“What? That creepy-looking gag thing?” she returned, glad she could eke out a sentence without sounding too discombobulated by his presence.
“Yes. The spider gag.” His voice was low and calm, devoid of emotion for now.
She shook her head. “Hell no.”
“Too bad.”
The redhead knocked upon the doorframe. “Your beverages.”
“You can set them down,” Ben replied without taking his gaze off Kimani.
The redhead entered, set the tray with the glass of water and a mug of something hot on a coffee table beside the divan, and left without further word. Silence followed until Ben held out his hand toward the divan, inviting her to sit or help herself to the water.
Kimani hesitated. The divan took her farther from the entry. But what the hell was she so afraid of? A lecture or tongue lashing for what she had done? She was prepared to own up to what had happened and apologize—two or three times if warranted. Then maybe she could finally get over him.
She walked over to the divan and picked up her glass of water. She drank it but didn’t taste the infusion of strawberry and lemon. Her taste buds had somehow gone offline as her body prepared for fight or flight.
“I didn’t know you were a member here,” she commented when she couldn’t take the silence any longer.
“That makes two of us.”
“I’m not a member. I’m just...here with a friend.”
His gaze dropped briefly to her wristbands. “You’re not here to play?”
The question “are you?” nearly left her mouth, but she didn’t want to engage in small talk. She wanted to cut to the chase and get things over with.
“I sent you a letter,” she said. “I don’t know if you ever got it.”
“I got it.”
His tone was a little cold, and she guessed her letter hadn’t made much of an impact on him.
“I’m sorry,” she continued, “really, really sorry. I didn’t mean for the FPPC investigation to happen. I like Gordon. I’d vote for him if I could.”
“And why should that matter?” There was bite in his tone.
She drew in a fortifying breath. “Look, I don’t blame you if you hate me for what I did. Your uncle seems to have forgiven me—”
“I haven’t.”
It was a slap in the face, but it had the effect of increasing her nerve. She lifted her chin. “Why not?”
Several beats of silence passed before he said, “Maybe I don’t want to. Or maybe I’m just not a forgiving guy.”
She let his words sink in. Okay. She understood that. Some people required more time to forgive. Some never forgave. A part of her yearned to delve into a discussion of forgiveness, as they’d once had. But if he wasn’t ready to forgive her, what was the purpose of inviting her up here?
“You spent the day walking Havenscourt.”
He sauntered over slowly, she thought to take his mug of what she presumed was tea, which had been his beverage of choice for her. Green tea, to be exact. Funny how she had actually managed to acquire a taste for it after her time with Ben, even though she was far from a tea drinker. But he did nothing but stand before her. The few feet separating them felt far too short.
“I’m almost done with the precincts I have,” she responded.
“You’re done.”
She narrowed her eyes. “What do you mean?”
“Meaning you’re not walking East Oakland again.”