Beneath This Ink (Beneath #2)(8)

Her self-conscious rambling had my heart doing that funny thing again.

“It’s okay. And you don’t need to pay for any supplies. I’ve got it covered. I’m sure they’ll appreciate the extras. There are always more mouths to feed.”

Her frown didn’t detract from her traffic-stopping beauty, but it made me want to…comfort her. What the hell? I didn’t have time to question my weird ass reaction when Vanessa started wringing her oven mitt-less hands.

“I just want you to know that regardless of whether you decide to donate the property or not, I’m going to do whatever I can to help fund more programs to feed these kids. I mean, we already do a lot, but clearly we’re not making a big enough impact. And that’s not right. The foundation can do more. Change more. No kid should be going to bed hungry in this city. We have the resources, we just need to deploy them better.” She looked up at me for a split second, before spinning around toward the fridge. And in that tiny glimpse I got of her face, I could swear her eyes were glossy with unshed tears.

“Then join us for supper. Meet some of the kids you want to help change things for. They’ll be on…better…behavior.”

She froze, half-in and half-out of the fridge.

Her voice was small when she said, “I can’t.”

After her impassioned speech, it wasn’t the answer I expected.

“Busy?”

“Ummm…I just…well…” She took a breath and looked at me straight on. “I just can’t.”

My hands clenched into fists. “You want to help feed these kids, but you’re too good to sit down and actually eat with them?”

“No! That’s not it.”

“Then what?”

She squeezed her eyes shut. “I just can’t. Okay?” She turned. “I should go.”

I wasn’t satisfied. For a split second, I’d seen a glimpse of a different woman beneath the layers of polish and ice—one who had a heart that might rival the size of her bank account. She was the woman I wanted sitting down at a table with these boys and me. But apparently what I’d seen was a figment of my imagination—and that pissed me off.

“You ain’t got a hot date with your boy toy, Simon Duchesne. Because I heard that’s over. And that it never really was what it seemed.” I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about it since Duchesne had spilled the beans to my receptionist, Charlie, that his relationship with Vanessa had been a cover. Because, according to Duchesne, she might be digging someone her dad didn’t find acceptable. That mystery was one that had kept me up more nights than I’d admit.

Her look of surprise was priceless. That sinful mouth dropped open just far enough to give a guy ideas. I wondered if I pushed hard enough, would she spill who this unsuitable mystery guy was? You want it to be you, my subconscious taunted. I flipped it the mental bird. There was no way in hell it was me.

When she stayed silent, I continued, “You think I don’t have my ear to the ground when it comes to you, Vanessa? I know all about your thing with Duchesne. Using him to keep your daddy off your back while you sample men with less-than-perfect pedigrees. So who was it? Some blue-collar guy you’re sneaking around with so your old man doesn’t find out?”

Her features hardened into the same expression she’d worn as she walked out of my bedroom.

“You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend you do. Except you’re right—I’m not seeing Simon. I think that’s pretty common knowledge. So if you were going for shock value to get a reaction out of me, you missed.”

Frustration mounted. She was like one of the puzzle boxes I’d gotten from Joy for my sixteenth birthday. I knew there was something cool as hell waiting inside, but I’d never figured out how to solve it. In the end, I’d found a hammer and smashed it—and almost destroyed the St. Christopher medal waiting inside. “Then why? Why won’t you sit down and share a simple goddamn meal with me and some kids?”

She inhaled sharply and looked away. “I just…I just can’t, Con.”

My expression hardened into a mask to rival hers as my temper slipped its chain. “You’re not too good to make them dinner—because that’s your daily act of f*cking charity—but you’re too good to actually sit down and eat it with them.”

Her spine stiffened visibly. “If that’s what you think of me, then I’m sure you were never going to donate the property anyway.”

“Yeah, because let’s not lose sight for a second why you’re actually here: you need something from me.”

“Why else would I be here?” she asked quietly.

I just shook my head. “I think it’s time for you to go. Probably just in time, too, because for a second I thought you might actually be more than a stuck-up bitch.”

She snatched her purse off the counter. “Then I’ll just get out of your way.”

“You’re kissing that property goodbye.”

“Like I said, we both know you were never going to give it to me anyway.”

Her skirt flared as she turned on her flip-flops and headed for the door. It was an exit to rival the last notable one she’d made out of my life.

And just like the chump I’d been then, I once again followed at a discreet distance behind her and made sure she got home all right.