Present
I decided to attend the trial during the days and catch up on my work during the evenings. It wasn’t ideal. Then again, nothing about my situation was.
Christian Miller wasn’t wrong. The evidence didn’t leave room for much doubt. Each line of defense Louie and Terrance tried was answered with even more evidence from Christian and his clients. Louie and Terrance couldn’t even deny the harassment. When it was time to present their case, they simply suggested all advances were fully consensual. One of the accusers was twenty-three, for crying out loud. Younger than me, and a devout Catholic. The idea of her flinging herself at my father was delusional. And all of them had been fired by him after refusing his sexual advances.
Still, I came to court every day. Maybe to punish myself, but more likely to punish Dad. I knew how much it killed him that I witnessed all this.
I didn’t do a whole lot of sleeping these days. I mostly cried myself to exhaustion, my mind running through all the memories of Dad’s interactions with his female employees in my head, like a broken record.
Then I’d wake up and drag myself to court again and again and again.
After each day in court, Christian would hand me a printed reservation he’d made for one of the most talked-about restaurants in town. Be it Benjamin Steakhouse, Luthun, Pylos, or Barnea Bistro.
“I’ll wait there for an hour tonight. We’ll have a private room, or at least a booth where no one can see us.”
“Oh, I’m sure it’d be all your pleasure to get caught,” I’d answer.
“Not at all. If we get caught, we both lose.”
He never pushed, never begged, and never expressed any disappointment or anger over my absence the next day, even though I knew he was sitting by himself at restaurants every day.
Each day I ignored his invitation, my resolve would crack a little wider. A tad deeper. I would watch him in action in court, my gut filled with anger and longing, and exasperation, too, because for the first time in my life, I couldn’t tell if someone was an ally or an enemy.
Most of all, I observed Christian with fear, because I suspected he’d figured out that I wasn’t coming to court for Dad anymore.
I was coming to court for him.
One night, I was fast asleep in my bedroom, clad in a simple sweatshirt I’d stolen from Jillian some years ago in college. I was pooped from a day of attending court and working (I’d pretty much managed to get back on top of work, but it was killing me to be present in two things that took over my life). I’d drifted into sweet slumber when I felt a shadow hovering above my body, and when I looked up, Christian was there, standing at the foot of my bed, still in his sharp suit.
He smelled like the rain and pencil shavings, and I was tired of pushing him away. So tired, in fact, I didn’t even ask him how he’d gotten in.
“What are you doing here?” I asked instead. My voice lacked that furious fight I used every time we were bickering.
But Christian didn’t answer. He took a seat on the edge of my bed, grabbed my ankle, and perched my foot in his lap to give me a foot massage.
I groaned, throwing my head back and letting him work his magic. I was appalled with my inability to push him away.
His hands hiked up to the back of my knees, working restlessly, kneading and squeezing the soft, sore spots in my body.
“This will mean nothing,” I mumbled, closing my eyes. Because I knew where it was heading, and so did he.
A low chuckle emerged from his throat. “I’ll cancel our wedding invitations.”
“But not the cake. Send the cake to my office. I’ve been craving sugar all week.”
His hands went higher up, to my inner thighs, and he tugged me down so he could touch more of me, until his fingers were right there, between my thighs, in the holy triangle no man had touched in such a long time. I let out a shaky sigh when his hand pushed past the side of my panties. He dipped two fingers in, finding me soaking wet.
“That’s my girl. Now, I’m only going to use my fingers tonight so that tomorrow, you’ll wake up aching all over and ask me for the real thing. You understand?”
I opened my eyes, frowning at him. He had some nerve to sound so self-assured and cocky. I had no intention of seeking him out tomorrow, but if I could get an orgasm out of it tonight, I would put up with his grandiose ideas.
“Whatever, Napoleon. Just make it good for me.” I took his hand and pushed it deeper into my underwear, and he laughed his deep male laugh that danced in the pit of my stomach.
And then he was fingering me. His fingers sliding in and out of me, curling when they were inside me and hitting me somewhere deep and sensitive. He massaged my sensitive bud as he worked me, and I begrudgingly had to admit he wasn’t wrong—he was good at everything. Especially with his hands.
My hips bucked forward, rolling to meet more of his touch. My panting became quick and shallow at the same time as I chased that elusive feeling of being pleasured by someone else.
“Christian. I . . . I . . . I . . .”
“Can’t form a coherent sentence?” he hissed into the shell of my ear, chuckling softly.
“Screw you.”
“Already way ahead of you, darling.”
He played with me faster and deeper. His hands were everywhere now—on my breasts, clutching the back of my neck, roaming my legs. But he didn’t kiss me, and he didn’t have me, just like he’d promised.
The climax washed over me in waves. Everything shuddered, and I squeezed my eyes closed, unable to look at him when he gave me such pure pleasure and joy.
