Page 40 of Slay Me

And tonight makes seven dinners sitting across from the Ringmaster while his security detail brings us food hand-prepared by a chef while they were supervised by Duncan. I’ve eaten more in the past week than I typically do in a month, but I’m certainly not going to complain.

I haven’t been allowed to perform just yet, but after tonight, I’m hoping I’ll get to return to the ring. As much as I’m surprised to admit it, I miss my old routine. The good news about not being allowed to perform?

I’ve had plenty of time on my hands, which means I’ve finished not one but two new outfits. Standing in front of my mirror, I study the way the blue fabric shimmers against my skin and smile.

If he enjoyed the last one I made, this one is going to knock him dead.

After slipping into a black cloak, I make my way down the hall and up the stairs to his apartment. The door is cracked, so I push it open a bit more and stick my head in. “Hello?”

“Come in.”

The Ringmaster stands with his back to me, facing a roaring fire in the hearth. His broad shoulders completely fill out the white shirt he wears, and even as I want to despise how he makes me feel, I have to admit he looks fucking amazing.

Dinner is already on the table, though, based on the steam wafting off of what looks to be lasagna, it hasn’t been there long. “Sit,” he orders.

I slip out of the jacket, hang it on the back of my chair, and sit down.

He stops—and freezes when he sees me. Gaze turning molten, he studies the bodice of my singlet, starting at the top of my shoulders and dropping down to the sheer netting that covers the swell of my breasts before making his way to the shimmering blue fabric that continues down my waist. “You’re not performing tonight,” he chokes out.

I try not to smile at his clear discomfort. “No, but it seemed a waste to let this remain in my wardrobe. Don’t you agree?”

“I—” He clears his throat. “Yes. You do good work.”

A stack of papers sits beside his plate as they do most nights. He takes his seat and begins to eat as he reads.

It’s been like this every single meal. Honestly, I’m starting to believe he’s doing it simply to avoid conversation.

“It’s been a week,” I tell him. “I can start eating with the other performers.”

“No.” His reply is curt, and he doesn’t even bother looking at me.

“Seriously, I seem to be little more than a distraction to you while you’re trying to work.”

“Until we find out who poisoned you, you’re going to continue eating with me.”

Frustration has me pushing my plate away. “It obviously wasn’t anyone here, right? I’m guessing you talked to everyone.”

“I did.”

“And since, as far as I know, everyone is still breathing, that means I should be safe. You said your security is supervising the shopping now, correct?”

“They are.”

Frustration burns me from the inside. “Then there is no way for anyone to get anything into my food.”

The Ringmaster lifts his gaze to me now. “Do I bore you?”

“Yes. Frankly, you’re shit at conversation.”

A crooked grin spreads over his face, and warmth pools between my legs. Even from here, I can smell him, that heady scent that belongs to only him. “And just what would you like to talk about, Liv? The weather?”

“Sure. It was sunny today. Warm. Even though I could only enjoy it from my window.”

That fucking smile grows. “It was quite warm. Eat.”

“No.”

Chuckling, the Ringmaster stands and makes his way over to me. The gloves he always wears adorn his hands, and they contrast beautifully with the black steel of the utensil on my plate as he lifts it. A forkful of cheese, marinara, and pasta in his hand, he lifts it and presses it gently to my lips. “Open for me, Liv.”

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