you when I couldn’t be. For that, I’m in his debt. The others, I owe them nothing.”

Her mouth opened and closed as she tried to process his words before smacking his hand away. “He’s your biggest critic! He should be the one you throw under the bus first!”

“His secret means more to you than the rest combined. Why is that?”

Lyle had been her champion, her anchor, the only one she could count on. His loyalty never wavered until she remarried. The fact that Roth knew something that could tarnish the character of the man she loved more than her own blood would cause considerable damage to an already crumbling foundation. And Roth knew it.

“Stop toying with me.”

“I’m not. It’s just an observation.” He took in her mutinous expression and glistening eyes thoughtfully before murmuring, “Before I found out what made him tick, I thought Lyle had a thing for you.”

She jolted back. “What?”

“The frequent calls and monthly visits to spend time with you... He was too attentive.”

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