Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways)
Ruthless Rival: Chapter 27

Present

“Think again, Mr. Hotshot,” Claire giggled breathlessly, snatching the phone from my hand. We had just walked out of the courthouse. I’d said my goodbyes to Amanda Gispen and the other plaintiffs, ignoring the journalists and photographers begging for a comment, and was about to hail a cab to Arya’s office. First things first, I needed to make sure she was okay with everything that had happened. As okay as one could be considering the circumstances. Second, I needed to come clean.

She had to know who I was.

This could not be postponed any longer.

Claire, apparently, had other ideas.

“Give me my phone back.” I all but bared my teeth at her, stretching my arm with my palm open in her direction. Claire bit down on her lip, glowing with pride. She’d worn a brand-new suit today to court. A double-breasted Alexander McQueen that must’ve cost her an arm, a leg, and her monthly rent.

“No can do, Mr. Miller.” She winked, pocketing my phone. “This is an order from high up. Traurig said no distractions. He has a surprise for you.”

“Give me my phone, Claire,” I said pointedly. “I have someone to call.”

“That someone can wait ten minutes. We work two blocks from here.” Claire wrapped her arm around mine, tugging me forward. “Jeez, don’t be a party pooper. Just make a toast with everyone, thank Traurig and Cromwell, and go your merry way. You’ve gotten this far; are you seriously not going to make it to your own partnership party?” Claire elevated a carefully plucked eyebrow. I wasn’t an easily swayed man. Came with the territory of knowing the price temptation could cost you. I was about to answer her that yes, I was, in fact, going to bail on my own party, because partying wasn’t nearly as important as making sure the woman I was dating was still, in fact, dating me. Just then, I felt two firm hands clapping me on either side of my back.

Shit.

“The man of the hour,” drawled Cromwell, fingering his mustache like a D-grade villain.

“The belle of the ball.” Traurig nudged Claire aside. “I have a Cuban cigar with your name on it and some gold lettering we need to add to the firm’s name. The maintenance guy is already there, waiting for us. Hurry up.”

The maintenance guy was there, waiting to put my letters up. Hunky freaking dory. Claire flashed me a look that said Don’t you dare. She had a point. If I bailed now, I was going to look like a deranged idiot—not the best look. Plus, the outcome wasn’t anything Arya hadn’t been expecting. We’d been discussing this for weeks.

Ten minutes, however, somehow bled into eternity. It took the maintenance guy almost an hour to add the golden letters at the entrance to the firm, possibly because Cromwell and Traurig kept shouting at him that my last name wasn’t symmetrical. After which I was dragged into one of the conference rooms, where the entire firm waited with cake, cigars, booze, and a huge present wrapped in a red satin bow.

“I’m so proud of you. I cannot even tell you how much,” my PA wept. Then every single person on the floor felt the urge to congratulate me and shake my hand, one by one.

I kept telling myself that if Arya was so desperate to talk to me, she could always call my office.

When the Oscar-worthy ceremony was over—two freaking hours later—Traurig asked that I open my giant gift. It turned out to be new business cards with the full, new name of the firm: Cromwell, Traurig & Miller. Bold golden lettering over sleek black cards. I waited for euphoria to take over my senses. But all I could feel when I stared at my new business cards was: I really want to see Arya. Not this evening. Not in an hour. Now.

“Thank you,” I said, my voice steely, circling my fingers around Claire’s arm and leading her out of the conference room. I glanced at my watch again on my way to my office. It seemed like centuries since we’d left the courtroom. The fact I hadn’t called Arya thus far was ill mannered at best and cunt-a-licious at worse.

When we got to my office, I closed the door behind us. My spidey sense told me there was going to be a lot of shouting in my near future.

“Give me my phone, Claire.”

She winced. “So soon? We haven’t even had lunch. I was thinking maybe I could buy you a drink. We have a lot to talk about, and I—”

“Phone!” I slapped my hand on the wall behind her, and she squeaked, jumping. I was not a violent person, but I was starting to lose my patience and didn’t want my first move as a partner to be firing an associate who’d just helped me win a huge case. “Or you walk out of here with security at your fucking heels, Lesavoy.”

With a pout, Claire produced my phone from her pocket. I glanced at it, feeling my pulse quickening against the collar of my shirt. I had over fifty missed calls from Arya. And some texts too. The minute the face recognition was on, the texts began sliding down chronologically on the screen one by one.

