Page 21 of False God

“How … historical.” I makehistoricalsound like a slight, and I know it registers.

Rather than annoyed, Charlie appears amused by my choice of adjective. “Mmhmm,” he replies, then takes a sip of his club soda.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, increasingly irritated by his lack of reaction.

I want him to argue with me. Make another demeaning comment—this time to my face. It feels like the upper handis slipping now that I’ve dropped our little game of repeating introductions. Which I didn’t mean to make a recurring instance. I was pissed at him the second time we met. And earlier, I was so shocked to see Charlie standing outside Asher’s office that obliviousness was my first instinct.

“This restaurant? Or this city?”

“Either. Both.”

“Same answer really. I’m visiting my mother.”

I blink at him. “Your mother.”

He makes another one of those maddeningmmhmmsounds.

“Your mother is American?”

Charlie holds my gaze. “Yes.”

“So, you spent time in the US, growing up?”

“I did not.”

Still with the unwavering eye contact. I’m sweating.

“Oh.” I’m bumping up against the boundaries of politeness, swallowing more questions and trying to extinguish a curiosity I shouldn’t possess in the first place.

“I didn’t realize you worked at Kensington Consolidated,” Charlie states.

“I don’t,” I say, rubbing a finger against the condensation collected on the side of the glass. “Mom and I just stopped by the offices for a visit.”

“Asher seems very close with your family.”

My eyes narrow. Charlie sounds … disgruntled about that. Like that familiarity makes him like Asher less.

“Asher is best friends with my dad,” I inform him. “He’s my godfather.”

“I see.”

I’m not surewhathe sees. Does he think his fancy dukedom is too good for my family?

“The company is calledKensingtonConsolidated, Charles. You couldn’t have missed that when you walked into the building.”

His head tilts to the left. Two women squeeze past us, both blatantly checking him out, and his gaze never wavers. “What do you do?”

I feel the lines form on my forehead. “What do you mean?”

“You said you don’t work atKensingtonConsolidated.” He emphasizes my last name obnoxiously. “Whatdoyou do, Elizabeth?”

I flick my hair over one shoulder, flashing him my most seductive smile. “Don’t you know how much money I have? Why would I bother working?”

Charlie doesn’t react to my sarcastic tone, just keeps staring at me. His attention is consuming. It’s sucking away everything around me, like I’m on a plane and a door was opened thousands of feet up in the air. My surroundings are a blur of moving objects, the only focal point his unwavering gaze.

I’m treading dangerously close to the comment he made about me. The one I should have brushed off instead of allowed to soak in. His opinion shouldn’t matter to me. Not that day. Not now.

He shakes his head, then glances at the door as the silence between us stretches. A silent dismissal that almost seems disappointed.

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