That effectively shuts me up.
I’m not really sure how to answer that. I didn’t expect her to ask.
“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong,” she says, her gaze imploring. “I shouldn’t have said anything, I guess, but… I just wanted to know how to please you, because nothing I’m doing seems to be working.”
I watch her through narrowed eyes, searching for answers. I don’t trust her, obviously. She came here to kill me, after all. I don’t consider her a remote threat, especially cut off from any outside contact, but I’m still wary. I’ve kept careful watch and she hasn’t even tried to reach out. It’s almost like she didn’t give half a damn about the life she left behind, like the one I offered her was just as good as the one she was already leading. That’s sort of sad, frankly, but it’s easy and I like easy.
I don’t at all trust the way she’s pursuing me though. Granted, if I remember who her husband was correctly, her standards aren’t terribly high. If she stayed with that colossal train wreck in their tiny little house, I probably seem like a massive upgrade—homicidal tendencies and potential for disaster and all. He was a disaster and he didn’t even come with amenities.
I’m not sure it’s a good idea, though. I need more information. I need more time to figure things out.
“Why are you trying so hard?” I ask, on the off chance she’ll tell the truth.
She shrugs, disappointing me with her cool, collected demeanor. “I’m gonna be stuck here, we might as well enjoy it.”
Bullshit.
“Just to pass the time?”
Now she averts her gaze toward the floor, then looks back up at me. It’s the same coy eye movement Mia did in this same scenario several moments ago, but it feels false on this woman. She doesn’t have Mia’s transparency. I like Mia’s transparency.
“Well… and I like you,” she says. “And it seemed like you liked me.”
Because I let her put my dick in her mouth?
“But now I’m not so sure,” she adds, lightly shrugging, trying to play it off.
I frown slightly, because the last part actually did sound sincere. Of course her uncertainty probably is sincere. Outright confusion would be understandable. I could’ve fucked her fifty times by now and I haven’t.
“I do like you,” I tell her, eager to set this conversation to rest. If she thinks I’m the sort of man who will constantly reassure her of his interest, she’s going to be profoundly disappointed.
“Then why aren’t we having sex?” she fires back.
Mia floats to the surface of my mind. Ordinarily Mia is a pleasant thought—always a pleasant thought. Right now a little less. Right now I have “we’re done” replaying in my head on a torturous loop. Between the words and her tone, I didn’t like it. With the follow-up assurance that I should fuck someone else, I like it even less. Mia is too territorial to tell a man she still wants to fuck someone else.
After all I put her through, I know it’s unrealistic to expect her to actually want to be with me, though. If I did lure her back, I would just break her. That would be the worst thing I could possibly do. That would be something I’m not sure I could forgive myself for—and I’m quite lenient with myself, obviously.
I forgave myself for killing a woman I loved, but I’m not sure I could forgive myself for ruining Mia.
The uncomfortable implications of that make me even less at ease.
Meg is still standing here waiting for me to explain why I won’t have sex with her, and while any portion of the stream of thoughts that just moved through my brain could adequately answer that question, I am not ready to make a decision yet.
I need more data.
So, instead of answering her, I leave her there by herself and head back to the dining room so dinner can start and I can hopefully acquire the information I need.
—
Vince and Mia do not linger after dinner tonight.
I’m itching with impatience, wishing I’d put a listening device in his car. I have one in hers, just as an added precaution. I don’t even monitor it all that much unless I’m in a shitty mood and I feel like listening to her sing terrible music at the top of her lungs. The thought makes me smile. I almost consider heading to the surveillance room early and pulling something up while I wait.
Before I can do that, my new maid peeks her head into the study. I raise a questioning eyebrow and she takes it as an invitation, stepping inside. I glance at my watch.
“Do you need something?” I ask her.
Shaking her head, she says, “Nope. I was just—” She gestures back toward the kitchen. “Everything is put away or cleaned or in the process of being cleaned, so I think I’m done for the night. Did you need anything else from me tonight?”