Arya: How could you do this to me?

Arya: You’ve SHATTERED my career. I can’t show my face ever again. And my nonexistent relationship with my mother is over. Not to mention my father (who is dead to me, but it would have been nice to make that choice myself).

Ruined her career? Her relationships? What the hell was she on about?

Arya: What I don’t understand is how you could be so heartless? How you did it on the same night you promised you wouldn’t break my trust.

Arya: I’ll give you that, it was a genius move. You probably had a blast laughing about it in court. Now you can go back to Claire. I know you guys were casual, but man, you deserve each other.

Claire must’ve seen the confusion clouding my face, because I noticed her licking her lips in my periphery, shifting from one foot to the other. “Everything okay?”

“I—” I paused, trying to understand what was happening here, until it clicked. The limo. Claire talking to Darrin. Knowing my whereabouts with Arya. The way she’d pursued me relentlessly.

Press. That was the one thing Arya and I had agreed not to involve. We didn’t want to be seen or caught.

My eyes glided up from my phone. I could feel my gaze turning hard, callous, as I watched Claire’s face. “What have you done?”

“I . . . I . . .” She tried to take a step back, but she was pressed against the wall, with nowhere to go. I’d never thought of myself as someone who could hurt a woman, but in that moment, I knew I could hurt Claire. Not physically, no. But I could fire her. Banish her. Make her a persona non grata in Manhattan’s legal circle.

“Speak.”

Claire dropped her head, shaking it as she covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I just told a friend of mine who works at the Manhattan Times. That’s it. It slipped.” She cringed. But she wasn’t fooling anyone, and she knew it. I took a step back, knowing full well I wasn’t in control of myself. Arya must be thinking the worst of me right now.

“Leave.” I breathed through my nose, digging my thumb and index finger into my eye sockets.

“To . . . my office?”

“To . . . the fucking hellhole where you came from.” I mimicked her tone derisively, opening my eyes again. “And don’t come back. Ever.”

“We just won a case.”

“You lost all credibility with me the minute you leaked a story about me to a journalist.”

“You can’t do that!” Claire flung her arms in the air. “You can’t make a decision like that without consulting Traurig and Cromwell. You’ve been a partner for all of five minutes.”

“All right.” I smiled cordially. “Let’s go to Cromwell’s office right now and tell him what you did. See how it’s going to fare for you.”

Her face whitened. What the hell had she thought? That I wasn’t going to replace out? Claire hugged her arms, looking down at the floor.

“What did you think?” I spit out, curious about the rationale behind this atrocity.

“I thought after the trial was over you were going to dump her. But I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to take any chances. And I certainly didn’t think you’d care all that much. Not to mention . . .” She blew out air, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I simply didn’t think. That’s the thing. That’s what happens when you’re in love. Have you ever been in love, Christian?”

I was about to say no, I hadn’t, and that fact had nothing to do with anything, when I realized . . . I couldn’t say that for sure.

“Good luck seeing yourself out, Miss Lesavoy.”

I brushed past Claire’s shoulder, heading out of the office. I didn’t tell a soul. My PA jumped up, asking where I was heading. She was met with no reply. My first stop was Arya’s office. I buzzed the building’s intercom, getting through to Whitney or Whitley or whatever her name was. The receptionist didn’t answer me verbally. She did push her upper body through the window of her office and pour her lukewarm coffee atop my head before finishing the gesture by slamming her glass window shut.

Though aware that I had become public enemy number one in Arya’s camp, I still thought I could salvage it. If she gave me the time to explain and I told her all about Claire, she’d understand. Arya was a highly pragmatic person with a terrific bullshit meter. She’d know I was telling the truth.

My next stop was her apartment. This time, I got a little farther than the buzzer. All the way to her apartment’s door, in fact. I knocked frantically. Jillian threw the door open, leaning a hip against the frame, her face slathered in a green mask of some sort. “Yes?”

“I’m here to see Arya.”

“Ambitious.” She made a show of checking out her fingernails. “You know, considering the circumstances.”

“Is she not here?” I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine her anywhere but home on a day like this. Maybe her mother’s apartment. But unlikely.

“Oh, she is here. But she can’t see you.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re dead to her.”

My teeth ground together. “I can explain.”

