"You're unbelievable," she finally says.
"So I've been told."
"I hate you."
"No, you don't."
"I do. I really, genuinely do."
I smile. It's not a nice smile. "Then this is going to be a very long week."
I brush past her toward the bathroom, leaving her standing there in her borrowed flannel, fury radiating off her in waves.
Seven days.
By the time we leave this cabin, she'll understand.
And she'll be mine. Completely and willingly.
Or we won't leave at all.
25
JADE
Istand frozen in the middle of the cabin, watching Phoenix disappear into the bathroom.
The flannel shirt smells like cedar and something faintly chemical. It’s new, never worn. He bought these clothes for me. Had them brought up here. Planned all of this before the dinner, before I found out the truth, before everything fell apart.
What was his original plan? Sweep me away to his romantic mountain cabin after a successful investor dinner? Play the devoted boyfriend until I was too deep to climb out?
The thought makes me sick.
But not as sick as the realization that some part of me might have fallen for it.
The bathroom door opens. Phoenix emerges and he looks almost normal.
He moves to the kitchenette without looking at me, opening the mini fridge and pulling out a carton of eggs. I watch him crack of shells, sizzle the butter, and listen to the sound of the spatula scraping against the pan.
"I'm making eggs," he says. "You should eat something."
"I'm not hungry."
As if on cue, my stomach growls loudly.
Phoenix glances over his shoulder, one eyebrow raised.
"I'm not hungry," I repeat through gritted teeth.
He shrugs and turns back to the stove. "Suit yourself."
The smell hits me a moment later. Butter and eggs and toast browning in a second pan. My stomach clenches painfully. I haven't eaten since—when? A few bites at the dinner, before everything went to hell. That was hours ago.
I watch him plate the food into two portions. He sets one plate on the small table near the kitchenette and takes the other to the sofa, settling in like he hasn't a care in the world.
He eats slowly, methodically, never looking directly at me. But I can feel him tracking me out of the corner of his eye.
The plate on the table sits there, waiting for me to break.
