Oh, the magnanimity.
The way he says “that girl” makes the hairs on the back of my neck prickle. He thinks Beau’s guilty, or at the very least, he thinks Beau cheated on me.
“Beau didn’t sleep with Gemma,” I snap. “Not everyone bails as soon as things get complicated. Not everyone is as mercurial as you.”
He doesn’t have an answer to this. And Simonalwayshas an answer.
“You’re right,” he finally says.
My nails bite into my palms under the table. “I want to know when you got here.”
“That’s not really what you want to ask me,” he chides. I didn’t expect his disapproval to sting. But it does. “Now who’s not being direct?”
After all these years, I want to win. To best him. To make him take back his careless dismissal of me. I hate it, but it’s true. I used to fantasize about confronting Simon in this new life I’ve made. I’d be unaffected and untouchable, and he’d finally betruly sorry. But in those fantasies, Beau wasn’t down at the police station giving a statement.
“Fine.” I lean forward and lower my voice. “Were you here the night Gemma died?”
I don’t know why Simon would follow Gemma all the way to Florida to kill her, but everything started the night she died. Including his text messages to me.
His smile falters, but in a breath, it’s back to something smooth and practiced.
“Gemma?” he repeats, like the name is brand-new to him.
I roll my eyes. “You knew her. You went to Greenleaf as much as anyone.”
“Of course, I knew her. Everyone knew her,” he says lightly, though his jaw tightens. “She was…memorable.”
“I saw you,” I blurt out, worn down by his deflections. “Outside of Lemon & Fig. The night she died. I saw you.”
He doesn’t blink. Just takes a sip of water like he has all the time in the world. “Why do you care?”
“Why don’t you admit it?”
“So you can ignore the footage they’re playing on a loop? Of Beau and Gemma arguing? I think you’re worried Beau’s involved, and you want me to give you a reason to believe he’s not.”
My pulse jerks. He wants me to give him something he can use, offer some shadow of doubt that he can slip through and drive a wedge between Beau and me. I square my jaw. “This isn’t about Beau.”
“Everything’sabout Beau.” His smile sharpens. “Even her.”
I steady my voice. “So youwerehere.”
He leans in, close enough that I catch the aftershave again and the back of my throat pinches. “You’re asking the wrong question again.”
Suddenly, I’m boxed in like I always was with him. Simon writing the rules and making me play his game.
“Why would I kill a girl like that?” He gives a dry laugh. “Think about it. Why would I bother?”
“You’re not denying it.”
“Of course I am.” His gaze sharpens. “She didn’t matter to me. She mattered to Beau.”
He won’t let it go. Always back to Beau. Always circling.
“What is your obsession with him? I’m sorry he didn’t sell his company to you. But that’s not why Redwood failed.”
“I know why Redwood failed,” Simon says through clenched teeth. After a beat, his jaw relaxes, slow and deliberate, like he’s savoring the moment. “You really don’t see it?”
“See what? You’re reaching,” I say, though my stomach twists.
