A timer blinks up on screen.
Three.
I just don’t understand. If I already broke the agreement, why offer a way back in?
Two.
Why not do to me what he did with some of his recent acquisitions—gut me, ruin me, and turn my downfall into a trophy?
One.
Why isn’t he taking the opportunity to publicly humiliate me?
I slam the laptop shut.
Raffael’s eyes flash in warning, sharp and narrowed.
“Where did you shower this morning?” I demand.
He scowls, as if caught off guard. “You’re stalling a get-out-of-jail-free statement to ask about my bathing habits?”
I swallow, keeping my palms flat on the desk. Steady. Unflinching. “You didn’t use your private bathroom. I would’ve heard you.”
“I showered in one of the guest cabins.” He folds his arms over his chest, his shirt straining across broad muscles. “Any other hygiene habits you’d like to scrutinize before we continue?”
The need for air increases. “Tell me what the hell is going on.”
“Well, right now you’re delaying a very generous solution I was kind enough to offer so you can psychoanalyze my shower choices.”
“None of this makes sense.” I push to my stocking-covered feet, frustration crackling under my skin. “You despise me, but then resent my father for not telling me the truth, instead of jumping at the chance to gloat about your underhanded agreement.”
“I’m not in the business of making little girls cry,” he drawls.
My stomach twists at the condescension, but I don’t let it sway me. “You outline a program that boosts my reputation but burdens you financially.”
He gives me a tired look. “Having you publicly admit you cut ties with the Cavallo Group will only put us under more scrutiny.”
No. That’s not it. It can’t be.
“Then explain why youabductedme, then served my favorite meals.”
His lips twitch, not quite a smile—more like a taunt. “Don’t tell me Stockholm has already set in.” He clucks his tongue. “Do you think I’m secretly pining for you, Isla?”
Yes. And the stupidity of wishful thinking has my face heating.
I can admit I’ve spent two years failing to hate him—secretly hoping the man I once knew would resurface.
Maybe I can even acknowledge my first act as interim CEO was to test him. To see if there was still something real beneath the wreckage.
It’s pathetic, yet here I stand, trying to resurrect something that likely only existed in my imagination. What else do I have to lose?
I round the table and stop before him. “Why shower in another cabin if not out of kindness to let me sleep?”
He holds my gaze, cold, dangerous, the seconds passing like centuries. Then he stands, towering above me, forcing me to raise my chin to maintain eye contact.
“Maybe,” he drawls, “after your off-Broadway theatrics last night, I figured a few extra minutes’ rest might help to tame the crazy. Though clearly, I underestimated your flair for chaos.”
I press my lips shut, my heart riotous.
