“I did my own due diligence,” I sneer. “And that stunt you pulled with the syringe is felony assault with a dangerous instrument. Or attempted assault in the first degree if my legal team wanted to sink their teeth. Are you willing to risk everything when all I want is five fucking minutes?”
Her lips thin. Eyes narrow.
A vindictive, cornered cover girl.
“It’s okay.” Isla places a hand on Quinn’s wrist. “I’ll follow you out in a minute.”
Quinn turns to her. “That’s not what we discussed. I’m not leaving?—”
“I’ll be fine.” Isla jerks her head toward the door. “Go. This won’t take long.”
My blood pressure rises at the thought of privacy… just the two of us…
“Are you sure?” Quinn asks as if we’re at a fucking supermax and I’m the deadliest son of a bitch in the visitation room.
“Positive.” Isla nods.
Quinn slices a look my way as she shoves to her feet. “Behave.” She pushes back in her chair, stalks to the door, and walks into the hall.
The door clicks shut.
The air shifts—tightens—like the room inhales and forgets how to exhale. Being alone with her again knocks the balance out of me. I should feel relief. Instead, it’s as if I’ve stepped into the eye of the storm with no idea how to stop it from causing more destruction.
I press the button to frost the glass interior walls, giving us more privacy, and Isla flinches.
She’s jumpy. Rattled. Nothing like the woman who was once at home beneath my body.
“How are you?” The question scrapes out of me, soaked in desperation I can’t disguise.
“I’m alright.” She focuses on the building across the street. “Given the circumstances.”
I want to believe her but what sits before me isn’talright. It’s threadbare. Diminished.
“Isla, I need you to understand?—”
“Please…” Her almost silent plea slices through me. “Let’s just get the formalities sorted and move on.”
“Move on?” I stare at her profile, the fragile line of her jaw, the dark sweep of her lashes. “What does that mean?”
There’s a beat of silence. Then another.
The apprehension eats at me until I can’t sit still. I push to my feet.
She stiffens.
Fuck.
She’s wary of me. On guard. And that hurts.
I walk around the opposite side of the table until I’m almost in her line of sight, each step closer tightening the protectiveness coiled inside me.
But right before I’m about to catch her eye, she hangs her head, slipping a knife between my ribs.
“You hold me accountable for Eli’s actions,” I assume.
“No.” She winces. “I don’t blame you.”
“Then why can’t you look at me?”