She stared at him. ‘People don’t know the impact it’s had on you, do they? In your heart and in your mind, you’re still a surfer and yet you’ve turned your back on the sport you love. You lost sponsors. You lost the woman you love—’

His head whipped up. She could see the confoundment in his face. Clover hadn’t named Amy, but her words had been specific. Targeted.

‘What do you have left in your life . . . except winning?’

He stared at her; she knew she’d stunned him with her tactic – coming in hard like he was expecting her to, then pivoting and presenting as a sympathizer, a friend even . . . then turning again. There was a hard silence. ‘. . . Let me ask you a question.’

Her eyebrows lifted in surprise. She shook her head. ‘That’s not how this works.’

‘Do I look like someone who gives a damn about rules?’ he asked, leaning forward suddenly so that his elbows were on his thighs. ‘You want me to open my soul to you while you sit there and judge me and give nothing back?’

‘Yes. This film isn’t about me. We’re here for your story.’

‘I’m not. I’m just minding my own business, living my life. I didn’t ask for any of this. You know that.’ He continued to stare at her, his weight on the front of his chair. ‘It’ll get edited out anyway. Why are you so scared of making this a two-way conversation?’

‘I’m not.’

He stared at her, waiting.

‘Okay, fine.’ She gave as careless a shrug as she could muster. ‘Ask me a question then.’

His gaze was steady. He didn’t miss a beat. ‘Why should I trust you? What’s your driver for being here?’

‘I want to hear your side of the story.’

‘No you don’t. You’ve already got the answers to these questions you’re asking me. You got them doing exactly this with Cory. There’s another reason why you’re here.’

She stared back at him. ‘Okay . . . Everyone knows what you did, but no one knows why, and Cory never said, no matter how many times I asked him. I want to know why you played dirty against an old friend.’

‘But why? Why do you care why I did it?’

She frowned. ‘Because I care about—’

‘Justice?’ His eyebrow arched; there was mocking in his tone and she remembered her conversation with Julian at dinner, the night he’d been attacked. She’d seen how he had registered her discomfort, how he’d somehow known it led to the very heart of her. ‘What makes you qualified to decide what’s just? What would you know about anything I might tell you? I bet the worst thing that’s ever happened in your perfect life is . . . getting dumped. Not getting your hair done.’

‘Don’t be insulting.’

‘Yeah? Tell me I’m wrong.’