I didn’t have a visible reaction to that, or at least I didn’t think I had until Armen laughed. My gaze flew to his face, and it was only when I noticed the weight of my furrowed brow that I realized I was scowling.

Armen laughed harder. “So stubborn. I can see why Elias likes you,” he said.

I said nothing, but he kept smiling.

“You don’t think he does?”

“Elias’s feelings are not something I concern myself with,” I said.

“Yet you sleep in his bed?” Armen pointed out.

“Well, you seem to think you understand why that is, so I don’t know what I have to contribute to the topic,” I responded.

“Oh, I know exactly what you’re doing, dear. And Elias may, or may not, but I can see why you intrigue him,” he said.

I wanted to sigh, but I was not eager for Armen to slap me again, so I did as he was silently demanding and asked, “What is it that I’m doing?”

At my question, he perked up, and again I wanted to roll my eyes.

This fucking dude.

But instead of rolling my eyes or screaming until I was hoarse or finding the nearest blanket to hide under, I did nothing.

Just sat there trying to look neither interested nor disinterested, wanting to be or do whatever it was Armen needed me to be or do to get out of this room.

“You’re so plain, at least at first glance,” he said.

“Um…thanks,” I responded.

I would have said nothing, but Armen was clearly expecting me to speak, and I again reminded myself that staying on his good side was the goal.

“It’s not a compliment. Or an insult. Simply a statement of fact,” he said.

“I didn’t mind,” I responded.

“That.” He nodded. “It’s that right there.”

I frowned, and he started to laugh as he paced in front of me.

“I know my son, and that kind of shit drives him insane. And keeps him interested. The way you can be so detached yet so fiery. He wants to understand you, see what makes you tick. And you don’t give him the satisfaction, which makes him want to figure you out even more,” Armen said.

I murmured noncommittally, again completely disinterested in Armen’s psychoanalysis.

Heavy emphasis on the psycho.

“You should keep that up,” he said.

“What’s that?” I asked.

“That game you play. Pretending to be so disinterested, so unaffected. You’ll keep him hooked. But you’re a smart girl, so I suspect you know that,” he said.

“Mr. Petrosyan, I—”

My words died in my throat when the heavy door swung open. The creak of rusted metal was deafening, and my heart rate kicked up about ten notches.

Kicked up even higher when Elias stepped out of the dark, impenetrable shadows and into the room.