Page 23 of Mad Girl

You glanced between them. “Where? I’ve searched this entire house.”

Michael said, “There’s this⁠—”

“You better not, Michael,” I warned. “Don’t you dare.”

“You’ve known this entire time?” you asked, gaping at him. “And you didn’t tell me?”

“I had to let her get it out of her system, man. It’s the only way to deal with her. She has to win a little to give a little.” Michael tossed me a knowing look. “Don’t you, Elliot?”

I rolled my eyes. “Even if I give his stupid clothes back, I won’t win anything. He’ll still live here. He’ll still be an invader in my house. How am I the only one who finds this living arrangement strange?”

“He’s helping your dad because you got the nanny fired,” Bree pointed out. “So, technically, this is on you.”

“Actually,” Sienna said, her claws still embedded in Michael’s hair, “your reaction to Casey being here is stranger than the arrangement itself. It’s like you’re so determined to prove you hate living with him that you’re hoping no one will notice how much you’re loving it.” She shot me a malicious grin. “Do you have a crush on Casey, Elliot?”

“Do you have a death wish?” I fired back. “You stupid bitch.”

“Wow,” she said, eyes sparkling with amusement—but anger, too. “I definitely hit a nerve there, didn’t I? You little⁠—”

“Sienna,” you said sharply. Not Michael. You. When she turned, you speared her with a gaze more formidable than Garland’s. “That’s enough. Stop it.”

The look you gave her was a warning, and she heeded it. She shut her mouth.

You leaned forward again, pointing your gaze at me. “Elliot,” you said, speaking softer now. “I know having me here is a big adjustment, and I hate that it’s been so hard on you. I want us to get along. It doesn’t have to be like this. Can’t we please start over and make the best of it?”

“Sure,” I said sweetly. “But first—will you please answer my question?”

“What question?” you asked.

“Earlier, while the caterers were setting up for Eleanor’s brunch, I asked you a question and you ignored me. So I asked again. And you said, ‘I don’t have one.’ But that’s a lie, Casey. That’s not possible. If you want us to get along, then answer my question.”

I’ll never forget it—the way you slowly leaned back in your chair. And, yeah, I shouldn’t have called you out, but I’d taken Hal’s advice that morning. I’d lowered my defenses enough to ask you a personal question. I’d tried getting to know you.

And when you hadn’t answered—when you’d refused to give me an honest reply—I’d flushed with embarrassment. Thank God you hadn’t noticed as you’d walked away, leaving me all alone in the kitchen.

I’d finally offered you an olive branch, Casey, and it had ended with me feeling snubbed and hurt.

“What’s the question?” Michael asked, dragging his gaze away from you to look at me.

“When is your birthday?” I repeated. “For some reason, he can’t answer it.”

Everyone in the room looked at you, Casey. They waited.

“I can answer,” you said, your dark blue gaze burrowing into mine, “but I don’t want to.”

“Everyone has a birthday,” I said. “Why does yours have to be a secret?”

“Do you not…know when it is or something?” Tinsley asked.

“Of course I know when it is,” you said. “I just don’t celebrate it.”

“Why?” I demanded.

“I’d rather not say,” you said, dragging a hand across your face. And I saw it, Casey—that slight tremor in your hand. I’d struck something raw. But you’d struck a wound in me, too, whether you realized it or not. Too many people in my life hid things. Too many of them evaded my questions. And when I caught them doing it, they made me feel crazy for wanting a straight answer.

I wanted Hal to be right. I wanted you to be different. But you weren’t.

And I couldn’t let that slide, even though I should’ve.