Page 52 of Twisted Debt (The Debt Tales 1)

Bewilderment blooms in my expression. “Excuse me?”

“I didn’t sign it yesterday.”

Why am I not surprised Dietrich failed to mention that little detail during his other reporting, in which he made sure to include that she looked like she hadn’t been eating, sleeping, or washing her hair properly? The offhandedness of the information indicated he knew I wanted to know but refused to ask, and his decision not to include this little ambush further demonstrates how well he anticipates my needs beyond his paycheck duty.

I wish he wouldn’t.

I am thankful he does.

Perhaps he deserves two weeks on one of our new catamarans.

“The deal I have for you is quite simple,” Zel begins, removing the folder containing the documents from her bag. “Listen to what I have to say, and I’ll immediately sign it.” The object is placed gently on the glass surface. “Don’t listen to what I have to say, and I’ll sign it.” Her fingers place a pen on one side of the object before diving back into her yellow accessory. “But only after I’ve cut off every inch of my hair, here, in your office.”

“Idle threats do not make for great negotiation tactics, Miss Pierson.”

“I. Know,” a pair of sharp scissors is placed on the opposite side of the pen at the same time her stare drills into mine, “Mr. Whittington.”

An unexpected jolt gets my heart racing.

She would never cut her hair.

Zel’s stoic stance causes me to shift uncomfortably in my seat.

Or would she?

Not willing to take the risk and ruin something I know she loves – that I love even if I can’t touch it anymore – I clear my throat and gesture my hand towards her. “Proceed.”

Her shoulders immediately sag as she practically whispers, “I miss you, Elias.”

Shoving away the instinct to echo the sentiment requires me to summon strength I didn’t know I possessed.

“And I love you. I’m…in love with you. And I’m going to sign this contract because I don’t want to be your doll.” Two fingers tangle themselves into her locks to provide the comfort I can’t. “I want to be your girlfriend. Your real girlfriend. I want us to keep having dinners and going to snooty rich people parties. I want us to have brunches. I want you to ask me about school because you really give a shit and not because you’re just being polite. I want you to wash me and brush my hair and punish me with it when I’ve forgotten my manners in mixed company, or you think I was flirty with the delivery boy.”

She might not have been, but he was.

It got him fired.

He’s lucky it didn’t get him a broken rib.

“I want to fall asleep in your arms while you pretend you’re not as interested in Major League Soccer updates as you are. I want to fall asleep in your arms and let you take me to your bed because it’s our bed. Because you only want me sleeping with you, just like I only want you sleeping with me.”

Desire to have the picture she’s painting spreads throughout my bones; however, I maintain myself. Curl my fingers tighter together. Press them against my crotch in a willingness to distract myself with a different type of pain.

“And I want you to forgive me for making a mistake.”

My Adam’s apple slowly bobs as I swallow my unhappiness.

“Yes, I admit it…” Her tiny fingers work through the straightened strands faster. “I betrayed your trust and let Tomas into the penthouse. He called and I told him no and he told me he was hurt and couldn’t go to a hospital and put on this ridiculously scary performance over the phone that made me feel like he was going to fucking die-” she pauses to shake her head in irritation, “asshole.”

At least she can finally acknowledge that.

“He thought…I was in danger being with you. He got information from somewhere that made him think you were a serial killer, killing off all your dolls when you were done with them and that’s why he couldn’t find them, which he wanted to do to ask them questions about you – though I’m sure even if he could, they wouldn’t talk because of an NDA or something.”

She does know me.

“He thought he was saving me from being a brainwashed prisoner. He had it in his stupid, stubborn mind, that I was still this tiny, shy, fourth grader who needed her big brother to protect her from the big bad bully, but all he did was possibly ruin a relationship with the one person I want to spend forever with.”

Longing replants itself on the tip of my tongue.

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