Page 169 of Hate to Love You
“Let’s be real for a second, do you really think of me as the type of person who would kill someone?”
“You carved slut into Heather’s chest, Abigail,” Roman snaps back, raising a brow. “And I never thought you’d do something like that. So, yeah, I’d say the consideration is there.”
Shit. He has a point.
“Okay,” I say, swallowing hard. “Tell me this then, how exactly would I have killed him, Roman? I barely spoke to him, the man was twice my size, and I was long gone when he died.”
But as the words leave my mouth, I immediately realize I fucked up.
I might not have said I killed him, but I just gave the man a bone. And I suspect he knows something that he’s not telling me, probably more than I realize, because he’s at least suspicious of me right now.
“Long gone when he died, Foxy?” He says, with a nod, his eyes narrowing again.
“I…er…just mean he died at The Studio, right?” I say with a shrug. “That’s what Oleg told me, and I think I read about it in the paper.”
But somehow, the look in his eye confirms that we both know that’s not what the paper printed at all.
He stares at me in silence, and for a minute, I wonder if he can hear my heart thumping in my chest as I sit here, waiting to know if my hasty improvisation has worked to cover-up my slip. The quiet seconds tick by slowly, chipping away at my resolve.
And just when I consider cracking and confessing to everything, in hopes that he will understand and not kill me right here in front of my townhouse…he smiles.
“Of course. You’re right. That’s ridiculous,” he says, shaking his head with a grin. “I’ll pick you up at seven for the Gala this evening. I look forward to seeing your dress.”
“Mmhmm,” I chuckle nervously.
And without another word, I dart from the car, finding some of my shopping bags already sitting on my top step.
Looking over, it’s then that I see Trevor has hopped out of the car behind us, which has apparently been following us the whole time. He’s carrying the rest of my bags to the door when I look at Roman, who is still staring at me from the backseat.
I turn on my heel and bolt up the cobblestone path to my door.
“Thank you, Trevor,” I say softly, and he nods silently before walking back down the path to the cars.
I dig for my key in my purse, with each passing second my heart rate increases, as I slowly struggle to breathe. Piece by piece I can feel my composure crumbling as I finally find my keys, but nearly fumble them.
After I jam the key into the lock and twist, I throw the door open, hearing it bang off the wall as I lean down and grab the bags. I practically throw them in the walkway, narrowly missing Lily as she darts to greet me.
The door closes behind me, but just before it does, I catch Roman, now leaning against the side of the SUV, and staring up the path at me… grinning.
Chapter Twenty-Five
ROMAN
Got you little fox.
Perhaps I might’ve missed the way her pupils dilated when I asked if she killed Igor. Or the nervous way she shifted and looked away from me, tucking her hair behind her ear. Or even the way her cheeks turned the brightest shade of crimson.
But there’s no way I could’ve missed her little slip of the tongue before she got out of the car.
“...I was long gone when he died.”
Indeed, she was. And how convenient.
“Where to, Boss?” Cal asks me, as I stare up the walk towards Abby’s little Tudor style house.
“Chelsea Pier,” I say, rubbing my chin. “I suppose we have to go handle this Pasha situation before he fucks up my shipment with Jaxon Pace.”
I take one last look, certain that I see the curtain moving, as if someone has just sheepishly ducked behind it.