“I’m sure you can, Nicholai. Feel free to do it to the door while I call the police. Which is exactly what I’m about to do if you don’t evacuate the premises in the next three seconds.”

With that, she slammed the door in my face.

Nicholai.

Nicholai.

Nicholai.

Jillian had called me Nicholai. As I made my way home in a taxi, I tried to gauge what, exactly, I was facing. It seemed like whatever Arya knew was a lot worse than the fact that a few of our sloppy kisses had been plastered on some news websites.

It seemed like she knew the truth.

And the truth was unbearable, to both of us.

When I got to my apartment, there was no room for doubt. Arya had raided the place while I was gone, most likely sometime after I hadn’t taken her calls and she’d realized we’d been outed by the media. The place was a dumpster fire, sans the pretty flame. The tragic part was I knew she hadn’t looked for the truth. She’d looked for her book. Searched for it everywhere. The garbage can included. Or maybe her flipping it over had just been the final, screw-you touch. Like an exotic flower on a pretty dessert at a restaurant.

Either way, what she’d wanted was clear—to take away the piece of her that had temporarily belonged to me and make sure that I’d never have access to it again.

I headed toward my bedroom, my soul in my throat. Even before I walked in, I knew what I was going to replace. The manila envelope I’d kept a secret for all those years was open, the documents scattered everywhere. I didn’t have to crouch down and look for the book to know that it was gone. Atonement was no longer mine.

I’m sure you can, Nicholai.

Arya knew.

She’d told Jillian.

There was no reason to think Arya hadn’t told her parents too. Her father’s lawyers. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to give much of a damn about that part. My ungraceful second fall.

All I cared about was that she’d found out and not in the way I had wanted her to.

There was no point calling her. She wasn’t going to pick up. Whatever I could salvage of our relationship—of my life—had to wait until tomorrow.

She needed time, and I needed to respect that, even if it killed me.

I picked up the phone and called one of the very few people in the universe who knew.

“What?” Arsène barked out groggily.

“She found out,” I said, still frozen to my spot at the entrance of my room. This was the time when he was going to tell me that he’d told me so, that he’d warned me.

“Shit,” he surprised me by saying.

“Indeed.”

“Grabbing my keys and coming. Beer?”

I rubbed my eye sockets. “Go north. Way north.”

“Brandy?”

“More like a bullet.”

“A bottle of A. de Fussigny and a full metal jacket coming right up.”

That night, I didn’t sleep. Wasn’t dumb enough to even try. I ended up polishing off that cognac Arsène had brought over, then hitting the indoor gym in my building. I hopped into the shower, got dressed for work, went through the same predictable motions . . .

Only I didn’t go to work.

The firm—the company I’d wanted to take over more than anything else in my life—had become trivial, laughably inconsequential. A shiny toy that had kept me occupied while life happened in my periphery. Every time I tried to muster the motivation to haul ass to the place that deposited seven figures into my bank account annually, I couldn’t help but feel like a hamster getting ready to hop on a wheel. The constant spinning got me nowhere. More money. More wins. More dinners I didn’t like with clients I loathed.

It occurred to me that I wasn’t only jaded; I was dizzy from solving other people’s problems all the time. Well, now I had a problem of my own to solve. Arya knew I was Nicky and that I’d kept it a secret from her.

Even more horrifying—she knew I was Nicky and therefore that I was worthless.

I went straight to Arya’s office that morning, arriving at eight o’clock sharp. An hour before opening. I’d spent enough mornings with Arya to know she was an early riser and liked to be at the office before the birds arose.

As it turned out, this was the one morning when Arya had decided to sleep in. I watched Whitley and her sidekick march through the door at nine o’clock, throwing murderous looks my way, then Jillian joining them at nine thirty. Arya was nowhere to be found until ten past ten, when I noticed her briskly turning a corner onto the side street and making her way to her office building, looking like a summer storm. An unthawable ice queen ready to conquer the world.

I stood up from the step leading to the front of her building’s door. She didn’t slow down when she spotted me through her sunglasses. She stopped when our bodies were flush against one another, swung her arm backward, and slapped me so hard I was pretty sure parts of my brain were splattered on the sidewalk.

“I deserved that.”

“You deserve much more than that after the revenge plot you planned for me and my family, Nicky.”

