He doesn't look up. "About?"
"About when I can go home."
That gets his attention. His blue eyes meet mine. I see something flicker there—surprise, maybe, or annoyance that I'm still fighting this.
"You are home."
"This isn't my home." I step into the room, closing the door behind me. "This is a prison with better interior design."
"I’m still waiting for my money.”
I roll my eyes. “The fact that he hasn’t given you the money should tell you something.”
“What?”
“He doesn’t have it! My father would move heaven and earth for me.”
“I’ve given him an extension but I’m running out of patience.”
“My father's been working for you for twenty years. Why would he steal from you now?”
Dante closes the laptop. "Sit down."
"I don't want to sit down. I want answers."
"Red—"
“Do you believe my father stole from you?”
"The evidence suggests?—"
"I'm not asking about evidence. I'm asking what you believe."
He stands up, moving around the desk to face me. "It doesn't matter what I believe. It matters what I can prove."
"That's not an answer."
"It's the only answer you're going to get."
Frustration boils over, and I find myself moving closer to him, close enough that I have to tilt my head back to meet his eyes. "My whole life has been a lie. Do you understand that? Everything I thought I knew about my father, about our family, about who I am—it's all been built on secrets and half-truths."
"Welcome to my world."
"I didn't ask to be part of your world!"
"Neither did I." The words come out harsh, unexpected. "You think I wanted this? You think I planned to have Richard Quinn's daughter under my roof, in my life, turning everything upside down?"
The admission catches me off guard. "Then let me go."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
He's standing so close now I can smell that expensive cologne that's haunted my dreams for weeks.
"Because I don’t have my money.”
“I’ll pay you back,” I blurt out. “I have to work to get you your money which means you have to let me go.”
