“His team ain’t worth a dime, and his general counsel should be fired. Any rookie would tell you that when dealing with any gender-related lawsuit, the jurors would respond more sympathetically to a female litigator. Especially someone young.”
“Like Claire,” Arya pointed out.
“Like Claire. But that’s beside the point.”
“Are you saying he needs to hire a female lawyer?” Her green eyes sparked with curiosity, and there it was, the Arya I knew and was obsessed with. Apparently she was still there, under the thick layers of designer clothes and ballbusting moves and bullshit.
“Correct.”
“That’s sexist.”
I shrugged. “Doesn’t make it any less true.”
“Why are you telling me this?” Her eyes tapered. “No part of you wants my father to win this case.”
Smiling at her like she was a foolish child, I deliberately mansplained. “I’ll be buttoning up this puppy if you bring in Jesus Christ himself to represent your father. It’d be nice to break a little sweat while I do. I’m giving you a head start.”
Arya’s eyes glided over my chest. I was glad I couldn’t do the same to her, now that she’d wrapped herself back up. My IQ had dropped by sixty-nine points when she was naked.
“You look pretty sweaty to me,” she remarked.
“In court.”
She extended her bronze legs, wiggling her toes. I couldn’t help it. I sneaked a look. First at her shapely calves, then at those toes she used to entwine with mine when we were kids, reading under the desk at her library.
“So tell me, Christian, how do I know you?”
We were on a first-name basis now. That wasn’t good. Still, it felt weird to refer to Arya as Ms. Roth.
I flexed my muscles. “You seem like a smart cookie. Figure it out.”
You’re playing with fire,I could hear Arsène warning in my head.
That may be,I answered. How could I not, when the flame is so beautiful?
The next day, I called Claire into my office.
“Miss Lesavoy, please take a seat.”
Claire always looked good, but she seemed to be putting in extra effort in recent days. Perhaps to remind me she had more to offer than her sharp mind.
She sat in front of me, smiling breezily. “Hey, stranger. Tried to call you last night. Your voice mail has been working extra hours.”
I’d been busy jerking off to mental pictures of Arya. But I supposed she could do without this piece of information.
“Sorry.” I smoothed my tie over my dress shirt. “I was busy. Listen, Claire, I’m going to cut straight to the chase. You are gorgeous, intelligent, smart as a whip, and completely out of my league. I’m a washed-out, jaded asshole who cannot say no when a good thing lands in his lap, and in doing so I’m slowing you down. So this is me doing you a favor and calling things off before you begin to resent me and working together becomes tasking.”
I thought it was a nice little speech. Especially considering none of these things were lies. She was too good to me. I was jaded. And things were becoming more complicated, especially now that we were handling the Roth case.
Claire scowled, not bothering to appear unwounded. I knew I should adore that about her, but I couldn’t help but miss Arya’s mind games. Her arrogant pride. Her obstinacy.
“Don’t you think it’s on me to decide whether you’re good enough or not?” Claire asked.
“No,” I said softly. “I fake quality quite well.”
“I think you’re selling yourself short.” Claire leaned across the desk, capturing my hand in hers. “I like you very much, Christian.”
“You have no reason to.”
“Even more so, because you don’t get how amazing you are.”
I gave her an it’s-not-going-to-work look.
“Is it Ms. Roth?” She dropped my hand.
“Don’t, Claire.”
“It is, then.” She stood up but didn’t leave. Waiting for a blanket denial. For me to change my mind.
I masked my annoyance with concern. “You deserve better.”
“I obviously do.” She smiled humorlessly but didn’t make a move toward the door. She was waiting for something else. Something I was incapable of giving her. Humanity. Remorse. Sympathy. I wanted to kill Arya and Conrad just then. For robbing me of all the things I could have given others.
“I trust this matter is settled and behind us,” I said.
And that was when I saw it. The realization sinking in. The way her eyes turned off told me everything I needed to know. She got it.
“Yes. Everything is perfectly clear. Will that be all, Mr. Miller?” Claire stuck her nose up in the air.
