“Thank you.”
“You don’t oversell,” he continues. “You let the work speak.”
I nod, unsure where this is going.
“It’s a shame,” he says quietly, “that you hid who you really are.”
My face twists into confusion before I have chance to stop it. My flat, professional facade is gone as his words sink into my brain. I blink a couple of times, trying to line up what he said with a meaning that makes sense.
“I’m sorry, I don’t understand,” I say in the end, shaking my head slightly.
“You’re Lena Rookeridge’s daughter.”
The name hits me like a slap and I stagger back to the chair he offered me twenty minutes ago, dropping into it while the room spins.
“Did you believe that information wouldn’t be pertinent to us?”
I shake my head, searching for anything that could explain why that has anything to do with this. But it’s no use. Panic scrapes up my spine; the room is a blur.
My golden opportunity is over before it ever had chance to take root. Weeks of work is wasted.
And a man who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about since I first saw him, is looking at me like I’m worse than disgusting.
“I should go,” I mumble, focussing on taking in one slow breath after another. I manage to stand, even though I lean slightly to once side like the room is still swimming when I do.
I feel him before I realize what’s happening. He is behind me, solid and strong and huge in comparison to me. His hands clamp on my arms and his words are whispered directly into my ear.
“You’re not going anywhere, Jessica Rookeridge.”
Rurik
The moment her mother’s name leaves my mouth, I know I’ve shattered something.
I can tell the way Jessica reacts isn’t calculation or guilt or even panic dressed up as performance.
It’s shock. Pure and devastating.
She goes pale so fast it’s like all the blood drains from her body at once. Her eyes lose focus. Her breath stutters. When she drops into the chair, it isn’t dramatic. It’s instinctive, like her legs simply stop obeying her.
That is not the reaction of a woman running a con, which was my immediately thought when I found the link between her and Lena Rookeridge.
“I should go,” she says, but the words barely make it out. She pushes herself upright, pride forcing her spine straight even though the ground seems to tilt beneath her.
I move before I know what I’m doing. My hands close around her arms, firm but controlled, stopping her without yanking her back. I lean in close enough that she can feel my breath, my presence, the weight of me behind her.
“You’re not going anywhere,” I say quietly.
She freezes, then spins to face me. Her eyes are blazing now, color flooding back into her cheeks like anger is the only thing holding her upright. “You don’t get to do this,” she snaps, but thewords are sharp whispers in her rage. “You don’t get to ambush me with my mother’s name like it’s a weapon and then act like I owe you something.”
Her voice shakes, but she doesn’t back down. If anything, she leans towards me, lifting onto the balls of her feet like she is ready to fight for her life.
Interesting.
I drop my hands down, giving her space even though every instinct in me wants to keep my hands on her.
“I’ve done nothing wrong,” she says, standing her ground. “I didn’t lie. I didn’t hide anything relevant to this project. My work stands on its own. It has nothing to do with her.I have nothing to do with her.”
“I know,” I say.
