“Can I take notes?” I ask.
“No!” He says it with finality.
“That’s not how interviews go, Soren.”
“I know how interviews go, Miss Knight. If I didn’t, I wouldn’t be where I am today. Now, would I?” He pauses with a thoughtful expression. “Actually, that reminds me. There’s something else I need from you.”
“What? Why?”
“I told you there would be stipulations in exchange for my time.”
“How many things do you need from me before you give me what I want?” I ask with exasperation.
He takes another sip and then lowers his glass down. A Rolex glints on his wrist, and his strong fingers clutch the glass resting on his knee. I can’t help but admire how good his hands look—tanned and veiny. Noah has computer hands. Soren should have the same, given his job, but he has the hands of a man who knows what to do with them.
Makes me hate him even more.
“This one, I’m sure you’ll like,” he says, as if he knows me.
“And how can you be so sure of that?”
“Because it’s fun, and that’s clearly something you’re lacking.” He stands and goes to refill his glass. “So, are you ready? I’ll send for my car.”
I glance at my watch. “It’s not even dinner time yet. What could you possibly have planned?”
“We’ll be early, but rest assured, you’ll enjoy it.” I know this man is dangerous. He’s dark, full of deadly secrets, and someone I absolutely don’t trust. But I need this story. And something in Soren’s hidden shadows calls to me.
So, despite every warning in my gut, I nod and agree to go with him.
He moves over to his desk, picks up his cell phone and slides it into his pocket, then goes to the door. Opening it, he asks, “Are you ready?”
“Sure.” I stand and then walk out the door.
He doesn’t pay his assistant any attention whatsoever as he follows me to the elevator. Soren presses the button, and we stand there in complete silence, waiting for the elevator to arrive.
I can smell the whiskey in the air between us. It’s making me think of things to do with his mouth that I shouldn’t be thinking about. Ever since he mentioned kissing me, I keep wondering what he tastes like.
We step into the elevator, and the silence persists throughout the ride down until we reach his car. When he opens the car door for me, I finally ask, “Where are we going?”
“What would be the fun in telling you? I’d much rather it be a surprise,” he says.
I climb into the car, and he gets in after me.
Turning to face him, I question, “Am I dressed appropriately for this event?”
“It’s not an event.” He smirks, burning me with his stare. I get that he’s trying to intimidate me, but I’m not easily intimidated.
“Do you ever plan to marry?” I ask.
“Did you enjoy being married?”
“I did. I had a good marriage.”
“So, why did you end it?” he asks.
“Because we realized we no longer loved each other, and that we’re better as friends.”
“Let me guess. You told him that first, and he agreed.” I nod in answer. “Figured as much.”