When I finally opened my eyes again, Christian wasn’t there.
The only thing I had left was dampness between my thighs, ruined underwear, and my fingers, which were still tangled in the elastic of my panties.
It was a fantasy.
A dream.
Christian had never been here.
“Your father is asking to see you.”
My mother delivered the news with morbid dejection. I supposed it was warranted, since I’d been ghosting her for a few days now. I didn’t blame her for not coming to court. I was a first-grade masochist for doing this to myself. I did, however, blame her for pretty much everything else, including (but not limited to) neglecting my existence up until the last few weeks, when everything with Dad had blown up. Now she wanted my company. To make amends. This was a classic case of too little, too late.
“Can he not ask me himself?” I replied, waiting in line for my cup of coffee across from court, pinning my phone between my ear and shoulder. My leg bounced impatiently, and I glanced at my wristwatch. The trial had wrapped up for the day, and I still hadn’t eaten a thing today.
“With everything going on, he wasn’t sure if you wanted to see him,” my mother explained. I knew she wasn’t to blame for any of it, and yet, I couldn’t help directing some of my anger toward her. She was, after all, a participant in the breakdown of this marriage.
“So he sent you as his mouthpiece?”
“Arya, nobody accused him of being overly graceful. Are you coming or not?” she asked.
The line moved at a snail’s pace. I desperately needed a coffee.
“I’ll be there in thirty minutes. Twenty, if traffic is light.” I turned off my phone and tucked it into my bag. My turn finally arrived. “Grande Americano, no cream, no sugar. Thank you.”
I fished for my purse before feeling a hand brushing my shoulder, handing the barista a black American Express.
“She’ll take the southwest veggie wrap and chocolate-covered espresso beans too.”
I whipped my head around, ready with a scowl. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“Padding that open tab of all those dinners you are going to pay me for.” Christian’s smirk felt more like a brush of his knuckles over my spine. “Right now you’re about eleven hundred in the red. All those restaurants I’ve been enjoying by myself this week don’t come cheap, and I always insist on a good bottle of wine.”
“Drinking alone every night has a name.” I smiled sweetly. “Alcoholism.”
His eyes crinkled with a grin. “Don’t worry, Ms. Roth, I donate the wine to the people sitting next to me. Very generous of you, if I may add.”
I had to hand it to him—no one was immune to his charms. Not the jurors—male and female alike—not the court reporter, and not his junior associate. Which, again, made me wonder why he was pursuing me. Sure, I was good looking and successful in my field, but Christian Miller could have his pick of the crop. Why waste time with someone who dedicated every ounce of her energy to trying to hate him?
“Don’t forget I don’t owe you a penny if I don’t sleep with you. Which reminds me.” I spun to the barista in front of us with a smile. “I’ll also have sweet potato chips, all of your shortbread cookies, and five hundred dollars’ worth of gift cards.”
“Your optimism is commendable.” Christian ran the tip of his tongue over his upper lip.
“Your delusions are concerning,” I quipped back, nodding in thanks to the barista in front of us, who took Christian’s order next. A coffee. I stuck around next to him until my Americano was ready. “Where are we not dining together tonight?” I inquired airily, to change the subject.
“I’m glad you asked. Tonight, I’ll be waiting for you at Sant Ambroeus. It’s in the West Village. Italian. They say the cacio e pepe is to die for.”
“Oh, is that so? A girl could hope.”
He grinned down at me, making me feel like a toddler being humored by a grown-up.
“Stop smiling,” I ordered. “It puts me in a bad mood.”
“Can’t help it. Your aversion to losing is sweet.”
“I’m not sweet,” I said tersely. I wasn’t. I was a badass boss bitch with a high-flying career. And then some.
“You are,” he said, almost regretfully. “And that wasn’t in my plans.”
Another barista called my name, and I walked over to accept my order.
“All I ask from you is one hour,” Christian reminded me. “And this time, I’m getting the Château Lafite Rothschild 1995. That’s eight hundred dollars a bottle. You don’t mind, do you?”
I turned around and stomped my Jimmy Choos while simultaneously ordering an Uber on my phone.
What a jackass.
“Brand Brigade is going to have to take me back as a client. Individually, not as a part of a corporation.”
Dad sat back on his brown leather recliner in front of the crackling fire. His study was in disarray. Files everywhere. Including the stacks I’d sifted through the other day, which must’ve given away the fact that I knew about his affair with Ruslana. Not that it mattered. I doubted he was in the business of explaining himself to anyone at this point.
“Now why would we do that?” I asked coldly.
Conrad, who had lost at least ten pounds over the past weeks, blinked at me like I was an idiot. “Because I’m your father, Arya.”
