Because she trusted me enough to listen.
The realization sat heavily in my chest.
“What kind of something?” she asked.
“An opportunity.”
She waited.
“I don’t need codes. I don’t need passwords. I don’t need you to betray anyone.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“That is a remarkably specific list.”
“Occupational hazard.”
“Consulting remains the least convincing explanation for you.”
Despite everything, I almost smiled.
“Fair.”
The wind tugged a loose strand of hair across her cheek. She tucked it back absentmindedly.
“What opportunity?”
I hesitated.
Not because I didn’t know the answer.
Because I knew exactly what it was.
“I want to see the house.”
Her eyes narrowed slightly.
“The house.”
“Your father’s operation interests me.”
“The art collection or the security system?”
“Dangerous question.”
“It was meant to be.”
She studied me for a long moment.
“You know,” she said quietly, “sometimes I think you’re telling me the truth and lying to me at exactly the same time.”
The words landed harder than they should have.
Because they were uncomfortably accurate.
“I’m trying very hard not to.”
Her expression softened, just slightly. And somehow that made it worse.
