He scrolled on his phone. “Someone created this expensive half mask for my brother’s fiancée. Custom-made, outta glass.”
“Venetian mask. Love it.”
“You didn’t blow the glass?”
“Nah.” I lied about the job. I couldn’t tell Montana no when he asked for my help, and I adored his fiancée, Zuri. “I’m not a glassblower anymore.”
“Why not?”
“Lost my shop, Mad Bold & Blown. Ifyouremember, it was the only thing my husband allowed me to take in the divorce.”
He wriggled his jaw. “That’s a lie. Bold lie, Maddy.”
I shrugged. “Oh yeah, that’s just the story I tell everyone.” Truth be told? By the time we finally divorced a year ago, I’d lost my mind. Had already lived two years in purgatory. Told the judge no alimony. Had said,Don’t cut the house in half. Legit, don’t do it.It would look awkward. I might fall from the second floor while sleepwalking because of the depression. Besides, there wasn’t a big enough power saw. Told ‘em to keep the Mercedes. I only wanted my glass decor store. Thought I’d make something of myself without the Babineaux name.
“You-you don’t have Mad Bold & Blown anymore?” His voice lowered.
I lost my reason to create three years ago.
“Talk to me. Maddy …”
“Okay, you want the truth?” I twisted my hips, making the chair swivel left and right, leisurely and bored.
“Please,” Washington replied.
I pressed the stop button on the audio recorder. At least my jailhouse accessories didn’t stop me from that.
He tapped it back on.
Off.
On.
Off.
Washington folded his arms. “Whatever. Be honest.”
“First.” I pulled my cuffed hands toward me. “Confirm you won’t press charges. Verbally. Regardless of what I say.”
“What?”
“Say it out loud: I, Washington Baby No, won’t press charges against Madison Spencer.” I almost winced at my maiden name. Thought I’d be Team Wash forever. “I don’t trust you, so say it.”
He wriggled his jaw. “If you don’t trust me, what’s the difference?”
“Because. If there’s another recorder in here, your word will trump what I reveal.”
“Okay, Maddy. Be honest.”
“I.” Swivel left. “Did.” Swivel right. “It.”Chuckle. I was too grown for this crap, but he’d taken my best years … my curvy pre-mommy bod too. “Your turn, stalker.”
“Madison Selene Spencer, I didn’t stalk you,chère.” That sexy Louisiana Creole accent drenched his usual swagger, a swagger I taught him in college. I’d made him. The suits. The beard. That shiny bald head I once rubbed likemy precious. Yeah, that sucker concealed the world’s smartest brain, but …
Wait. Did this sun-drenched, beautiful brainiac use my entire government and say he hadn’t stalked me?
“What do you mean you didn’t stalk me … every night for months?”
“It wasn’t me.”
