“I’m single.”
“Color me surprised.” I handed her the ticket. She snatched it, like I was going to change my mind any second, stuffing it into her purse.
“I’m guessing you’re with the pretty associate.”
“Now why would you guess that?” I was surprised. I ignored Claire completely during work hours, unless it was related to a case we were working on.
Arya shrugged. “Call it a hunch.”
“I can also call it jealousy.”
She smiled easily. “Tweak the narrative as you please to help your fragile ego, honey. It’s a free country.” She turned around, ready to leave.
“You have good instincts, silver-spooned princess.”
Her head spun so fast I thought it was going to dislocate from her shoulder. “What did you just call me?”
Well, shit. It had just spilled out of my mouth. Like it hadn’t been almost two decades. Like we were still the same kids.
“Princess,” I said.
“No. You said silver-spooned princess.” Her eyes narrowed into slits.
“Nope,” I lied. “But that’s not a bad nickname.”
“Your gaslighting game is weak. I know what I heard.”
“Well, seeing as you don’t have any way to prove it, and I’m not budging, I would strongly suggest you let it drop. I called you a princess. Nothing more.”
She considered it for a full minute before nodding curtly. “See you at the pretrial hearing next week.” She saluted, not waiting for me to confirm or deny my relationship with Claire.
Of course. Next week. I had to wait seven days until I’d see her again.
Which is dandy. You hate her, remember?
“Can hardly wait.”
She walked away, her stilettos rapping over the sticky wooden floor. Typical. She always left dents wherever she went.
“Oh, and Ms. Roth?”
She stopped and turned around, arching a brow. I ran my tongue over my teeth.
“Nice claws.”
That night, I allowed myself one slipup.
Okay, fine, two slipups.
First—I googled Arya. She was the director and founder of Brand Brigade, along with Jillian Bazin. Had gone to Columbia University cum laude, participated as a consultant in several political campaigns, and frequented charity events with Daddy dearest. Suppose they were two peas in a messed-up pod, running over everyone on their way to their next target. There were a few photos of her too. Of the stunning woman who’d made me swear off green-eyed brunettes for life.
The second slipup happened in the shower, while I pressed my forehead against the tiles, closing my eyes and letting the hot needles of water wash the day away. Looking down, I found myself hard as a stone. My cock was engorged, begging for release.
Impulse control. Remember you hate her.
But what my brain knew very well, my idiot body refused to accept. