Chapter 10 — Why Is It You Again
1244 Words
Tiana stormed out of the studio, deaf to the shouts behind her. Her little face scrunched into a knot, her brows pinched in irritation. She burst out of the set and whipped around, sulking so hard she could taste it.
She couldn't help scolding herself. Tiana Hart, you big i***t. You let your temper run you like that. What's there to argue with that chauvinist pig? You should treat his words like hot air. No — wait — hot air at least warms the room. What he puts out is a vacuum.
And now she'd lost a job this good, which meant she'd have to scrape up two more part-time gigs to cover the gap — and worse, the hours she'd been quietly setting aside for the box under her bed, the truth fund, would have to shrink again. Every setback pushed her mother's file another month further out of reach.
The thought made Tiana want to commit murder.
It was all him. That so-called CEO Vance. Everything traced back to him. A man with nothing better to do than chase women all over the city — he ought to fall down a very deep well.
She cursed under her breath, hopped in place like a lunatic three times, let out a yell — "Ahh—" — then finally sagged, pouting, eyes blazing.
Tiana. Is this all you've got? Get it together. Go.
She pumped herself up, turned, and took a few steps — then stopped dead and spun a hundred and eighty degrees, breaking into a run. She'd forgotten her backpack. There was still enough cash in there for a few boxed lunches — and, more importantly, the manila folder she never let out of her sight.
Gritting her teeth, she blew back into the set like a gust of wind, grabbed the bag, checked with one quick furtive touch that the folder was still inside, and slunk out looking thoroughly defeated.
Once she'd put some distance behind her, Tiana walked and pulled her wallet from the bag, muttering. "No more wasting money this month. Starting tomorrow — cut, cut, cut."
A black Mercedes had been tailing her the whole way, crawling up the long incline.
Jason Vance sat inside, eyes sharp, watching the little woman ahead plodding along with her head down. On the passenger seat lay a fresh envelope Ethan had couriered over an hour ago — the reopened accident file. He hadn't opened it yet. He'd told himself he'd read it later. The truth was he wanted to look at her first, to see whether the girl matched the strange, buried thing the paperwork was starting to suggest.
He hit a button; the window slid down. One hand loose on the wheel, the other propped on the sill. He curved a smile and, mischievous, tapped the horn. Beep.
Tiana jumped, clutched her chest, but didn't turn — just shuffled aside.
Jason arched a brow and, amused, tapped it again. Beep.
Tiana shuffled further over and side-eyed the road. At this distance, even a tank could get by. Beep.
The annoying horn behind her rang out, tireless.
"Big deal, you've got a car?" Tiana muttered, and finally snapped, whirling. "I moved over already!"
Her clear eyes landed on the car behind her, and a flicker of disgust crossed her face. A Mercedes — and a limited-edition CLK-GT, no less. Showing off much? She looked up and met the man's eyes through the glass.
Her brow snapped tight, and her heart did the same infuriating stutter it had done in the dressing room, in the tower, every time this man's gaze landed on her — as if her own body had made a decision about him she hadn't been consulted on.
"Why is it you again!"
Jason Vance pulled up beside her and stopped, but left the engine running. He pushed the passenger door open and arched a brow. "Get in. I'll drive you home."
"No need!" Tiana turned him down without a thought. Her life philosophy: there's no such thing as a free lunch. And after what she'd done to him in his office, he'd be this nice? A wolf in sheep's clothing, that's what.
"Oh? Don't want those photos back?" He wasn't surprised by her answer.
Tiana glared, furious. This man had the nerve to bring up the photos? If it weren't for that newspaper, she'd never have charged into the Vance Corporation, never crossed him, never ended up in the scene that cost her a good job.
She stuffed her wallet in her pocket and snapped, "What do you want!"
Jason patted the empty seat beside him, flashing a dazzling smile. "I want to drive you home."
A cold sweat beaded at her temple. A wolf's smile — it reeked of a trap.
He caught her suspicious look and baited her. "What, afraid I'll eat you?"
"As if!" Tiana gritted her teeth and bent into the Mercedes.
Eight p.m. on the streets of New York City, neon spilled dazzling color; a stream of strangers passed under the lights. The night people were just waking up. The sky was ink-blue, a loneliness too thick to thin, and the lone evening star stood bright against it.
Neither spoke the whole way. Inside the Mercedes, a faint trace of cologne hung in the air. Tiana hugged her backpack to her chest, sneaking looks at Jason only from the corner of her eye. A straight nose, lips pressed thin, features sharp and magnetic. She had to admit it — the man was unfairly handsome.
Her gaze drifted lower, to the envelope wedged by the gearshift. Manila. Official. Half-slid from its sleeve so that a single line of a photocopied police report showed at the top edge — and a date. She only caught four digits before he noticed her looking and, with an easy motion, slid the envelope out of sight into the door pocket. But four digits were enough. The year was the year her mother died.
Her mouth went dry. Why would this man have anything from that year?
"What are you looking at," Jason said suddenly.
"Drive me home and give me the photos, right?" Tiana blurted, her face going red, grateful it wasn't broad daylight — grateful, too, that panic could pass for embarrassment.
Jason slid her a glance and laughed, low. "Miss Tiana Hart, I think you've misunderstood. I said I'd drive you home. I didn't say I'd give you the photos." Not that there were any photos to begin with.
"You—" Tiana's eyes flew wide, speechless. This sneaky, shameless man.
He watched the road, ignoring her glare, his long fingers tapping the wheel. "Want the photos? Same terms as before. Be my woman."
But Tiana barely heard the taunt. Her whole attention had narrowed to the door pocket and the envelope inside it, and the impossible arithmetic running behind her eyes: He looked me up. He didn't stop at my school records. He went all the way back to her. Why does a man I met yesterday care how my mother died?
"Stop the car," she said, and her voice came out lower and harder than she meant. "Stop, or I jump." She reached for the handle — not fleeing him now, but needing air, needing to think, before she said something that gave herself away.
Jason panicked at the move and swerved to the curb, cursing. "Are you trying to get yourself killed!"
- Writer
