Jack
On the ride back to the penthouse, Martin throws a furtive glance, his hand tightening around the steering wheel as he debates whether or not to say what I know is on the tip of his tongue.
"Spit it out already, Martin; I can feel your eyes digging a hole into my head," I breathe with a sigh, my eyes still glued to the passing scenery out the window.
"You still haven't told me why exactly you left during your consultation," he huffs, and I almost chuckle.
"Does it matter?" I ask, glancing at him briefly, and he frowns, glancing back at me briefly before putting his eyes back on the road ahead. "Yes, it does, Jack, and I know there's something you aren't telling me," he mutters, his lips thinning like he is deep in thought.
I merely hum in response to his speculation. There's no w
