The more friction they have, the better.
Toni sits at her computer, the four screens covered with indiscernible code and pages. Her back is toward me. Always her back. She reaches for her cell phone and intently stares at the screen. She’s close enough that I can read her body language. She squeezes the phone, and I don’t need to be an expert in kinesics to see that she’s pissed.
Her phone flies across the room, smashing against the cement wall as she grunts. “Cazzo!”
I rein in a smile.
It’s showtime.
“What’s wrong?” I ask softly.
In the two years I worked at Lux, I’ve learned that there are two types of personalities. One ruled by stone. The other by feathers. Toni is stone. She’s tough and hard. And so, I must be the feather to her stone. Light. Gentle. It’s not a concrete science, but I’ve watched enough backroom encounters to determine which approach boasts the best ROI.
Toni stiffens, ignoring me as she continues to clack away on the keyboard.
She’s stubborn. I’ll give her that.
“Did something happen?” I ask, voice airy and breathy. Like a feather dipped in poison. “Are you…” I pause for effect. Stones love theatrics. They can hardly sense it. Differentiate an act from reality. “Are you okay?”
Come on, Toni. Break for me. Show me a little crack. That’s all I need. One tiny chip. One teensy weensy sliver of hope.
“Antonia?” I might be pushing it. She might see through me.
Abruptly, she whips her head around, jaw locked and tense. “Do not call meAntonia. I loathe that name.”
On the inside, I grin like the fucking devil. But on the outside… On the outside, I give her eyes meant for helpless puppies, hurt and tortured and afraid.
“I’m… I’m sorry.” I pull my chin down to my chest, sniffling. “I didn’t mean to…”
Take the bait.
Take it.
Toni lets out a labored sigh. “It is… It is fine. I should not have snapped at you. I am… I am frustrated. It is not your fault.”
I look up at her through my lashes. “It’s not?”
A weak, sympathetic smile clips her lips. “No, bella, it is not.”
I swallow, shifting my weight uncomfortably on the squeaky mattress. I twist my leg to change positions, and wince, subtly enough that she thinks I’m genuinely in pain. I don’t need to look up to see her reaction. I can feel it. I’m slowly seeping into her cracks.
“What’s wrong then?” I ask, timidly fiddling with strands of loose hair. “Is… Is Simone angry with you?”
Toni scoffs. “When is shenotangry with me?”
I perk a curious brow and immediately scold myself for being so reactive.
Trouble in kidnapper paradise, it appears.
How do I want to approach this? Do I want to relate to her problems? Mention I’ve been at the mercy of a man with anger issues? It’s not a complete lie. But it’s also not the truth. Damon’s anger never truly scared me. Annoyed me, yes. But never frightened me.
Or do I want to praise her for her selflessness? Show her how much her kindness means to me? I can’t make the wrong move. One wrong move and the entire thing could collapse on top of me, and I’ll never be able to escape.
Simone is angry at her for helping me. I should offer her my gratitude. She needs that. She needs to know that I appreciate her sacrifice. Yes. We’ll go with that. But gently. As to not startle the beast.
“It’s the blanket, isn’t it?” My gaze meekly floats to the throw. “She’s…angry about that, isn’t she?” I don’t let Toni respond as I swallow. “You said it’s not my fault. But it is.” I glance up at her, eyes soft. “I’m sorry you’re fighting with her because of me. I…” I reach for the blanket and hold it toward her. “You can take it back if you want. I’ll… I’ll be fine. It’s not that…” I fake a sneeze.God, I’m a genius.“It’s not that cold.”
Toni clicks her tongue. “Shit.”
