I expect Holden to react, but he barely flinches while I’m ready to spit nails. My cheeks burn with humiliation and anger.

“Fine,” he says, and shoves away from the desk. “You’ve made your decision. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m a very busy man. Please show yourself out.”

I get a whiff of his spiced cinnamon scent, and my knees go a little weak.

I sling my purse over my shoulder with full intent to walk out the door. Something holds me back. The need to confirm—or deny—my mother’s steadfast belief that there are good people in this world.

“Why did you even agree to this meeting?” I ask, my voice quivering.

Holden’s expression darkens. “Your compelling email.”

Right. The Mrs. Kratky connection. I should feel more guilt, but I’m consumed by rage. The tips of my ears have grown hot, and I’m thankful my hair covers yet another sign that I’m losing—have lost—control. My pulse thrums at my temples, creating a white noise of anger.

“I have to believe Mrs. Kratky would be ashamed by your behavior right now,” I say, through grit teeth.

It’s a low blow and I take a step backward, gripping my purse so tight my entire body shakes.

“Get out,” he says, pointing a finger at the door.

I do as he says, my entire body shaking with fear and rage and even sexual excitement, which is the most humiliating feeling.

But maybe I don’t need him after all. Holden Quinn isn’t the only survivor of my father’s madness. I take another step backward, anxious to leave, desperate to stay. “There are others at this company I can speak to.”

Holden’s eyes go stormy. “I’d advise you against that.”

My chin lifts. “You can’t stop your partners from talking to me. It’s a free country.”

He takes a step toward me.

“The instant you walk out that door, I will alert my partners, my family, every God damned person in this company that they are not to speak to you.” A low growl emits from within his chest. “You will not be permitted to set foot in this building again.”

I’m almost positive they’re an empty threats—how can one man have so much control?—but I’m wary enough not to challenge him. My bottom lip quivers. Damn him. Bad enough that I’ve chosen to revisit this painful part of my past. Now my best shot of getting to the bottom of what happened that fateful day is slipping away.

Correction: my only shot. I already know the others won’t talk to me now.

It was hard enough getting this interview, practically a miracle.

I think back to how hard I’ve worked gathering information from a million sources, some bad some good.

Including a police officer (now passed away) who hinted that the accounts from that tragic day may not be fully grounded in truth. The police officer had told me again and again that he believed the three boys were lying about some of their story, although exactly what they’d lied about, he did not say.

I stare at Holden, studying the steely hardness of his expression.

“You’re an asshole,” I say, finally, like a child.

The insult seems to greatly amuse Holden. He simply grins. “That may be true, but I guarantee you won’t be able to forget about me…”

I gasp in protest.

“…or my proposal.”

“You’re wrong about that,” I say. Which is another damn lie. No question I’m mad, furious really, but every second in Holden’s presence has me second-guessing my knee-jerk decision to walk away from all of this. His ridiculous offer. Him.

Holden Quinn is like a fucking magnet, pulling me closer, weakening my resolve. I can’t give in. “I won’t give you—or your revolting proposal—another thought.”

I spin on my heel and stalk toward the door.

Holden’s voice follows me, feathering across my skin. “If you change your mind…”

“I won’t.”

“…you have until midnight to accept. Not one minute after.”

I snort out a laugh. Of all the fucking nerve. I roll my eyes with deliberate exaggeration. “I wouldn’t hold your breath.”