When we got out, Christian got dressed. “I’ll go downstairs to get some johnnies. Should I bring back takeout? How about Chinese?” He buttoned his shirt, perched on the side of my bed, not bothering with the tie.
“What time is it?” I checked my watch, frowning. It was eight o’clock. Jilly was supposed to be back by now. The fact that she wasn’t meant she was giving us time alone. I’d texted her on my way home but hadn’t thought she’d make herself quite so scarce. I looked back up at him, powering up my laptop as I settled over my pillows in my bed. No point in sitting here and pining for him while he was out and about. I could squeeze in a few emails and maybe even a contract proposal if I was lucky.
“In that case, could you fetch something from the Filipino restaurant? It’s right down the street. I’ll have the fried calamari and crispy pata. Oh, and their coconut boba, please. Extra tapioca balls. Here’s my card.” I unzipped my purse and tossed my card across the bed for him.
He stopped lacing his shoes, simply staring at me for a few moments.
I smiled tightly. “Sorry, I can be bossy. We can just DoorDash. Of course you don’t have to go there.”
“No, that’s fine.” He stood up, shaking his head. “I could use the time to answer emails.” His eyes ran over my laptop. Oops. I should’ve waited until he was gone. “You really are something, you know that, Arya Roth?”
“How so?”
“You’re just the most self-reliant, independent, driven—”
“Better stop before you catch feelings.” I winked, cutting into his words, because they were cutting into my skin, and it was too much. He closed his mouth, shaking his head and walking away, leaving me, my credit card, and my extremely dangerous thoughts behind.
Forty minutes later, we were sitting cross-legged on my bed, pigging out on fried calamari, french fries, roasted meat, and assorted veggies. We shared stories about our college days and were surprised to find out our paths had nearly crossed several times during those years at parties and festivals. Christian said he hadn’t been into the whole partying scene, that Arsène and Riggs were the hellions in their trio, and that he’d focused on finishing at the top of his class, because he’d known competition was going to be tight out there once he graduated. I told him I was much the same, actually. That I’d disappointed many people by being so straitlaced and not channeling the inner Paris Hilton everyone had predicted they’d see in me.
“And Jillian has always been your best friend?” Christian bit into a piece of calamari and sucked his fingers clean. I had an inkling fried food wasn’t a part of his usual diet, with a body like that.
“Pretty much.” I popped a piece of cucumber into my mouth. “I’ve always been kind of an ambivert—definitely for someone in my field—and people often mistake my assertiveness for bitchiness. I’m not in the business of cooing and playing nice. Some people appreciate it. Few, but some. She’s one of them, so we keep each other close.”
“Men must be intimidated.” Christian popped a devilish eyebrow up.
“Not the ones worth dating.”
“And yet you don’t strike me as the kind of woman who goes on a lot of dates.”
I shrugged. “Not everyone’s worth my time.” But even as I said that, I knew it was my shaky self-esteem speaking.
“Who’s the one who got away?” Christian leaned on my headboard, using his chopsticks to pluck a piece of carrot from his paper plate. His shirt was unbuttoned, and there was a lazy, predatory air about him that kept me on my toes and yet made me want to bask in his attention. “There’s always that one person who got away.”
“Hmm.” I scrunched my nose. I didn’t have to give it any genuine thought, though. The answer was clear. It just sounded bad. Fortunately, I wasn’t supposed to care what he thought of me. This was temporary at best and already over at worst. “Don’t laugh, but this goes way back.”
“High school sweetheart.” He made an adorable, albeit mocking, face. “Where’d he first kiss you? Under the bleachers or against your locker?”
“Actually, before high school.” I felt my cheeks pinkening, dropping my gaze to my food, moving it about with the chopsticks. “We were both fourteen. He was . . . well, he was a badass kid and my best friend. I was low-key obsessed with him. We had a little thing over the summer. His mom worked for my family. He’s the one who got away for me.”
When I looked back up, the expression on Christian’s face made my pulse stutter. He looked like a semitrailer full of feelings had slammed into him all at once. He dropped his food on my bed—by accident—and didn’t even realize as he did.
“Shit, don’t worry about it. I hated those sheets anyway.” I made a half attempt to scrape the oily french fries from my linen. Lies. These were brand-new Belgian flax from West Elm.
He was still looking at me weird.
I sat a little straighter, feeling my cheeks heating despite myself.
“I told you it was weird.” I tucked my hair behind my ears. “I mean, it’s not like I’m still pining for this teenager or something. Anyway . . .”
“No, this is interesting. So he was your boyfriend?” Christian swung his gaze back to me, all business.
I eyed him. “Um, are you sure you didn’t just have a stroke? You looked . . . off.”
“Sorry. Thought about an email I need to write someone tomorrow. I’m completely on now.” He smiled.
Nice. So he thought about work when I poured my heart out. Duly noted.
I got back to the subject at hand, feeling self-conscious. “No. We shared a kiss. That was all. But we were close.”
