“It could be,” he says.
“That’s too vague, Pierre. Ask me what you want to know, I’ll tell you anything—anything,” my impatience grows. “But I can’t stand this weird back and forth thing, the not knowing. It’s driving me nuts.”
“Okay,” he nods. “Sure. Sit down.” He motions to the gold couch while he takes a seat in an ultra modern leather recliner. “You’re giving me free reign, ask you anything?” He thinks a minute. “How about you lay it all out on the table for me. Tell me about Hayley Lyndon. What makes her allow, even beg, men to abuse her? It’s almost like you despise yourself.”
Such a question! I shrink back. Anything. I said he could ask me anything—had I gone totally mad? I have the sudden urge to back right out of the room and go home, but I’ve already taken my seat, removed my