“Yes, Miss Lesavoy.”
It was the last time Claire spoke to me that day.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
ARYA
Present
“Are you sure you’re going to eat this muffin?” Mother—or just Beatrice, since she wasn’t hot on a woman in her early thirties referring to her as Mom publicly—glanced from behind her menu, twisting her mouth disapprovingly.
My father sat beside her, silently slathering a piece of toast with butter. Maintaining eye contact with Beatrice, I took a large bite of the orange-and-cranberry muffin in my hand, crumbs tumbling down on my mint-green Gucci dress. “Looks that way, Bea.”
We were sitting at the Columbus Circle Inn, a charming restaurant in pastel colors with blown glass flowers, for Sunday brunch. Beatrice Roth didn’t see me very often. She had committees and charities and luncheons to run, but she did once a year, when we went to Aaron’s grave for the anniversary of his death. It was tradition to have brunch afterward. While every year of my twin brother’s loss was punctuated with an exclamation point, I couldn’t remember the last time my mother had treated my birthday as more than just a comma.
“You need to make sure you maintain your figure, Arya. You’re not twenty anymore.” Mom readjusted her new diamond earrings for the sole purpose of drawing attention to them.
I rarely saw my mother, even though I lived right down the block from her. And whenever I did see her, she always had something unkind to say. She was disgusted with my lack of desire to become a kept woman. In her opinion, I worked too hard, exercised too little, and talked politics too often. All in all, I was a dazzling failure as a socialite.
“I’ll keep that in mind when I’m on the lookout for a misogynist husband who requires a no-brain and no-appetite trophy wife.”
“Must you be so crass all the time?” She took a sip of her gin and diet tonic.
“Must I? No. Do I? Sure, when I’m in the mood.”
“Leave her alone, Bea,” my father warned tiredly.
“Don’t tell me what to do.” She shot him a look before returning her attention to me. “This attitude of yours is not doing this family any favors. Your father tells me you pushed Amanda Gispen’s lawyer to the edge. Practically baited him to go to trial.”
“Beatrice!” my father roared. He had apologized for that day at the hearing, and I’d accepted, although something had broken between us since then. A fragile trust we had restored when I was fifteen.
I choked on my muffin as she continued, with an air of irritation. “Frankly, I’m surprised you haven’t put more hours and resources into trying to spin this in the media.”
“Actually, I’ve been working nonstop on garnering positive press. Not an easy task, considering the allegations he is facing. There’s only so much I can do before the trial starts. Also”—I turned to my father—“I spoke to someone whose opinion I value, and he suggested you hire a female litigator as a part of your team. Apparently the jurors will respond favorably to a woman.”
Dad took a sip of his sangria. “Thank you, Arya. Your job is to make me look good, not give me legal advice.”
“You said I needed to help you more,” I challenged.
“Yes, in your area of expertise.”
“Well, don’t you think—”
Our conversation was interrupted by the waitress, who placed our quiches, Bloody Marys, and eggs Benedict on the table. We all paused until she was out of earshot. When she was gone, he began talking before I could finish my sentence.
“Look, I’m not interested in hiring any other lawyer, female or not. It’s going to look like we’re desperate.” He began cutting into his spinach quiche furiously.
“We are desperate.” My eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets.
“That’s not something I’d like Christian Miller to see.”
“Oh, now you care about the optics?” I cried out, knowing all of this could’ve been prevented if Dad had been a little less brash when he’d fired Amanda. Assuming everything else she’d said wasn’t true, which was a hypothesis I found more unlikely with each passing day. Also, I honestly didn’t want to care what Christian thought. If I allowed myself to dwell on it, I’d crawl into a hole and die of humiliation from his rejection at Solstices’ sauna. He and Claire were probably having a good laugh about it. That was fine. It wasn’t like Miller’s opinion kept me up at night.
“There’s no sin greater than hubris, Dad. Pride is a luxury you cannot afford right now,” I said measuredly, trying another angle.