‘I thought you wanted the world to think we’re in love?’ Batting her eyelashes, she smiled again and theatrically added, ‘Our love will burn like a flame and then it will, sadly, extinguish itself.’
There was zero amusement in his expression. ‘The terms of the non-disclosure agreement includes your sister.’
‘I know.’ Eyeballing him back, she gave him her most withering stare. ‘You’ve made a liar of me.’
Now he was the one to conjure a fake smile before he switched his attention back to his laptop. ‘We can add it to your list of attributes.’
Suddenly afraid she might slap the laptop’s lid onto his fingers, she spun around and poked her head around a partition wall. Behind it she found the whitest, cleanest kitchen she’d ever seen. Unsurprisingly, it was functional over beautiful. The only gadget on display was a coffee machine that probably cost more than her monthly mortgage. She looked back at Damián. ‘If you own this place, why does it look like a decluttered show home?’
‘I use it as a convenient base, nothing more. Banco Delgado has offices on the thirty-first and thirty-second floor of the building opposite us.’
She sighed in mock disappointment.
His eyes narrowed. ‘Now what?’
‘I’d guessed you lived in the same building as your offices. Just as well I never made a bet on it. Where’s your staff?’ Surely a man of Damián’s wealth had live-in staff?
‘The building’s concierge service includes staff when I need them.’
Great. That meant they were truly alone. ‘Do you get them to spy on your front door for you too?’
His jaw clenched. ‘I’m paying you to do a job, not make endless speculation.’
‘Then maybe you should have chosen an actress with a blunter brain,’ she stated sweetly. ‘Can I be nosy and look through your kitchen cupboards?’
‘If it shuts you up for five minutes, be my guest.’
‘Cheers.’
Suspicion now in his eyes, he followed her into the kitchen and put the laptop on a work surface. ‘Why do you want to look?’
She opened the nearest cupboard. It was empty. ‘I’m curious what a billionaire’s cutlery is like.’ She opened another cupboard and found that empty too. ‘Where’s your food?’
‘Are you always this nosy?’
‘Only on special occasions. I’ll be able to tell anyone who asks how a billionaire lives that the answer’s soullessly... Unless discussing your decluttered show home apartment is a breach of the NDA?’
His look became meditative. ‘Are you always so antagonistic?’
‘Not at all.’ The next cupboard was also empty. ‘Consider yourself special.’
‘Why?’
‘You have to ask?’
‘I’m paying you handsomely to perform a role that is no different to what you perform on a stage. You are certain to get a career boost from it. I do all this and still you act like I’m El Cuco.’
Aha! A cupboard with a set of plates and bowls. And what a surprise. They were all white. ‘El who?’
‘El Cuco. He’s like your bogeyman.’
‘Right... Well, considering you won’t let me quit this role even though you know I only took it because I thought you were blackmailing me, can you blame me for thinking of you as an El Cuco figure?’
He raised a brow. ‘You expect me to believe you would have turned all that money down?’
‘I offered to pay the money back, remember? Whether you believed that was genuine or not is on you. I don’t care what you believe. Have you got anything alcoholic to drink?’
‘When did you last eat?’
‘An hour before the performance.’
‘I will order food.’
‘Drink first.’
‘Not a good idea on an empty stomach.’
‘Who made you my mother?’
‘Mia...’ Damián sucked a large breath in and closed his laptop. From the moment they’d stepped into his apartment there had been a manic energy about her. ‘Have you been taking drugs?’
She looked affronted at the question. ‘Of course not.’
‘You’re sure?’ There had been no suggestion from the reports he’d had compiled on her that she still used drugs and he’d been prepared to give her the benefit of the doubt on that score because she had the talent and the look he needed and he’d been desperate. For possibly the hundredth time he wondered how great a mistake he’d made in choosing her.
‘I don’t take drugs.’
‘You used to. You cannot deny that.’
A spark similar to the flashes he’d seen whenever he mentioned her criminal record flew from her eyes but her lips clamped together.
Holding onto his temper by a whisker, he scrutinised her more closely. Damián knew what drug addiction looked like. He knew too many people who relieved the pressures that came with a high-octane career in the banking and finance industries with cocaine not to recognise the signs of a user. Mia’s eyes were bright and her cheeks flushed with colour but there was no sign of dilated pupils or a runny nose, and nor did she do the obsessive sniffing he associated with drug use.
‘You are displaying edgy behaviour.’
She pressed her back against a worktop. ‘I’m not edgy, I’m nervous. And can you blame me?’
‘Are you afraid of me?’
She stilled as her eyes found his, the animation in her features dulling. Then her head dropped and she said in a low voice, ‘I’d be a fool not to be afraid.’
And in that instant her antagonism made perfect sense. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Damián swallowed back rising guilt.
It hadn’t occurred to him how threatening being here in his territory must be for her. He was a physically imposing man and still a stranger to her. The short time he’d spent in her flat he’d been aware of external noises, of bodies walking up and down the stairs that led to the other flats in the building, of bodies moving around in the adjoining flats, of people walking past outside. Help had been on hand if she needed it. In comparison here, in his apartment, the silence within the thick walls was stark. Here, there was no sense of the community he’d felt in Mia’s building.
Damián would never take advantage of a vulnerable woman, but how was Mia supposed to know that? He was deeply attracted to her and sensed she had an attraction for him too but, attraction or not, reciprocated or not, he would never force himself on a woman. He’d rather cut his heart out.