Page 30 of Capricorn

“We all have our talents.”

“And what are your talents, Mr. Whitney?”

“Are we no longer on a first name basis?”

I shrug. “I suppose we are.”

“That’s disappointing.”

His response tips me off balance, and I frown. “Disappointing, how?”

“I was hoping to persuade you into calling me Sir.” He’s bold in the way he’s watching me—a meaningful lock of gazes that almost steals my breath.

Almost.

“And why would I want to do that?”

“Use the title and find out.”

Flustered by his smug innuendo, I cross my legs and force a mask of indifference, refusing to let him see how he’s getting under my skin. There’s something unsettling about his confidence, how he winds it around my neck like a trap.

The dynamic feels too familiar, another match in a smorgasbord of games that needs to end before I make the wrong move.

“Who’s the woman in those paintings?” I ask, reaching for the nearest thought.

The shift in conversation surprises us both.

Oliver leans back and spears a potato with his fork. “She’s in the past.”

“Evasive. I’m sure your hired shrink would have plenty to say about that.”

“Did you open up to Sully about Sebastian?”

“You’re changing the subject.”

“No,” he says, drawing out the word, “I was talking about other things when you changed the subject.”

“Was she your girlfriend?”

His fork clanks against the table. “You’re not going to drop this, are you?”

“Not likely.”

He presses his lips together, holding back words that threaten to break free. “Her name was Talitha.”

Was.

A lump of sympathy rises in my chest. At best, his mystery woman broke his heart, though I have a feeling it’s much worse than a story of parted ways.

“What happened?” I ask, bracing myself.

“She died.”

His blunt answer lands between us with an echo of agony.

“So I understand what you’re going through.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out, swallowing the ache in my throat. “I shouldn’t have pried.”

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