The door opened and she tensed without looking up from her notebook. She wasn’t giving him the satisfaction of paying any attention to him.
Plus, she was cursing herself for not having a plan in place to take him out. That was a missed opportunity.
She was starting to see the benefit of Honey’s Kill the Fuckers Bag.
“You didn’t eat your dinner,” North said.
Stay silent.
Most people hated the silent treatment.
“Or sleep much by the look of you. Next time I’ll need to give you more sleeping pills.”
Sleeping pills! That bastard.
Do not react.
Although her handdid tighten around the pen to the point of pain.
“Ahh, but at least you’ve learned to be quiet. That’s pleasing.”
“I have not learned to be quiet!” she exploded. “I’m giving you the silent treatment.”
“Ahh.” He set down a tray of food on the small table by the door. “Good job.”
Urgh.
This bastard.
He’d made her forget that for the silent treatment to work, you actually had to be silent.
“What are you doing here?” she grumbled.
“I brought you some food. And I’m here to check on you.”
God. Why did he have to sound so . . . so calm?
She wanted to ruffle him up, see that control crack.
Although she might not like it when that actually happened.
But she’d worry about that when it happened.
“Can’t you just use your cameras?” she asked bitterly. “And I don’t want any food. You might drug it.”
“I might. But I haven’t. Do you ever intend to shower or change your clothes?” he asked mildly. “It’s an interesting life choice. Especially in a room without a window.”
Was he saying that she stunk?
Crap.
He was totally saying that she stunk.
“You’re saying that I smell?” she asked incredulously.
“I thought that would be obvious,” he said dryly. “You need an outfit to wear. What would you like? A dress? A onesie? There’s a matching tracksuit in butter yellow.”
Butter yellow?
