“Why don’t you just sit there and look pretty and admire the surroundings?” I waited a beat, heart fluttering in my chest like a wayward butterfly. “You think I look pretty?” Mr. Hayes regarded me lazily, his eyes hooded. “You know you do, Señorita Olivera.” He said it so breezily, a compliment for all women everywhere. I wondered how he’d feel if someone gave it back to him. “Well, you quite turn my head. You’re so handsome.” His expression turned to one of profound wariness, as if I were a coiled snake about to pounce. “Thank you.” “Truly,” I said, fluttering my hand in front of my face. “I
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