Why was he talking like a sales assistant in a clothing shop?
“I’m not getting dressed or showered nor am I eating. I’m on strike.”
“Why are you on strike?”
She pretended to concentrate on her writing, ignoring him.
North is a dick.
North is rude.
North irons his face.
North is hot.
Nope. Scratch that last one. She didn’t find him attractive.
North is psychotic.
“What are you writing?” he asked.
“What? Nothing!” She slammed her notebook closed and gave him a startled look.
Idiot. How did you forget the shark in the room?
Hmm. A shark was a pretty apt description to use for him. He had some definite shark-like qualities.
Stealthy. Deadly. Scary.
“Are your teeth pointed?”
“I’m not a vampire,” he said dryly.
Damn. That just reminded her of the conversation she’d had with the others. She missed them.
“Are you going to answer me?” he asked.
Well, it was more like a demand.
“I know you’re not a vampire. And maybe I will. What was the question?”
Was he glaring at her? It felt like he was even though his expression didn’t change.
“I asked why are you on strike?”
“Well, I think that’s pretty obvious. I’m on strike because I was kidnapped.”
“So you’re going to let yourself get smelly, wear dirty clothes and not eat to protest me kidnapping you.”
“Yes.” She nodded empathically. “And you can’t talk me out of it.”
“Why would I? I don’t care if you’re smelly and hungry. Like you said, I can just keep an eye on you from the cameras. It’s not like you’re going anywhere.”
He didn’t mean that, right.
It had to be some sort of trick.
“You’re not going to visit me?” she asked.
