Zinnia

Начало книги

 There is nothing complicated about our little arrangement, Mr. Batt. I plan to marry soon. Therefore, I require a wife." Nick Chastain folded his hands on the gleaming surface of the massive obsidian-wood desk. "You will find one for me."

Hobart Batt, attired in dapper evening wear, perched on the edge of his chair with the nervous air of a small mouse-wren. He swallowed visibly and tugged at the collar of his pleated shirt with soft, well manicured fingers. He blinked rapidly as he met Nick's half-shuttered gaze.

"I'm afraid I don't quite understand, Mr. Chastain," he said.

Nick suppressed a sigh. Intimidation was a useful tool, but it had to be used with surgical precision. Apply too much and the patient collapsed into babbling hysteria. Use too little and the response was unsatisfactory.

With the intuitive knowledge that he had acquired from years of practice and experience, he knew he was pushing the limit with Hobart. He also knew that if he eased up on the pressure, Batt might regain his nerve and become defiant.

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