Page 61 of Flight Risk

“I’m not a dancer anymore.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You had a dance outfit in your bag, but you’re not a dancer?”

“I was on my way to a club.” Between the hot tears racing toward my chin and the crushing disappointment in my chest, I can’t be that coy about it, and I can’t challenge him. I’m tapping out of this round. “I danced at a club.”

“Which club?” Jameson kneels up and moves my hair to one shoulder. His fingers search my spine.

“There’s no button. It stretches.”

“Okay. Do you want me to take it off or do you want to do it?”

I let out a long, irritated sigh and throw my head back. The wood-paneled ceiling remains innocent. “Seriously. Don’t pretend to be somegentlemanbecause I couldn’t even pull off a daring escape.”

“I’m not pretending to be a gentleman. You wouldn’t buy that. Nobody would.”

“Oh, yeah? Why did you have a tie in the back of your SUV, then? Are you the CEO of a kidnapping nonprofit?”

“I worked at my brother’s company.”

“Worked? Past-tense?”

He laughs. “No way he’ll want me there now.”

“Do youwantto work at his company?”

“Doesn’t matter what I want.”

“Um…” I look up at him. He looks down at me. I was too tired for a dare a minute ago, but I can’t help it with him. “I’m pretty sure that’s bullshit. You want justice for what happened to you. You want to get it from me.”

“Tangentially, I guess. I’m getting you out of those wet clothes. Fight me if you want.”

“What do you mean,tangentially?”

“You’re a means to an end, demon girl. I have nothing against you personally.”

“But it’s personal. You said it was more personal than the world’s injustices. How can it have nothing to do with me if it’s so specific?”

Jameson slips his fingertips under the back of my leotard and stretches it gently to the sides, working it down over my shoulders. I help him peel it down until it’s at my waist. Then he hooks his fingers into it. He’s firm but not rough on the fabric.

“Lift,” he says, and I push against the side of the tub for the second he takes to get it down over my hips.

He tosses the leotard into the hamper.

“You can throw it out. I can’t use it again.”

“Because you got fired from…which club did you say it was, again?”

Jameson’s so transparent, his innocence sofake, that I laugh. “A club called The Membership in the city.”

A nod. “I know that one.”

The heat of the spotlight comes back to me. The sense of mystery and power. Applause, rising from the audience to meet me. “Your turn.”

Jameson frowns, reaching over to shut off the water. He dips his hand in and shakes it off. “My turn for what?”

“I told you something about me. Now it’s your turn.”

“Alternatively, I could put you in the tub.”

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