Oh, he was an asshole. And she was in just the kind of annoyed mood to want to provoke him. “Mr. Li, how lovely to see you again.” She smiled her biggest, fakest smile and turned to face him, still holding her money in her hand. He glanced at it, then up at the slot on the machine. “Miss Putnam.” “I was wondering if you had some time to talk? I have some questions for you.” “I’m afraid I don’t at the moment, no.” “Are you sure? It’s really important.” “No. I’m sorry, but I’m terribly busy.” Again his gaze traveled from the money to the machine, the machine to the money. Was he sweating? He certainly didn’t seem normal, but then how would she know? She had no idea what was normal for him. But he did seem … He reminded her of a speedfreak riding a comedown: the darting eyes, the fidgeting—he flicked his fingers across the bills in his other hand over and over—the shifting of his weight from foot to foot and the tightness of his pose, like he itched everywhere but couldn’t scratch.
