Chapter 124 (1/2)

“Oh, for pity’s sake, Anastasia. What do you want to know? What do I have to do?”

She stares at her hands under the surface of the water. “I’m just trying to understand; you’re such an enigma. Unlike anyone I’ve met before. I’m glad you’re telling me what I want to know.”

Abruptly filled with resolve, she moves through the water to sit beside me, leaning against me so my skin sticks to hers.

“Please don’t be angry with me,” she says.

“I am not angry with you, Anastasia. I’m just not used to this kind of talking—this probing. I only have this with Dr. Flynn and with—”

Damn.

“With her? Mrs. Robinson? You talk to her,” she says, her voice breathy and quiet.

“Yes, I do.”

“What about?”

I turn to face her so suddenly that water sloshes out of the bath and onto the floor. “Persistent, aren’t you? Life, the universe—business. Anastasia, Mrs. R and I go way back. We can discuss anything.”

“Me?” she asks.

“Yes.”

“Why do you talk about me?” she asks, and now she sounds sullen.

“I’ve never met anyone like you, Anastasia.”

“What does that mean? Anyone who didn’t just automatically sign your paperwork, no questions asked?”

I shake my head. No. “I need advice.”

“And you take advice from Mrs. Pedo?” she snaps.

“Anastasia—enough,” I almost shout. “Or I’ll put you across my knee. I have no sexual or romantic interest in her whatsoever. She’s a dear, valued friend and a business partner. That’s all. We have a past, a shared history, which was monumentally beneficial for me, though it fucked up her marriage—but that side of our relationship is over.”

She squares her shoulders. “And your parents never found out?”

“No,” I growl. “I’ve told you this.”

She regards me warily, and I think she knows she’s pushed me to my limit.

“Are you done?” I ask.

“For now.”

Thank God for that. She wasn’t lying when she told me there was much she wanted to say. But we’re not talking about what I want to talk about. I need to know where I stand. If our arrangement has a chance.

Seize the day, Grey.

“Right—my turn. You haven’t responded to my e-mail.”

She tucks her hair behind her ear, then shakes her head. “I was going to respond. But now you’re here.”

“You’d rather I wasn’t?” I hold my breath.

“No, I’m pleased,” she says.