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“You are so … so … irritating!”
“Pot, kettle.”
“Ug!” she growled and banged her head on the headboard. “If you let me go now, I won’t press charges. We can forget all about each other.”
“Except for Tuesday, right?” he asked.
“Of course,” she replied quickly.
Maybe a bit too quickly as his gaze narrowed. “And will you forget Monday?”
She blinked. “Sure.”
He tilted his head. “You don’t remember your ultimatum?”
“No, because I’m not Rebecca! I’ve never talked to your friend or seen him.”
“You said you’d ruin his marriage on Monday.”
“Oh, my fucking God,” she moaned in exasperation, and Rebecca’s words came back to her. “If your friend was or is cheating on his wife, then perhaps his marriage was already over. Why is it never the man’s fault for sleeping around?”
“Granted, he’s a moron,” he replied with a nod of his head. “But extortion is completely different from fucking around.”
She sighed. He was never going to believe her. “Listen. If I promise to drop his bill, and all the blackmail goes away, will you fuck off forever?”
A slow grin spread across his lips. “Yes. But I have a feeling you’re just saying that.”
“I will convince Rebecca to do it.” She held up a hand when he opened his mouth. “All you have to do is check my social media page. You’ll see pictures of me and Bec. We’re named after Alfred Hitchcock movies.”
He paused. “I always liked Marnie better.”
“Me too,” she said, with a small smile. “And not just because it’s my name.”
They stared at one another, and for a moment, something flared between them. Not animosity, something else. An awareness, or more like a connection. She wished she could say something to make him believe her. Initially, she didn’t tell him about her sister in a misguided sense of sisterly devotion as well as protection. Now, however, all she wanted to do was make him realize the colossal mistake he’d made.
“Please let me go,” she whispered. If she had to beg, that’s what she’d do.
He ignored her pointing to her shackles. “That’s long enough to reach you bathroom, but not the door.”
Then he turned to leave.
“Wait!” she cried and he paused. She nodded to the bread. “Is that the only food I’m getting?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have a book?” she asked. “Or a television?”
“No.”
“So, I’m to just lie here and twiddle my thumbs?”
“Yes.”
“You’re a dick.”
Any softness he had shown toward her was gone. “I think we’ve already established that.”
She huffed. “What’s your name?”