“And why did it end?” Christian’s eyes bored into mine with intensity that could light up a carnival.
“He moved away.”
“He did?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
I licked my lips, feeling my nose burning with tears all of a sudden. What in the ever-loving hell was happening to me? It had been years. “He went to live with his father in Belarus.”
“I see.” He nodded tersely, taking a bite of another calamari. “Did he tell you that?”
“Um. No.” I rubbed at my face, struggling to understand why I was so upset and, even more importantly, why Christian was looking at me like I’d just told him I’d murdered his dog. “My dad told me. It was all very . . .” Abusive and insane. “Sudden.”
“Did you ever try contacting him?”
His interest in this story seemed peculiar. So many years had passed. Besides, like he’d said, we weren’t in it for the long haul. Why did he care about my past?
“I did, in fact.” I started picking calamari and fries from my linen and putting them back in Christian’s bowl. “But then when he didn’t answer, I figured I dodged a bullet. A guy who walks out of your life without even leaving you a note is not worthy of your time, thoughts, and efforts.”
That was a flat-out lie. I knew exactly why Nicky hadn’t contacted me—because I didn’t deserve anything from him after what my own father had done to him.
“What about you?” I asked. “Any special someone over the years?”
Christian smiled, somewhat recovered from the topic, reaching over toward me to grab the bottle of water we shared and taking a sip. “None at all, in fact.”
“Lucky you.”
“Yeah, lucky me.”
Three more times, we tumbled atop each other, sheets tangled, fighting for dominance, for skin, for contact. We learned each other’s shapes, likes, and dislikes. How to move like a current. We used condoms, and I made a mental note to stop by the pharmacy the next day for some Plan B. Christian was a generous lover. He seemed to know exactly what I wanted, when I wanted it, how deep, and how fast.
Finally, when we collapsed at around one in the morning, sweaty and spent, it was sort of understood—maybe even expected—that he’d stay the night. We both wanted to put off the inevitable.
“But won’t you be late for court? Between going back to your apartment, getting all showered and dressed?” I asked.
Christian pointed out that any rookie lawyer knew to keep a fresh and ironed spare suit at their office, and that was that.
Which was why I didn’t expect to wake up the next day to an empty bed.
The side where Christian had slept was cold, the linen pressed like he’d never been there. The only evidence he had actually been here the night before was his lingering scent of expensive aftershave and decadent sex. Oh, and the pulse between my thighs, a light, persistent heartbeat, and the bite marks that covered me.
I peeked at the time on my nightstand clock. Eight thirty. Groaning, I closed my eyes and pressed my face to my pillow. When I pried my eyelids open again, I rolled over to my stomach and reached for my phone. There were four messages and seven emails. All of them from clients. There was also one missed call from my mother.
He told you it wasn’t serious. Were you expecting a romantic breakfast with a side of cuddling?
For a second, I marveled at the irony. My father had insinuated I should sleep with Christian to help him, and I’d ended up sleeping with him indeed but had no plans to help the old man.
I blinked, adjusting to the light streaming from the window. Cocking my head, I noticed something peculiar about my bookshelves. An empty space that hadn’t been there before. I shuffled out of my bed, still stark naked, and padded barefoot to my shelf. My hand ran over the spines, arranged in alphabetical order. My fingers stopped at the empty space. I knew what was missing. It was a book imprinted into my DNA. My most precious possession.
Atonement.
This was why he hadn’t left a note or a message. Why he hadn’t stuck around. He knew I’d be the one to make the first move. After all, he held something of mine hostage.
Bastard had stolen my favorite book.
I held myself together.
I didn’t call or text him.
At the office, Jillian examined me from behind her cup of coffee, arching a knowing eyebrow and leaning against the printer while I waited for it to spew a contract for a new client.
“Long night?” She hmmed.
I felt myself burning scarlet, realizing I wasn’t even sure whether she had come back home or not. At least I knew I was on top of work these days, so this wasn’t a dig.
“This space is a nonjudgment zone.” I picked up the warm papers, motioning to the space between us while holding them.
Jilly put one hand up in surrender, taking another sip. “I’m not judging; I’m curious. And a little jealous, obviously. Is it serious?”
“Nope. The relationship’s doomed from the start.” I stapled the pages together, making my way to my seat. She followed me like a piranha, smelling blood.
Just because Christian and I hadn’t addressed the elephant (or rather, lawsuit) in the room didn’t mean I wasn’t aware of it. The only thing that had changed was I no longer craved to hang his indiscretions over his head.
“Why bother, then?”
“Life’s too short.” I shrugged, taking a seat in front of my laptop, uncapping my Sharpie to go through the contract one more time.
“How very un-Arya of you,” she laughed. “Fine. I’ll revisit this again when we get back home. But Ari?”
“Yes?”
“Be careful if you see Christian. Charming as he may be, you know nothing about one of the most eligible bachelors in NYC.”