Evan bit his tongue to stop from asking the obvious—what the hell gave her the right to do this to him. Instead he carefully pushed the document back towards the center of the desk and met her eyes. “No, Mrs. Carmody. I understand the provisions. I don’t have any questions.”
Despite Agent Jablonski’s orders to ferret out information, Evan just couldn’t prolong this meeting. He was no spy. His stomach was twisting. His nerves were stretched tight. If he didn’t get the hell out of here, he might just vomit all over her gleaming, antique desk.
Nessa actually looked almost flustered for a moment. Leaning forward, she spoke in a low voice. “You are about to enter into a marriage to a stranger to unite two families, one of which denied your existence for most of your life, and you have no questions?” She fixed her gaze on him.