“Right.” She nods, her jaw tightening. “I’ll leave, then.”
Phoenix crosses the room with her shoulders squared. As she reaches grabbing distance, I say, “One more thing.”
Her huge, gray eyes meet mine. “What is it?”
“Stay away from Veer Bestlasson.”
Her brows lower, and she raises her chin with a defiant glower. “Why?”
“Because he and his family are dangerous.”
Phoenix snorts a laugh. “Everyone and their family here is connected to one or more of the major crime families. This isn’t the London School of Finance.”
“Watch your tone,” I growl.
She takes a step forward and then another and places both hands on her hips. All signs of the submissive vanish, replaced by something fierce.
“You can’t tell me what to do. Our arrangement was purely business.”
“Yet your sole grievance is that someone who wasn’t me called you a whore.”
She flinches. “But you didn’t deny it.”
“Think, Phoenix.” I tap the side of her head. “Apply your brilliant mind to something other than coursework.”
Phoenix purses her lips and flares her nostrils, as though what I’ve said is an insult. She breathes so hard and fast that I resist the urge to lay her down on the sofa. Instead, I grab her wrist to emphasize my point.
“Let go of me.” She tugs on the arm.
“Not until you listen to what I have to say.”
“What?” she snaps.
“The man who entered my house was an associate of my greatest enemy.” I keep my voice measured because talking out loud about Crius for too long makes me lose composure.
“Who?”
“You don’t want to know,” I reply. “My point is that my choice not to leap to your defense was strategic.”
Her throat tightens as she swallows. “Then why do you pay me?”
Now it’s my turn to be confused. “I seem to recall a haughty young woman storm through my door, blackmailing me for money and sexual favors.”
The red on her cheeks deepens to a delightful shade of purple. I have no idea what she’s thinking or if she is even using rational thought but obviously the word ‘whore’ is triggering.
“Has it occurred to you that giving you money is an exchange of power?” I ask.
“What does that mean?”
“Money is a transfer of value, a way of showing appreciation for another. I pay the expenses of my mother, but it doesn’t imply a transaction. Gifting money was my way of making your life comfortable.”
She blinks more rapidly than usual as though thinking through my words.
“So you never saw me as a prostitute?” she whispers.
“If you were a paid professional, we would have negotiated and itemized our activities,” I say, keeping my words even. “What we had was spontaneous and I thought you enjoyed playing with me as much as I did with you.”
Her lips tremble, and her eyes grow damp. The sight of her so upset is a kick in the ribs. It takes a reminder that Mother is in the clutches of a psychotic bastard to stop me from pulling Phoenix into my arms.