Nicky. I hadn’t heard that name in years. Only Arya had called me that. Ruslana had tried it on her tongue a few times and found it distasteful. I missed it.

“No revenge plot.” I rubbed at my cheek. I was mesmerized by her. Like I hadn’t seen her dozens of times before, in compromising positions, stark naked and sucking different parts of my body. Was this what love felt like? Wanting to kiss and protect the woman you wanted to ram into from behind? How peculiar. And nauseating. And so terribly predictable of me. Falling for the one woman I could never have. Who’d ruined everything, and I, in return, had done the same to her.

And this time, I didn’t even want to get even.

“Believe it or not, Amanda Gispen walked into my office one day by happenstance. Can’t say I didn’t live every day wanting to get back at your father for the years he put me through, but it wasn’t the first thing on my agenda.”

It had been the second thing, though, before she’d turned my life upside down, in true Arya fashion.

“There’s no excuse for what he did that day.” Arya stepped back, her face contorting in agony. “Trust me, I spent an entire year refusing to look at him. Then an entire lifetime second-guessing every decision I’ve made. Letting him off the hook always made me feel like I was on the wrong side of history. But he apologized for it and ended up sending you to live with your dad, like you wanted.”

“Is that what he told you?” I smiled tiredly. “Before or after I allegedly dropped dead?”

Her pink lips turned down into a scowl, but she didn’t answer.

“Trust me, beating the shit out of me in front of the girl I crushed on was the least of his sins. He made my mother throw me out the night I kissed you. I had to sleep on the neighbors’ couch. Then he put me in Andrew Dexter Academy and told you I was dead.”

Arya removed her sunglasses. Her eyes were shiny, full of tears. “I grieved you for years. Every day.”

“I grieved you, too, and I didn’t even think you were dead,” I said gruffly.

“You didn’t want to go?” Her voice was soft, pliant now.

I shook my head. I’d have chosen life in poverty if it meant being close to her.

“It wasn’t Conrad who told me you passed away. I hired a private investigator to replace you when I turned eighteen, you know.” She sounded defeated. “He was the one to deliver the news.”

I smiled. “Now, let me guess.” I took a step forward, wanting to sniff her, to bury my hands in her hair, to kiss with both our past and our present, now that she knew who I was. “That private investigator guy, he worked for your father, didn’t he?” By the look on her face, I could tell I was right. “Yeah. That’s what I thought. But I’m not done telling you about the hell Conrad put me through.”

“Hurry up, because I’ll give you my own brand of Roth hell when you’re done.”

“While I was at Andrew Dexter, your father sent the headmaster to straighten me up, so to speak. Every now and again, I’d get a thrashing simply for existing. The headmaster himself wouldn’t lay a finger on me, but he got other students to hit me. Conrad also ensured my mother cut off all contact with me. I only saw her once after the day she kicked me out. Not during summer and spring breaks or the holidays. I always stayed at the dorms. That’s where I met Riggs and Arsène. How I created my own family.”

Arya swallowed visibly. She was wrestling with competing emotions. Her desire to kill me for what I’d done to her, and her desire to maim her father for what he’d done to me. “Ruslana . . . she died?”

I nodded. “I got a theory about that too.”

“Yeah?”

“When I was a junior at Andrew Dexter, I got a job as a stable boy and met Alice—my so-called cougar, as you like to call her. Suddenly, I was in close proximity to money and lived the rich life, even if by proxy. One summer break, when I was in New York, I bumped into Ruslana. I drove around in Arsène’s Bentley and wore his rich-asshole attire, head to toe. Ruslana flung herself over me and kissed me. She made a scene. I peeled her off me and told her I’d try squeezing her into my New York plans, but of course that never happened. She began writing to me after that. I never replied. She must’ve taken my silence as a test of her determination, because the more time had passed, the more she felt compelled to tell me everything that happened to her. I still have the letters. They were in the manila file. I don’t know if you read them. She said she had a long affair with Conrad. That he had promised to leave Beatrice for her. Said when she began to doubt his intentions, his assurances, she told Conrad that she was going to tell Beatrice herself. He got rough with her, pushing her around. Apparently, it wasn’t the first time he’d put a hand on her.”

“That’s how you knew everything about him was true.” Arya pressed a hand against her chest. “Knew that Amanda and the other accusers were telling the truth.”

