I spotted Christian through the restaurant’s window, sitting in one of the upholstered red booths. An entire meal sat in front of him, untouched. He was working on his laptop. He sat up straight, his face stoic, ignoring the curious glances of people around him. My heart beat a little faster. I wiped the tears I’d shed on my way here from my face and handed the driver my credit card.
“How do I look?” I asked the middle-aged woman behind the wheel.
She peered at me through the rearview mirror. “You want honesty?”
Generally yes, although now I’m not so sure.
“You look like a wreck. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“But you got good bones and a nice rack, so go knock him dead, sweetheart.”
With those powerful words of encouragement, I shot out the back door of the cab.
It was five minutes to nine, but I made it. I walked into the joint and explained to the maître d’ that my companion was waiting, then hurried through the maze of booths, an unexplainable rush of affection slamming into me when Christian looked up from his screen, boyish surprise coloring his face.
He closed his laptop, sitting back, enjoying the view. I stood in front of him, not taking a seat just yet. I was panting, my hair was a mess, and I was in desperate need of washing the day away.
“Should we be seen together like this in the open?” I wanted to get the important bits out of the way.
“No one knows us here. At any rate, if we see each other once or twice in public, no touching, no flirting, this could still be summed up to you working on the case, trying to convince me to talk my clients into settling. As long as we don’t . . . canoodle.”
“We won’t canoodle,” I said briskly.
“You okay?” he asked, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.
“Why wouldn’t I be?” I barked, still on the defensive. I couldn’t exactly tell him about my conversation with my father, even though, technically, I’d come here to do just that.
“Because you’re here,” he said gently, standing up and pushing my chair back for me. I took a seat. He put his hands on my shoulders. My whole body came alive. His skin was warm through my clothes. I no longer felt like a traitor, like a harlot, for wanting to be with him. My father was a monster who deserved to be punished. Christian was right. He wasn’t to blame for Conrad Roth’s downfall.
He sat in front of me, his glacial blue eyes twinkling with what I could swear was sheer happiness. He looked surprised, even a little giddy. “What made you change your mind?”
“Is it important?” I huffed, feeling my eyes prickling with tears again.
“Yes.” He reached to fill my glass with wine. It did look like the expensive stuff. I better not sleep with this man. “To me, it is.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re not going to sleep with me as long as you think I’m wronging your father. So I want to know if the penny has dropped yet.”
His words brought me back to earth. Of course Christian was only interested in me as a conquest. A shiny prize. A bonus for winning this trial, something that could be taken away from my father. I slapped my napkin open and ironed it across my lap, then grabbed a fork and twirled it over pasta. I was so hyperaware of his eyes on me, so overcome with emotions, I hadn’t even touched the food on the table.
“I’m here because I needed a breather and a good meal. Nothing more.” My voice was steady, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.
“And I’m here because of the food,” he deadpanned.
“It’s good food,” I pointed out, pretending to flip through the menu. I felt his gaze on me. I shut the menu, putting it down and shaking my head. “Why did you become a lawyer?” I demanded.
“Excuse me?” He raised his eyebrows.
“Out of all the professions in the world, why did you choose this one? You’re bright. You’re sharp. You could have done anything.”
I was waiting for a joke, a change of subject, or maybe a generic response. But instead, Christian gave it some serious thought before answering. “Growing up, I’ve been the victim of unfair treatment. I guess a part of me always wanted to make sure it’d never happen again. If you know your rights, you know how to protect yourself. I didn’t always know my rights.”
I swallowed. “That’s fair.”
“And you?” he asked, before I could dig into what it was that had happened to him. “Why PR?”
“I like helping people, and blood makes me queasy. It was either PR or medicine.”
Christian laughed. “Great choice. I can already imagine you yelling at your patients that they were being drama queens.”
I laughed too. He sounded like he understood me. But . . . how could he?
The rest of the conversation flowed nicely. Even though there was a lot both of us wanted to know about one another, we stuck to a subject that couldn’t garner arguments or debate—food.
He began explaining to me about each dish he’d ordered. When he was done, I pursed my lips, studying him. I’d met this man before, I decided. Maybe briefly, at a bar, one of the parties I’d gone to in college, or a charity event, but I was certain we knew each other.
“Mesmerized?” Christian’s cocky grin was back on full display.
I shrugged, taking a sip of my wine. “I just think it’s cute.”
“What’s cute?”
“How badly you want to win our bet.”
Christian clinked his wineglass against mine. “One thing you should know about me, Arya—I never lose a bet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHRISTIAN
Present
She was here.
In my domain, in my territory, in my claws.
Whether it was her father who’d pushed her into my arms or the mystery surrounding me, Arya had finally taken the bait. She looked exhausted. The outline of her ribs poked through her blouse. There was something haunting about her face. But I’d take her any way I could have her. That, at least, hadn’t changed.
We had a pleasant meal, although I could tell her mind was elsewhere. My bet was that Daddy dearest had finally owned up to his wrong deeds and she’d had to not only face the truth but swallow it whole. After I paid (I wondered if watching her write a check for all the meals I’d paid for was going to be as sweet as drowning myself inside her), I suggested we take a walk.
“I could use a walk.” Arya surprised me by not being her usual defiant self. We strolled along Greenwich Avenue. The street was bustling with people, dogs, and life. As surreal as being with her again in New York was, I couldn’t stop myself from enjoying it. Countless times I’d imagined myself as a teenager taking her places. I’d fantasized about being someone else. The son of a surgeon and a child psychologist, maybe. Taking Conrad Roth’s precious daughter for ice cream. He’d have let me too.
“My father wondered if your clients would be open to a settlement.” Arya wrapped her arms around herself, her cheeks flushed with the wine and the meal.
Ah. So this was what this dinner was about. A grim smile found my lips. “We weren’t open to settlement pretrial, so that’s a goddamn stretch if I ever saw one. Also, I’d appreciate if next time he uses his attorneys as a channel of communication.”
She pursed her lips.
I nudged her shoulder with mine as we walked. “Hey. Let’s not talk about that.”
There was a lull, but then Arya forced herself to smile. “So tell me about your childhood. I’m still trying to figure out where I’ve seen you before.”
This was my chance to come clean, if I’d ever had one. Since I wasn’t a complete moron, I passed on the opportunity. But it was a reminder I couldn’t romance this woman. I was deceiving her to the highest degree by not revealing my true identity.
“I grew up here in New York. Went to a private school when I was fourteen. My parents and I didn’t really get along.”
“What do your parents do?”
“My father owns a deli, and my mother managed an estate.”
So far, not one lie. Although my sperm donor’s shop was a continent away, and my mother had managed the Roths’ estate by sweeping the floors.
“Do I know this private school?”
“You do.”
“Does it have a name?”
“It does,” I confirmed.
“Wow, you’re really not going to tell me.” But her eyes clung to my face, the distant sparkle of hope willing me to contradict her. “You’re impossible.”
“And you love it.”
“So how did you find yourself at Harvard Law School, seeing as you and your parents aren’t on speaking terms? Don’t tell me you got a full ride. That’s nearly impossible. Especially in your tax bracket.”
She still believed I came from money. I didn’t correct her assumption. This was the point when I considered how much to tell her. Only Riggs and Arsène knew my story. Ultimately, I realized it didn’t really matter.
“Promise not to judge?”
“Can’t promise that, Counselor. But I’m not usually the judgy type.”