My ice is melting. I make another line with my thumb, stroking the side of the crystal.
Ten minutes.
Ferro blinks as he watches the window. A pigeon flies by, landing on the opposite eave then fluttering off.
Fifteen minutes come and go. I’m lulled into a sense of tranquility, like I’m just hanging out with Ferro, two people watching the grass grow. The clouds drift across the sky making a path of sheer translucent fluff pierced by the brightest blues and golden sunlight. It’s a beautiful day, one that makes you feel good to be alive, like you could do anything. I sit there, smug, knowing damn well I’m going to win this.
Another sleek pigeon flaps its wings and sails toward the eave above the window in front of us. It misses. His body collides with the glass right in front of me. There’s a loud thud then the little bird plummets like a stone to the street bel
ow.
I yelp without meaning to and stare at the smudge on the glass. I glance at Ferro, who is smirking now. I spoke first. I lost. He won. Bastard.
Ferro clears his throat, slams back the rest of his drink, and stands. “It’s been a real treat. We should do this again sometime.”
I don’t stand. I might be pouting. “We should.”
He stares at the side of my face. There’s a grin pulling at his mouth, but he doesn't smile. “Next time we could sit on my desk and study the view. I hear you’re quite the artist. Do you think you could still draw while bent over like that?” His eyes are cold, and his words are harsh. It’s not an invitation. He’s saying I shouldn’t fuck with him.
I remain seated and repress the shudder working its way up my spine. Why does he know who I am? I laugh coolly and wonder when my voice got so deep. I glance up at him, cocking my head to the side. “I don’t know. Do you think you’d still like it with my pencil shoved up your ass?”
He smirks. “Don’t make promises you can’t keep.”
“Don’t make threats without following through. It makes you look weak.”
Ferro barely moves, but it’s enough. I see it in the way his jaw locks combined with the way his fingers twitch at his sides before he slips them in his pocket. I hit a nerve. Someone doesn’t want to be weak. “What would you know about it?”
I knock back my drink, uncross my legs, and stand. “Enough. You have the idiotic tendency to destroy everything you build. A rash moment of rage and poof.” I snap my fingers. “It’s gone.”
He watches me for a moment, his eyes fixating on the carpet. Lifting his gaze, he steps closer, positioning himself in my space, mirroring my stance and the position of my arms—folded across the chest while tapping an index finger against the elbow. “Are you threatening me? Or offering advice?”
“Neither. I’m only going to say this once. I want the deed to Nathan Smith’s house, and I want it now.” I lower my chin and peer at him through a narrowed gaze. I hope I’m coming across as crazy or dangerous. Maybe both.
To my surprise, he doesn’t laugh. His gaze drops to the floor and then back to my face. “Nathan?”
“Yes, Nathan. I saw the letter. I know who he is to you. The secret, the scandal, the unwanted baby all those years ago could do a lot of damage right about now.”
He watches me, and his lips curl into an ugly smile. He gets in my face and hisses, “You don’t have the balls to—” his voice catches as I grab his nuts and twist.
“I have the balls. They’re right here.” I make no expressions, no noises, nothing to let him know I’m anything but a sociopath. The thing is, I’m not. My brain is all squeaky, yelling at me to let go. I’ve got a tiger by the balls! If I let go, he’ll tear my face off! I’m in over my head. What the hell do I do now? I glance at the desk without taking my eyes off of Ferro, squeezing his junk way too long. There’s not enough Lysol in the world.
He offers a throaty laugh, while his gaze shifts nervously toward the desk, then back to me. “So I see. And now what do you plan to do? Suck them? I like that.” He grins at me, making my insides feel fifty shades of chartreuse.
This is so gross. He has to take me seriously. Now. His eyes flick to the desk. There’s a letter opener within reach. Does he expect me to use it? Is this some sick fantasy for him?
I want to let go of his nut sack, but I can’t. This is so gross. I can’t believe I’m doing this. Not to mention I’m way too close to Ferro. The heat from his body coupled with his scent is hard to ignore. Next time I play with a guy’s fun parts, I’m going to think of this. I’m going to be in therapy for the rest of my life anyway, adding one more thing to the list shouldn’t matter much, right?
I’ll have an aversion to nuts after this. There are lots of girls who don’t like nuts. No big deal.
The crazy train derails when Ferro hisses in my ear, “I don’t know what lunatic let you out, but they’ll know you were here.”
Yeah, that sounds crazy. I nod. “I’m aware.”
“I wasn’t informed you were under house arrest, but I’ll be certain to make sure you never see sunlight again.” Ferro hisses in my ear, half spitting, half turned on.
House arrest? WTF? Why does he think I’m a convict? All of a sudden, I figure it out. The Fitbit. It looks like an ankle monitor from a distance. That’s funny. He’s going to be pissed when he sees the clock light up.
I make a snap judgment and go for it. He already thinks I’m going to do it. Why not? I have no other way out of this if I don’t. I can’t just release the boys, let them bounce back into place, and pat them. No harm done. I threatened THE Mr. Ferro.