I nodded. “Ruslana and Conrad went back and forth for a few months. Finally, he fired her and gave her hush money. A measly ten-thousand-dollar check to keep her mum. She spent it in about a week and wrote to me that she went to see him again to ask for more. That was her last letter before I got the call from the police that she was dead.”

“How did she die?” Arya asked.

“The official medical cause cites a broken neck. In practice, she got thrown off the Palisades cliff. The cop who told me about her death said they suspected no foul play. That it was a classic suicide case. My mother hadn’t been known as the happy-go-lucky type, and she did lose her job that same month. But it was a bunch of nonsense. Ruslana hated heights. She’d flown one time in her life, and even if she were suicidal, which she wasn’t, she would have preferred any type of death over that one. Drowning, slitting her wrists, a bullet to the temple. You pick.”

“You think my dad was behind it?” Arya’s eyes flared.

“Short answer? Yes. Long answer? To an extent, but I’m not sure who were the key players in what happened.”

“Then he should be tried for that too.”

She wasn’t wrong. But in Conrad’s case, I knew losing everything around him—his money, his status, his kid—was punishment enough. Wandering the world a penniless reject would be more of a punishment for a man like him than sitting around with shamefaced criminals like himself in prison.

“There’s no way for me to prove it, not without revealing my true identity, at any rate,” I replied.

“Regardless of what’s happening, I’m sorry you lost her.”

“I’m not. She was a shit mother.”

“And you want to tell me that after everything Conrad did to you, this move with Amanda Gispen wasn’t calculated?” She knotted her arms over her chest.

“Correct.” I sidestepped to let a woman with a stroller pass by, my mind immediately drifting to Arya with a baby. Dammit. The floodgate was open now, and even a sandwich reminded me of her. “I believe Conrad did something to my mother—or at least sent someone else to do it—but the way I see it, it was never my problem. The day she gave up on me, I gave up on her. I went ahead and found new friends, a new family, a woman who gave me what my mother failed to, and I’m not talking about the money here. I’m talking about courage, confidence, and the mental leg up. Someone who told me what I wanted from life was within reach.”

When I moved back to my spot on the sidewalk, I made sure I was a little closer to Arya than I’d been before. Just a smidge. “No part of me wanted to return to New York. I wanted to stay in Boston. Maybe head down to DC and dirty my hands up in politics. New York has always reminded me of the Roths, of my mother turning her back on me, of that disastrous first kiss. But fate had it that Arsène is from New York and actually likes this hellhole. Riggs is from San Francisco, but he seemed eager to never set foot in the place again. He was all too happy to move into Arsène’s monstrous, rent-free condo. I didn’t want to stay behind. They were the only real family I’d known, so I tagged along. Believe it or not, I worked damn hard to keep my distance from you and yours. My worst nightmare was you or Conrad walking into my life once more and screwing it up. But when the case dropped on my desk, I couldn’t stop myself.” I licked my lips. “We both know I yield to temptation from time to time.”

“So you didn’t seek revenge; it just fell into your lap.”

“Yes.”

Until it had become clear it had always been Arya I wanted in my lap.

“All these years I thought you were dead . . . ,” Arya mumbled, still trying to piece it all together. She shook her head. “That’s why I didn’t recognize you. That was the only reason why I didn’t think you were you. Because I’d convinced myself not to believe. Not to hope.”

And I’d foolishly held it against her. Each time we’d watched one another. Assessed. Caressed. Kissed. I’d always told myself she deserved the hell I gave her, because she couldn’t even recognize the boy who’d been wildly in love with her. Who’d been willing to give up the world for her and, in some ways, had.

“I spent all of yesterday trying to untangle one feeling from the other, and I still can’t.” Arya rubbed at her forehead.

“Let me help,” I offered. I had no right asking her for anything, but especially her trust.

“That’s the thing.” She frowned, practical as ever. No tears or empty threats from this woman. “I don’t trust you with a piece of toast anymore, let alone my life, my decisions, my feelings. I absolutely loathe you, Nicky, with every piece of my soul. All this time, all this yearning . . . I ached for you for over a decade. We were Cecilia and Robbie.”

I had no idea who she was talking about, having never met a Cecilia and only one Robbie, who happened to be a tax lawyer from Staten Island. But I wanted to throttle both these people for butting into my relationship.

