What happened?
Is this how you catch a book girl? I’m not shallow enough to be lured into accepting a dangerous situation with a really, really great supply of ebooks.
Am I?
“How did you get all of this?” I demand, indicating my clothes and the e-reader.
“You’d rather be naked and bored?” he drawls.
If he was naked too, I wouldn’t be bored. I bite my lip to prevent that totally inappropriate thought popping out.
“I have staff,” he says, as though that’s both obvious and normal. “I ordered things. They went and bought them.”
“But the brands! And the sizes, and I’m not explaining myself very well.” This man makes my brain turn to goo.
He sits back in the fancy swivel chair, folds his arms over his chest, and regards me thoughtfully.
“Were you stalking me?” I demand, and immediately feel like an idiot when his eyebrows shoot up.
“I think you’d have noticed me,” he says dryly.
“I mean online.” I am not losing it. Something doesn’t add up here.
“When?” he replies calmly.
“Anytime!” Worry pools in my gut. “Whenever explains why you have all these things I looked at and bought?”
“You’ll need to be more specific.”
I glare at him. That’s a yes.
“Don’t pout, lapochka,” he says gently. “I’m not sure which response you want. Would you prefer if I’d been watching you and arranged it so I had to kidnap you?”
“No.” That feels like a lie, and we both recognise it.
“I’ve only be investigating you since we met last night. I brought you into my home. I needed to know about you?—”
“The type of shampoo I use?” I interrupt, because that does sound very reasonable, if you ignore the level of detail he clearly went to.
“Yes.” He doesn’t flinch. “Amongst other things. I find out secrets, and hidden truths. That’s what I do. It wasn’t difficult to discover that you wear white cotton underwear with a little bow, read hockey romances, buy more chocolate for a week every month, can’t get coffee stains out of your clothes, and wonder if it’s normal to cry over fictional characters.”
The cringe is full body. It’s like he’s cracked open my head and knows all my secrets. But there’s no judgement or condescension in his tone.
“And for the record, it’s natural to doubt whether you’ll be a success.”
“Oh god, it’s so bad you know that,” I whisper.
They say data is power or whatever, but I’ve never really thought about how much you could tell about me from my online habits. Honestly, I never imagined anyone would be interested.
“It’s possibly the most innocent thing I’ve discovered about someone I’ve captured,” he says darkly. “Don’t worry.”
Ah. Right.
I stare at the e-reader. It’s generous, but I haven’t forgotten that I’m his prisoner.
“Am I supposed to just entertain myself until…” That’s the bit I’m not sure about. What happens next? He gets tired of having me around and kills me?
He turns and gives me his full attention. “If you’re trying to convince me that you wouldn’t be happy spending the hours lounging on that couch with your e-reader and a cup of hot chocolate, I urge you to remember that I’ve seen the records of your screen use, lapochka.”
