ANTON
Jessa tenses for mere seconds before her shoulders relax and she steps into the apartment.
She moves around casually, like I’m not even there, turning on the lights and ditching her coat on the hook behind the door, before walking over to the sofa.
There, she drops down into the cushions and throws her feet up. “It’s been a long fucking day.”
“Really?” I ask. “I would have thought being unemployed would give you a little downtime.”
She grimaces, too to even glare at me the way she usually does. “Do you know how hard I worked to get to sous chef?”
“If you worked half as hard to become sous chef as you have at fighting me, then I’m sure you earned it and then some.”
She closes her eyes, lets her head loll back, and exhales deeply. “It’s necessary to fight back against a bully. Strength is the only language they understand.”
“Now, you’re starting to sound like my father.”
“He must’ve been a wise man.”
“There were times when he was,” I admit. “But more often than not, he let his greed blind him.”
“What was he greedy for?” she asks, sitting up and looking at me.
“What most men are greedy for,” I say. “Power.”
“You know all about that.”
“Unlike my father, I don’t need to control the world in order to prove how powerful I am,” I tell her. “Power, like everything else, is an illusion.”
“What an intelligent and well-rehearsed answer,” she drawls. “So why don’t I believe you?”
“Because deep down, you know I’m not the stereotype you seem to think I am.”
“You? Never. You’re special. Nuanced. So freaking deep,” she seethes sarcastically.
“A less nuanced man would’ve cut your throat before you ever set foot off my boat.”
The blunt truth does what I wanted it to do. Jessa pales visibly, shifting back and forth on the couch.
“Just to be clear,” I add, “stealing the phone is not what saved you.”
“No?” she asks, trying to maintain her calm, neutral tone. “What did?”
I pause. “Would you like the truth?”
She nods. “Please.”
“Your smile saved you,” I tell her. “The dimple in your right cheek saved you. The birthmark on the nape of your neck saved you. You were flawed in ways that are unspeakably beautiful to me.”
She stares at me for a long time. The silence is thick, but it morphs as the seconds tick past, becoming something less fraught, less confrontational. “You really expect me to believe that?” she breathes finally.
“Why would I lie?”
“To manipulate me,” she says. “To… to fuck with my head.”
“Have I managed to get under your skin, Jessa?”
Her scowl turns determined. “You caught me in a vulnerable moment on my worst day. Don’t think for one moment that that means you have control over me.”