His iceman demeanor chilled several degrees and she could almost hear his thoughts. Her mother might have been his father’s lover for nearly a decade, but he’d never once thought of Ro as family.
“I am busy,” he informed her, with his patented complete lack of warmth.
She’d never seen him show affection to anyone, so she ought not to let his enmity bother her, but he always seemed extra frosty toward her.
“I work, you see. Something you wouldn’t know anything about.”
For real? She shifted her weight to the opposite hip, perversely pleased that she’d snared his attention again, even though his austere evaluation was not exactly rich with admiration of her lean limbs in snug designer denim. He just looked annoyed.
Fine. So was she. “These legs have been dancing since I was four. I know what work is,” she said pointedly.
“Hardly what I’d call earning a living, when all your performances involve trading on your mother’s name rather than any real talent of your own. Next you’ll tell me the appearance fee you get for clubbing is an honest wage. I’m not talking about prostituting yourself for mad money, Rowan. I’m saying you’ve never held a real job and supported yourself.”
He knew about the club? Of course he did. The paparazzi had gone crazy—which was the point. She’d hated herself for resorting to it, very aware of how bad it looked while her mother was still missing, but her bank account had bottomed out and she’d had no other choice. It wasn’t as if she’d spent the money on herself, although she wasn’t in a mood to air that dirty little secret. Olief had understood that she had an obligation toward her father, but she had a strong feeling Mr. Judgmental wouldn’t. Better to fight Nic on the front she could win.
“Are you really criticizing me for trading on my mother’s name when you’re the boss’s son?”
He didn’t even know how wrong he was about her mother’s reputation. Cassandra O’Brien had pushed Rowan onto the stage because she hadn’t been getting any work herself. Her reputation as a volatile diva with a taste for married men had been a hindrance to everyone.
“My situation is different,” Nic asserted.
“Of course it is. You’re always in the right, no matter what, and I’m wrong. You’re smart. I’m stupid.”
“I didn’t say that. I only meant that Olief never promoted me through nepotism.”
“And yet the superiority still comes across! But whatever, Nic. Let’s take your condescension as read and move on. I didn’t come here to fight with you. I didn’t expect to see you at all. I was after some alone time,” she added in a mutter, looking toward the kitchen. “I’m dying for tea. Shall I ask Anna to make for two, or …?”
“Anna isn’t here. She’s taken another job.”
“Oh. Oh,” Rowan repeated, pausing three steps toward the kitchen. Renewed loss cut through her. Anna’s moving on sounded so … final. “Well, I can manage a cuppa. Do you want one, or may I be so optimistic as to assume you’re on your way back to Athens?” She batted overly innocent lashes at him while smiling sweetly.
“I arrived last night to stay for as long as it takes.”
His Adonis mask remained impassive. The man was an absolute robot—if robots came in worn denim and snug T-shirts that strained across sculpted shoulders and cropped their blond hair so closely it gleamed like a golden helmet.
“As long as it takes to what?” she asked as she started again for the kitchen, tingling with uneasy premonition as she scoffed, “Throw me out?”
“See? I knew you weren’t stupid.”
CHAPTER TWO
ROWAN swung back fast enough to make her hair lift in a cloud of brunette waves. She was so flabbergasted Nic might have laughed if he hadn’t been so deadly serious.
“You stopped all my credit cards. And closed my mobile account. You did it!”
“Bravo again,” he drawled.
“What a horrible thing to do! Why didn’t you at least warn me?”
Outrage flushed her alabaster skin, its glow sexy and righteous. A purely male reaction of lust pierced his groin. It was a common enough occurrence around her and he was quickly able to ignore it, focusing instead on her misplaced indignance. A shred of conscience niggled that he hadn’t tried to call her, but when dealing with a woman as spoiled as she was reasoning wasn’t the best course. She was too sure of her claim. Far better to present a fait accompli. She had.
“Why didn’t you tell me you’d dropped out of school?” he countered.
If she experienced a moment of culpability she hid it behind the haughty tilt of her chin. “It was none of your business.”