Frontline by Alexandra Richland Read Free Book Online

Merrick shrugs, as though resorting to espionage tactics is routine for him. “I called you several times after the two of you spoke, but you didn’t answer your phone. You left me no other choice.”
    “I turned the ringer off so I could sleep!” I point my finger at him, though he’s not even looking my way. “And hey, don’t flip this around on me. I’ve seen enough movies to know the call has to be traced while we’re connected, which means you gave Christopher the order well in advance of our conversation.”
    “I won’t apologize for coming over here.” Mr. Merrick’s tone remains casual. “And I don’t have to explain anything else.”
    He shoves his hands into the pockets of his pants and continues his home inspection. I follow him.
    “Well, I say you do owe me an explanation. It’s about time you answer to someone besides yourself for a change.”
    Mr. Merrick’s jaw tightens, but he heads toward my kitchenette instead of arguing with me.
    I grit my teeth, struggling to stay calm. “May I remind you, Mr. Merrick, that you are in my home. I deserve some respect. So stop snooping and show me the courtesy of your undivided attention when I’m talking to you.”
    He stops walking and turns to me. “You’re playing with fire, Miss Peters.”
    “Fire, huh?” I narrow my eyes. “Bring it on. I dare you.”
    His mouth twitches into his trademark smirk and he shakes his head. “What am I going to do with you?”
    I should stand my ground, but my resolve melts as he takes a step toward me, his eyes smoldering like they did last night in the examination room. Somehow, I’m able to back away from him. Ignoring the way my body responds to him is a much more difficult feat.
    “If you got my phone number on your own and you were able to find my address on your own, why did you have Christopher call me in the first place?”
    “It was just a formality.”
    I throw my hands up in the air. “So you came here to check up on me? That’s pretty brave. I’m surprised you’re not hiding behind your entourage.”
    “I told my men to wait downstairs,” he says, walking along my bed. “And make no mistake, Miss Peters, I don’t hide behind anyone.”
    “Oh no, they’re here?” I place my hand to my forehead. “They’re probably scaring the neighbors!”
    It’s not like I could invite his Tin Men upstairs—they wouldn’t fit in my tiny apartment. All I can do is hope they don’t tell anyone they’re here because of me.
    “You’re not sick,” Mr. Merrick says, stating and accusing all at once.
    I feel faint. And it isn’t on account of my exhaustion. “No, I’m not.”
    “I knew that as soon as Chris relayed the news of your cancellation to me.”
    “Then you came here because you wanted to shove it in my face that you knew I lied. That’s even worse! So what if I said no? Hasn’t that happened to you before, Mr. Merrick?”
    He clenches his jaw again. “No, Miss Peters, it hasn’t.”
    I gulp. “Well, you should just accept that I changed my mind.”
    Even though I didn’t mean it.
    “Not without a legitimate reason.” Mr. Merrick paces the room. This time, he focuses on the scuffed parquet floor.
    “Okay, fine. Since I refuse to stoop to your level, I’ll be up front with you. I don’t trust you.”
    He stops mid-stride. “Give me one good reason why I’m untrustworthy.”
    I scoff. “How about the story you gave me about your private physician, for starters? Last night at the hospital you said he was out of town, but Christopher offered to send him over here after I told him I was sick. So obviously he’s not in the Hamptons.”
    I flash a smug smile, ready for Mr. Merrick’s composed exterior to crumble now that I’ve caught him in a lie. But he doesn’t hesitate.
    “His wife contracted food poisoning and wanted to cut their weekend short. They returned to the city this morning.”
    The smile falls from my face. “Oh.”
    The bandage on Mr. Merrick’s forehead