Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways 1)

Then I remembered Traurig was on vacation in Hawaii. I texted Claire, who was working extra hard on making herself his favorite associate by moonlighting as his personal assistant whenever he was away, and asked for the limo. Claire promptly texted back that it was on its way.

Fun night planned? she added, right before I shoved my phone back into my pocket. Can I join?

Thank you, Miss Lesavoy.

That doesn’t answer my question, she texted back. It should’ve, though.

Sorry. Private occasion.

“Will it take long?” Arya slipped into her own jacket, still looking like a hostage at gunpoint.

I shook my head. “I want to show you something.”

When the black limo arrived, I opened the door for her.

“A bit dated, but usually works like a charm,” I said, remembering Arya’s promise to me two decades ago, that she would send me a limo to the premiere of her movie when she became a big movie star.

She slid inside, turned around, and gave me a wild look that said Busted. Had she finally connected the dots?

“What did you say?” she asked slowly.

“I said limos are dated. Why?” I gave her a meaningful stare.

Call me out. Tell me you know who I am. Break things off. I’m ready.

But Arya just bit her lower lip, looking lost in thought. “Never mind.”

Darrin, Traurig’s driver, caught my gaze through the rearview mirror.

“Mr. Miller.” He jerked his head in greeting. “Good to see you again. Where to?”

“The usual,” I instructed, flipping a button, making the privacy screen rise up between us so Arya and I could talk.

Arya didn’t ask where my usual place might be. She just stared out the window, arms crossed over her chest. The air was stuffy and dense inside the limo. I could taste the impending disaster, the loss, the cataclysm.

“This doesn’t have to end in four days’ time,” I said finally, feeling . . . what was the word for the atrocious storm brewing in my chest? Defenseless, maybe. It was a shitty feeling. I’d avoided it since graduating from Andrew Dexter Academy.

“And what would be the point of that?” Arya’s head tilted as she took me in for the first time tonight. “We won’t be able to go out in public—”

“Not necessarily,” I gritted out, stopping her midsentence. “We might. At some point. In a year, maybe two. We’ll need to let the media storm from the trial subside first. But there are ways. There is no law against us having a relationship.”

Arya let out a wry laugh. “Oh, and then what? I’ll bring you over to dinner with my parents?”

“You’re not close with your parents,” I pointed out.

“My father, especially—”

“He is out of the picture.” I sliced through her words again, a smile beginning to tug at my lips. “You couldn’t care less what he thinks. Neither could I.”

This felt eerily like standing in court, only without a judge running the show. I’d almost forgotten how persuasive I could be. “Please, carry on; what other imaginary obstacles do we have to overcome?”

“Well.” Arya huffed, and in that moment, she reminded me of Beatrice. Cool and dismissive. “I don’t know anything about you. Not really. You’ve been careful to keep me in the dark.”

“I’m changing that right now. We’re going to my secret place.” I chanced lacing my fingers through hers between us. She let me.

Her frown melted. “Sounds like the place where you hide all the bodies.”

“Not at all.” My thumb brushed the inside of her palm. “That’d be my second secret place, and I would never take you there before cutting you to pieces.”

She grinned sheepishly. “How many victims have you had so far?”

“Zero,” I admitted, realizing we were not talking about chopped bodies anymore. “No one’s ever felt worthy of . . .” Saving. “Killing.”

“And now?” she asked.

“And now,” I said, looking deep into her eyes, “now I’m not so sure what I’m feeling.”

I sat back, pleased. A few minutes later, we arrived at our destination, and I told Darrin to wait.

“Close your eyes,” I asked Arya.

She laughed, shaking her head. “Please don’t bother. If it’s New York—I’ve already seen it. There’ll be no element of surprise.”

“Humor me, then.” I smiled, getting a quick and overly optimistic glimpse of what living with this woman might entail. The sass, the stubbornness, the spine. She was going to be the death of me.

Arya screwed her mouth sideways. “All right.”

She closed her eyes. When I was sure she wasn’t peeking, I slid out of the limo and took her by the hand. She shifted a little as I led her the few short steps to our final destination. She could probably tell, by the background noise, that we were still in Midtown.

“Open them,” I said.

Arya blinked, looking around her. I stepped beside her.

“This is my favorite place in New York City,” I said. “This glass waterfall tunnel. It makes you feel like you’re actually inside a waterfall. It’s quiet. It’s peaceful. And it’s right in the middle of the Big Apple.”