In Love and Diplomacy

Chapter Fifteen: I Owe Him Nothing

"I don't know a single thing about you! That's the problem! You've talked so much about me being a suspect—how do I know you can be trusted? How do I know you're not involved in this?"

I was breathless as I threw his spiteful distrust right back at him. I wasn't sure how our peaceful morning had turned into this mutual spin-out, but something had flustered Sterling, crushing the little progress we'd made just moments ago. Our quiet conversation over coffee had turned into a battleground; I had no idea how we'd landed here with our defenses ready and our weapons drawn. Sterling was back to acting like I was nothing more than a casefile, and I was back to lashing out in frustration.

And yet, while I was surprised the conversation was happening now, I wasn't actually surprised it was happening at all. Maybe we needed to have it. I was tired of being doubted. I was tired of my every move being questioned. More than anything, I was bitter. He'd been spectator to several breakdowns that'd had nothing to do with him, but this wasn't one of them.

"If I couldn't be trusted, you'd be dead already. I would've left you in that dog park to be snatched, and I certainly wouldn't have saved you from that bullet." Sterling scowled.

"I just wanted to get to know you a little bit! Is everything I say going to cause you to act like this? Are we just going to be stuck in this house together, not saying anything unless it's 'need to know'?"

The day was getting hot, and so was my anger. I couldn't resist from pointing out the obvious. "You asked me a personal question first. Or did you forget that?"

"Are you done?" Sterling asked. His pretty green eyes were angry, but his voice now fell calm and even. I resented being asked that as if I was a child having a tantrum.

"Sure! But how about you answer my questions for once."

He took a deep breath before responding, visibly contemplating the right thing to say. I'd seen him control his emotions with an iron grip several times before, but watching him tamper down his frustration and successfully grasp clarity was astounding. I was jealous of his emotional self-control.

"I'm sorry. You're right, I shouldn't have asked you anything personal. You don't need to know anything about me, and I don't need to know anything about you. You're a job—that's it. That's all I'm here for. We should be talking about how to keep you safe, not shit like if I want a pet. This isn't about me."

I can't lie—that hurt. It felt like I'd been smacked in the face; the words 'just a job' suddenly branded on my forehead. How silly of me to think he could care any further than that. He'd even thrown his words out like he was reading a script across from a dramatic actress who'd gone too far.

Too far. Too much. Too far. Too much. Overdramatic. Making something out of nothing. I'm too much.

His communication was clear. He'd calmed himself down enough to articulate his truth. It was impressive, but it wouldn't be returned. I was too far off the deep end to reciprocate. I was hurt and I was angry. A better person would've walked away. A better diplomat would've found a compromise, or another perspective. I didn't. I found fear and anger. Regret and revenge. I found everything I shouldn't.

There is a bitter bitch in all of us, and he just woke mine up.

"I never said it was about you! It was just a fun question to distract myself. I don't even know how this conversation got here. You're so suspicious of me, you won't even give me the luxury of small talk. My bad for trying to get to know the only person I have to talk to for the foreseeable future."

I was struggling to find the right words. I was feeling irrationally emotional, and I didn't know how to regulate. I still didn't understand why it was such a big deal I'd asked him about himself, or why it'd provoked him that way. I hadn't committed a war crime; I'd asked if he wanted a pet. The uncertainty from unknowingly crossing a line was getting to be too much. It compounded everything I felt, everything I'd ever felt. The anxiety swelled and surged, wrenching the rubber band of sanity tighter and tighter. Something about Sterling seemed to cause irrationally emotional responses from me.

"You're overthinking this." Sterling sighed, rubbing his face.

I froze, feeling embarrassment and anger licking up my sides. That was a sore spot. Overthinking was something I definitely did and something I definitely did not want to be called out on. It was a fatal flaw and he'd just pointed it out, unintentionally or not.

That was never something well-received.

"Of course I'm overthinking this, Sterling! This conversation just went from a fun story about my dog to us deciding we want nothing to do with each other. What am I supposed to think about that? Please, tell me how you think I should respond to you telling me all I'm worth is a paycheck."

Sterling's face blanched. "I didn't—"

"All I ever do is think. Think and work, and now I can't work, so I don't have a lot of options here." My voice turned cold and quiet. "I'm sorry for dealing with my trauma in a way that inconveniences you."

"I didn't mean—"

"Sterling, I think we should be clear with each other," I cut him off. I didn't want to hear any more of what he had to say. He wasn't going to tell me what he thought my worth was. And if this was a man who had no idea where he'd gone wrong and was scrambling, I wasn't going to be the one to tell him.

He gaped for a moment.

"Yes, we should," Sterling finally got out, seemingly accepting I wouldn't listen to his excuses. He straightened his back even more in anticipation. He towered, but even the tallest architecture felt the brunt of the storm.

"Clearly, you and I don't like each other. This conversation shows we can't even have small talk without it becoming an issue." I shook my head. "I don't know how we got here, but fine. I'm glad I know how you feel."

Sterling opened his mouth to say something, but I continued before he could, determined to say what I needed to.

"You're right, this is a temporary situation, and we don't need to be friends. I apologize for my outbursts. I am obviously having a difficult time adjusting from working sixty hours a week to having nothing to do. It's unfair of me to take this out on you."

Sterling accepted his silence this time, his face expressionless and stony. He was just watching—and hopefully listening—as I backtracked my own outbursts. I was mature enough to recognize and apologize for the part I'd played in this, despite how angry I was. But if he wanted to apologize, I was unwilling to listen myself. I was too deeply rooted in my anger.

I thought I was done, but I wasn't. "Don't worry, I won't ask you any more questions that aren't about the case," I said. "I won't ask you about yourself at all. I'll expect you to return the favor."

His hands still tightly gripped the railing behind him; his expression remained impassive as I called Rolo inside. I left Sterling without another glance. With the door shutting loudly behind us, I retreated from the battlefield. I made sure Rolo had water and headed to my room, ready to stew in the remaining remnants of overwhelming emotion.

Author's Note: Several of you have pointed it out—Avery overthinks. The pure joy that comes from writing a character a certain way and readers recognizing that is unmatched. I hope you will be patient with her. She is finally starting to grasp just how *much* she actually overthinks now that she has the time to do so.

It can be incredibly frustrating for people who do not suffer from overthinking to be around those who do. It requires a lot of patience!

Will Sterling have this patience, or will he view her as an impediment to getting the job done? Will their agreement to keep it impersonal withstand their isolation?

- H