The Survivor - Cristin Harber Page 0,10
stairs. “He remains an unknown, and yeah, I can see how a run-in with an unknown could’ve been a dangerous mistake. But given where we are, I realized he probably works for you—not that I want to know.” The faster she spoke, the more Jared’s stink-eye grew. She forced herself to slow down. “I …”—flirted, touched, closed my eyes and dreamed— “had a conversation.”
He smirked. “That’s what you’re going with?”
Her chin shot up. “That’s what happened.”
Jared rolled his weight back onto his heels and hummed in thought. “Well then, congratulations. Progress. One step closer to becoming a social butterfly.”
Amanda balked. “Give me a break.” If she weren’t careful, he’d pivot from socializing to security. Though maybe he should. Her judgment was still hazy. She wouldn’t have changed a thing—except the unfortunate physical attack that had nearly made the man pass out. “Can you stop looking at me like there’s a mystery to solve?”
“Just wondering why you’re on the defense.”
Her jaw snapped shut. “You’re wrong.”
He chuckled. “And you’re a little dramatic, kid.”
Amanda clenched her jaw. “That’s me, Boss Man. Wild and overdramatic.”
She didn’t expect him to recognize the throwback from their first conversation when he’d asked if she was the pain in the ass who’d stirred the press into a frenzy. Amanda had been bored and annoyed that she’d been forced to make a public appearance and had answered Boss Man—having no idea she’d find him to be an ally, she’d droned, “That’s me. Wild and overdramatic.”
Jared backed off, rubbed a hand over his face, taking a deep breath. He held it for a three-count before letting it out. “Amanda—”
“Please,” she quietly implored, “drop it.”
“Can’t.” He shook his head. “You two looked ready to fight or fuck.”
“Jared!” A full-body flush burned through her. “We were just standing there.”
Jared didn’t counter and, given his human-lie-detecting talent, knew more of the truth than she could stomach. Amanda wanted to scream. Her fingernails curled into her palms, and she struggled to control her response. “Exactly. After passing in the stairwell, we put fucking or fighting next on our agenda.”
“You’ve put me in a shitty position, Amanda.”
“What’s new?”
Tension ticked in his jaw muscles. “Fate’s pushing my hand, and the fuck of it is, I don’t believe in fate.”
“Maybe you should see a doctor about that.” Her fingernails dug into her skin. “That’s what everyone tells me when—”
“Do not compare our contract that binds my nuts on goddamn introductions and pleasantries.” His nostrils flared. “To what happened to you in college.”
Her mouth went dry.
“There are things you need to know about people—about him—that person.” Jared threw a hard glance toward the stairs. His fists curled at his sides. “It’s not about your safety. It’s about your sanity.”
Apprehension curled down Amanda’s back. It wasn’t like Jared to speak in code, but then again, as he’d said, she’d tied his hands. “Sanity?”
“For lack of a better explanation, yeah.”
The taciturn answer made her cagey. “What kind of click-bait bullshit is that?” She turned away. “Never mind. My sanity is fine.”
“For now.” With that, Jared left her clutching the tablet.
She’d made a mistake today, but it wasn’t as if someone had died because of a harmless flirtation. She still had her meticulously crafted parameters that allowed her to exist in a bubble. Amanda waited until the cinder blocks and concrete stairs had dulled Jared’s descent. Then, she sat on the top step and let the nameless man re-occupy her thoughts.
They’d flirted, and she’d liked it. Then she’d kneed him. Wasn’t that the way every love story started?
CHAPTER SEVEN
TWELVE YEARS AGO
HOME OF THE VICE PRESIDENT
NUMBER ONE OBSERVATORY CIRCLE
A man in a dark suit and tie entered the far side of the circular library and approached Mandy as she sulked on the couch. He hovered. She ignored him, and when he refused to leave, she tipped her chin up and packed as much mistrust into her glare as she could manage. “Who are you?”
He didn’t answer so much as he returned the smirk. She pushed aside her newly bleached hair, deciding that this guy annoyed her as much as the scent of the hair dye. Three showers and shampoos, and it still clung to her hair. Not that she’d let anyone know it was bothersome.
The man moved closer until he stood in front of the antique coffee table where she sometimes propped her feet. He sharply assessed her, then chuckled and slid his hands into his trouser pockets. “So you’re the scary kid that sends grown men running?”
She rolled her eyes, then