Arya rubbed her cheek, getting over her own mental slap. “All the things that made you dazzling and untouchable disappeared yesterday when I saw the picture of us canoodling on that website.”

“It wasn’t me.” I stepped forward yet again, daring to smooth one of her flyaways behind her ear. She swatted my hand away. That hurt more than the slap. More than that day Headmaster Plath had sent those boys to kill me. “It was Claire. Claire was the one who sent us the limo that day when I made you the promise. She tipped off the press.”

“Canoodling,” Arya stressed, her eyes widening. “They used that word.”

I shook my head. “Coincidence. I would never do that to you, Ari. Ever.”

“You’re wrong.” Arya stepped back, her eyes filled with tears again. I wanted them to fall. For her to break. To stop being so goddamn stubborn and better than me all the time. Because deep down, that was how I’d always felt. Unworthy of her time, smiles, and existence. “You already did. You said you wouldn’t betray me.” A sad smile tugged at her lips. “You lied.”

“I was planning to tell you,” I said.

“When?”

“I don’t know.” I ran my fingers through my hair, yanking at it. “After the trial? Once I was sure you fell for me? Who knows? I was worried you’d dump me because Nicky wasn’t good enough.”

Of course, if I told her I loved her now, she’d never believe me. My professional ass was on the line. She was one call away from ruining my career, and we both knew it. Declaring my feelings for her would feel calculated, cunning, and—above all—humiliating to her. Not to mention I didn’t want to start a relationship with her thinking I was chained to her because I had something to lose. Not that I didn’t. But she was that something. Not my job.

Arya shook her head. “Nicky was always good enough. It’s Christian I don’t trust.”

“Then let me change that.” I raised an eyebrow. “There’s more I can give you. A lot more. And all you have to give me in return is one thing.”

“What is that?”

“A chance.”

“Why Christian?” The look in her eyes was chilling as she changed the subject. “Why Miller?”

“I changed my name legally before I attended my first semester at Harvard. I didn’t want your father to replace me. Knew he was going to keep an eye on me. Nicholai Ivanov didn’t apply to any universities. He bought a one-way ticket to Canada and ran away. After all, as soon as we turned eighteen, all bets were off, and he knew you could look for me and that I could look for you.”

Her teeth sank into her lip. She understood. After all, she had looked for me through her father’s private investigator. And the only thing stopping me from looking for her had been the knowledge I had nothing to offer her.

“I needed to disappear. So I chose one of the most common last names in America—Miller—and Christian, which is widely one of the most popular names in the English language and also brought to mind the rebirthing, the christening of another identity. Basically, I did all I could to ensure your father never found me. The day Nicholai disappeared across the border, a John Doe was born.”

She shook her head, stepping toward the entrance door. She was about to leave. I couldn’t let her. Not because she could get me disbarred, or because my partnership was on the line. But because I was not ready to say goodbye. Not to her. Not at fourteen, and not at thirty-two.

“Arya, wait.”

She turned around again to face me. “You know, Nicky, the first thing I did when I found out who you were was tell Jillian. It was stronger than me. My vindictiveness took over me. I needed to feel . . . reckless.” She drew in her breath. “But I couldn’t, for the life of me, tell my parents about you. Aim to where it would hurt you the most. I couldn’t tell them the truth. Isn’t that sad? That I hate my father almost as much as I hate you? And love you both too. I guess my love will always be dipped in hate, making every important relationship in my life bittersweet. But I want you to know I’m well aware of the control I have over you, and don’t think for one second I won’t use it. If you get anywhere near me, for any reason whatsoever, I am going to make sure Judge Lopez and the partners at your firm know about your connection with the Roth family. As well as the NY State Bar Association. So make sure you stay the hell away from me, because all it’d take is one call, one text, one unwarranted visit, for me to ruin your life. And believe me, Christian, I will ruin your life without so much as a blink.”

She wasn’t going to say anything.

I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or scream.

I didn’t think the chances of Arya keeping this a secret were high. I supposed telling on me just seemed like the natural thing to do. Which was why I was more preoccupied with her forgiving me than her revealing my secret. Any other man would have taken what she’d given him and left. And maybe I had been that man two months ago. But I wasn’t him today, nor would I be any day after.

“So you’re saying the next time I contact you, you’ll have me disbarred?” I drawled.

“At the very least.”

“Very well. Thank you, Ari.”

“Burn in hell, Nicky.”