Page 50 of Retribution

Wait, I’m supposed to be hating him right now.

I do hate him.

Why am I acting like a love-sick teenager that has just been asked out on a date by her crush?

Maybe it’s because you are?

Well… not quite a teenager but the rest is debatable. I battle will my internal conscience like picking petals from a daisy.

Do I hate him? Do I not?

He returns with a small tray of our pleasantries and I slip him a quick thank you, taking a long sip from my straw.

The awkwardness that I now feel is the juxtaposition of what I felt five minutes ago. I pick at my croissant, mentally cursing for choosing an unflattering snack, unsure how to tackle it without coming across as a starved beast.

My leg jitters underneath the table, waiting for him to speak. He called me here, surely, he should begin the conversation.

Or, maybe I could just ask him a simple question like, how are you? How’s your day been? How are you coping? Why didn’t you tell me–

“The coffee is nice.” I say.

Really, Indie? Really.

“Mm, yeah, it is.” He responds, taking a sip of his own.

Folding my arms, irritated at his lack of conversation, I demand to get straight to the point. “So, why’d you ask me here?” I ask, briefly looking at him.

His dark stare meets mine, his long lashes float in the slight breeze. Placing down his coffee, he runs a hand through his thick brown hair.

I wait silently, every second feeling like an hour.

“I wanted to ask for your help,” he mumbles, barely audible.

I snort. My help?

“And why would I help you? After convincing me to sleep with you, on the same night that your wife died!” I retort, the anger I felt beginning to bubble up inside of me.

Now that I’m pulling back all of the memories of why I hate him, I’ve decided. I do hate him.

“I mean, you didn’t take much convincing.”

My jaw drops open. The audacity.

This man reeks of egotistical love for himself, clearly thinking that any woman would stop dead in their tracks to catch a glimpse of him. He’s not entirely wrong, based on the time we’ve been sitting here but, that’s not the point.

“Do you really think I would’ve spent the night with you if I’d have known the circumstances, Reed? Actually, I don’t care what you think. I’m telling you; I absolutely would not have!” I scoff at him, taking a large bite of my croissant.

The enduring feeling of his presence no longer bothers me, he can think I look like a ravenous caveman for all I care. The taste of the sweet but nutty cream center helps to lighten my mood, just slightly.

“Come on, Indie, we both know that there is something between us. Whether you want to admit it to yourself or not, it’s here and it’s not going away.” His tone is daring and tempting.

Stop it.

I burst out into a fit of laughter, hoping to dim this man’s confidence. It’s unfair how some people in this world suffer with their self-value and esteem, and there’s men like him who steal it and don’t share it with anyone but themselves.

He doesn’t falter.

In fact, he thrives.

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