Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways 1)

“Well, okay, but how does it have anything to do with me?” We glided through the halls of the courthouse, toward the exit. He stopped, turning to face me.

“You aggravated Mr. Miller every step of the way during mediation. You were begging for a reaction. And you indeed got it in the form of my having to stand trial for this.”

“You blame me?” I stubbed my finger into my chest.

“You’re obviously fascinated with him.”

“Because I answered him back?” I felt my eyebrows hitting my hairline in surprise.

“Because you’ve always had a taste for troublemakers, and I’ve always been the one who needed to clean up after you.”

Oh. Oh. This was richer than his bank account. I reared my head back to avoid the flecks of saliva flying from his mouth. I hadn’t been myself that day at Christian’s office, no doubt, but Christian had come in cocked and loaded to go to trial, and that had nothing to do with my behavior.

“First of all, I’m glad you rewrote history in the years when I worked my way through forgiving you for what happened. Second, I’m going to go ahead and chalk this conversation up to the fact that you haven’t slept in three weeks and live solely on coffee and prescription pills.” I took out a napkin from my bag and handed it to him. He grabbed it, dabbing at the saliva coating his lower lip.

We got out of the courthouse and slipped straight into his waiting Escalade.

“Where am I dropping you off, Ari?” Dad’s driver, Jose, called from the driver’s seat, while Louie and Terrance gave Dad the bottom line of what had happened today in hushed voices.

I gave Jose my work address and turned my attention back to Dad. “Christian Miller has a bone to pick with you. Nothing could’ve changed his mind.”

“Why?” Dad cut both Louie and Terrance off, his eyes nailing me to the window. “Why am I his hill to die on? He sees cases far worse than mine on a daily basis. All I did was give Amanda a few pats and sniff around for an affair,” he spit out.

“You gave her a few pats?” I was dizzy with anger.

He added with an eye roll, “Allegedly. For Chrissakes, Arya. Allegedly.”

“Adding the word allegedly doesn’t make you innocent,” I pointed out. “Are you innocent?”

“Of course I am!” He threw his arms in the air. “Even if there were a few gray lines, a consensual affair is not akin to sexual harassment. It’s not like your mother ever gave me the time of day.”

“You keep contradicting yourself.” Even as I said it, though, I knew I wasn’t going to dig into the family’s skeleton closet for fear I’d be buried in bones. “Have you or have you not had an affair with Amanda Gispen? Did you or did you not touch her inappropriately?”

“I haven’t done anything wrong,” Dad snapped.

“We’re going in circles,” I mumbled, closing my eyes.

“Feel free to get off at any time.”

I tried to take his words at face value. But Dad did have a point.

Christian Miller wanted to rip my family apart, and I was beginning to worry he had a good reason to want to do it.

After Jose dropped me off at work, Jillian and I got into a meeting with a potential new client. I screwed it six ways to Sunday. Jillian very nearly kicked me out of there—through the window—and I couldn’t even blame her. The CEO of Bi’s Kneads, a bakery chain that was becoming a publicly traded company, left our office underwhelmed after I stuttered my way through the presentation. It was obvious we weren’t getting the contract.

“I’m so sorry,” I told Jillian as we got out of the conference room, standing in our open-plan, exposed-brick office. “I should’ve come more prepared. I went over our presentation this morning, but my brain turned to mush after the hearing.”

Jillian waved her hand, tired and annoyed. “It’s fine. You had a really long day. How was Mr. Prick?”

“Still a prick.”

“Did you try and murder him today?”

“Only telepathically.”

“Proud of you.” She sighed, giving me a sympathetic look. “And your dad?”

“Acting like a teenager and making very little sense.”

“He’s under a lot of stress,” she pointed out.

I proceeded to my desk and powered up my laptop. I laced my fingers together and stretched before typing Christian’s name into the search engine. I’d done it before, when I’d first realized he would represent Amanda. But this time, I didn’t get into his LinkedIn page or his professional profile at his firm. I went straight to his social media. There wasn’t much there. Just one forgotten Facebook page that looked like it hadn’t been updated since the Stone Age. I double-clicked on a picture of a younger version of Christian, smiling to the camera with the two men who’d been with him during trivia night.