“A father who hasn’t taken any of my calls and refused to see me for weeks,” I pointed out. Mom scurried into the study with a tray of sugar cookies and tea. I’d seen more of her in the past few weeks than I had in years. She completely ignored her husband, setting the tea and cookies in front of me. I hadn’t even asked her how she was taking all this. Guilt unfurled inside me.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to interrupt. Just thought you’d appreciate a treat. Sugar cookies are your favorite, right?”
Actually, I was more of a chocolate chip kind of girl, but that was beside the point and super trivial. I smiled tightly. “Thank you, Mother.”
After she closed the door behind her, I turned to look at my father again. “You were saying?”
Conrad rubbed his cheek, making a show of heaving a sigh. “Look, what was I supposed to do? You are my precious baby. No one wants to get caught with their pants down in front of their loved ones.”
“So you lied,” I said flatly.
“Yes and no. I’ve had affairs. Many affairs. I’m not proud of my infidelity. But I didn’t harass anyone.”
“Your dick pic tells a different story.” Even if in not so many words.
He shifted uncomfortably. “This was reciprocated, and a dark time in my life. I’m not a monster.”
“This is for the court to determine, not me.” I crossed one leg over the other, cupping my knee with my hands. “And until I know the answer to that, I cannot, in good conscience, link my company to your name. Especially as you dropped us without even giving me the heads-up shortly before the trial started.”
“I did it to protect you!” Conrad slammed his palm against the desk between us, making the whole thing rattle.
I shook my head. “You did it because you wanted to hire someone bigger, with more street cred. But no one would take you on, right? No one wanted to get their hands dirty.”
He leaned over the desk between us, inching closer to me, a vein throbbing in his temple. “You think this is a game? I could lose every penny I have, Arya, robbing you of your inheritance. You could be poor.”
The last word was uttered with complete disdain.
“I’ll never be poor, because I provide for myself. But if I lose my inheritance—whose fault would that be?”
“Theirs!” My father jumped up from his seat, tossing his arms in the air in frustration. “Of course it’s their fault. Why do you think it took them so long to come forward? They piggybacked on Amanda Gispen’s complaint!”
“They were scared you were going to ruin their lives.” I rose from my chair, too, baring my teeth. “Like you did to Ruslana and Nicky. What happened to them? Tell me.”
My father stared at me with contempt. I’d never thought I’d see that look on his face. Of sheer hatred. I wondered where the man who’d kissed my boo-boos and read me good-night stories had gone. How I could bring him back. And most importantly—if he’d ever really existed.
“Do you think a settlement is still on the table?” He changed the topic.
“How should I know?”
“This Christian guy seems to be taken with you.”
“He does?” I asked, buying time. My heart jackrabbited in my chest at the mention of his name.
“I see the way he chases after you like a puppy. He’s doing a bad job at hiding it. Dig around for me.”
It took everything in me not to hurl something against the wall. “He is not going to be swayed. He wants your ass on a silver platter.”
“He wants in your bed more.”
He looked at me then, his eyes asking something his mouth didn’t dare utter aloud. Internally, I keeled over and threw up. All the love I had left for him. The good memories, and the bad ones too. And the sliver of loyalty running between us. Because a man who could ask something like that of his daughter was capable of doing much worse. He’d just given himself away.
“Wow. Okay. This is my cue to leave.”
“If you don’t help me,” he hissed, shooting out a hand to stop me but pulling it back before I could smack it away, “you are dead to me, Arya. This is your chance—your only chance—to pay me back for giving a damn when your mother didn’t. I need to know, are you in or are you out?”
We were both standing now. I didn’t know when that had happened. I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened my mouth.
“Be honest with me first. Did you hurt them?” I asked. He knew what I meant. “Did you?”
There was a pause. The truth was hanging in the air between us, dangling over our heads. It had a taste and a smell and a pulse. I knew it before I heard it. Which was why he knew lying would be pointless.
“Yes.”
The word rang in my ears. I opened my mouth, refusing to let the tears fall. I turned around and fled. Rushed out of the penthouse. My mother followed me. She’d been waiting outside, in the hallway, eavesdropping, I suspected.
“Arya! Arya, wait!”
But I didn’t. I took two flights of stairs down before punching the elevator’s button, just to make sure they weren’t following me. In the elevator, I realized I’d stopped referring to him as Dad, even in my head. He was Conrad Roth now, the man who’d fallen from grace, dragging his family down with him.
When the elevator opened, my instinct was to cross the street and go to the cemetery. To visit Aaron. I needed to talk to someone. To unload.
But I didn’t want to talk to Aaron.
For the first time in a long time, I wanted to talk to someone who could answer back.
“Sorry, buddy.” I ran past the cemetery, then caught a yellow cab.
I checked my watch.
Maybe I could make it after all.
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.”
