Page 154 of The Bitter Words

“I’d hate people saying things about us that aren’t true.” She suppresses a smile by biting on her lip. “What’s this thing that connects us?”

A growl rumbles through me. I berate myself for allowing my thoughts to venture into the possibility of something happening with her.

My dream was bad enough. Admitting it out loud would be sure to put me in a dangerous situation where she’s concerned.

I segue. “I’m having a hard time with your behavior because I don’t know how to trust you.”

“We can talk about that in a minute. First, I want to know about this connection you brought up.”

“You told your father I was helping you with your company. It might look like I’m giving out handouts or preferential treatment to a young woman, and that might not go over well.”

“So that’s how you see our relationship?”

“How else could I see it? That’s what this is. You’re my friend’s daughter who wants business advice from me.”

“You’ll never face it.” She gets up and sways to the table. “Let’s eat before this gets cold.”

I want to ask her what I won’t face, but that will just take me down a path I don’t want to discuss.

I sigh and rise to my feet. “That’s a good idea.”

She removes the lids from the dishes as I join her. The aroma of maple syrup fills the air and my stomach growls.

She peeks my way. “Hungry?”

“Yes. I didn’t eat much last night.”

“I didn’t either.” She gets comfortable in her seat and places a napkin on her lap. “Are you still okay with sharing with me?”

“Of course. Why wouldn’t I?” I follow suit and gesture to her. “Hand me your plate and I’ll serve it… If you want me to.”

She gives it to me with a sparkle in her eyes. “I only asked because you say we’re just business associates. And I’ve never seen two colleagues sit at a table in a hotel suite on New Year’s Day after spending the night together share their breakfast.”

“I took care of you and we didn’t do anything salacious. You know that’s all it was.” I portion out the eggs Benedict and the pancakes. “I’ll let you decide where to put the fruit.”

“Where would I put it other than on my plate?”

“You might want it on top of your pancakes.” I hand her meal to her.

“No. I want to savor the chocolate chips.” She takes her food with a beautiful grin of appreciation. “Thank you. Now let’s talk about why you don’t trust me.”

I stall and divi out my breakfast while I try to figure out how I want to word my explanation.

There are a few good reasons why I don’t trust her, but a big part of my reaction to her is how she makes me feel. That’s the piece that has me the most concerned.

“Livianna, I want to put this gently. I’ve seen you manipulate and lie to your dad. It doesn’t sit right with me.”

“Are you saying you never did that with yours?”

“No, I did, but you do things on top of that.”

“What kind of things?”

I cut into my eggs and decide to tackle this head-on. “Your drug use is the major reason for my lack of trust in you.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” She slices into her pancakes hard enough her knife scratches the plate.

She shoves food into her mouth. I consider letting her off the hook, but my chest swirls with a pressing need for her to understand she must stop her destructive ways.