Page 46 of On a Fault Line

Setting me on the sofa, Collins stands in the entranceway of the dressing room and waves over the worker.

“Sir, is there a problem?”

Even strangers bow down to his calm authority, as if he is the owner of this boutique and everyone inside answers to him.

“I need some crackers and a bottle of water and orange juice. Oh, and maybe some cheese or something with protein?”

“Certainly,” the worker says before rushing off.

“This isn’t a grocery store,” I grumble. He most definitely has been hanging around my brothers long enough to know that money and power will get you anything.

Picking up a strawberry from the champagne garnish tray on the table, he places it at my mouth, silently urging me to bite.

I try to sit up, but my head feels like a bowling ball. “It’s no big deal.”

“Eat. Your health and well-being are a big deal to me.”

“Really, I’m fine.”

“Let me take care of you, Princess.”

I don’t dare blink as my eyes brim with another layer of tears that I can barely hold back.

It’s that one-word endearment that makes me believe that maybe we are okay. Maybe he is just stressed that we are in public.

And maybe he isn’t actually having regret over our little arrangement.

“But Iamokay. I think the floor stopped moving, and your face is back to being just one and not three.”

His eyes narrow on me. “You still look like you’re going to faint again, and you haven’t eaten anything all day except for a couple of strawberries just now. So I don’t trust your assessment on the size of this problem, because your health is nonnegotiable.”

I look at the strawberry Collins is holding and concede by opening my mouth to accept his offering and give in to his demands. I chew carefully, as to not humiliate myself even more by choking. “You have quite the presence, Mr. Stone.”

I can tell my formality catches him off guard. Good.

One minute he is acting like my boyfriend and the next he is pushing me away. The back-and-forth is giving me whiplash.

The worker returns with some crackers and beverages, informing us that Angie and Claire got distracted with a shoe display of new arrivals on the main floor. She then exits to leave the two of us alone.

I want to make a joke about this almost being a date, but I don’t want to rock this sinking boat any more than I have somehow today.

Collins cracks open the seals and alternates between giving me sips of water and sips of orange juice. I feel very stupid for not snacking on something at Angie and Graham’s house prior to coming here. My mind just feels so cloudy today.

But Collins really knows how to handle situations. He always knows what to do—like a Boy Scout.

“What was your nickname growing up?” I ask, trying to use our alone time together to gain more insight into his life.

“Boy Scout.”

My jaw drops. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke.”

I tap a finger along my jaw. “This is true.”

“Keep eating, Penelope.”

Sliding a cracker into my mouth, I bite down.

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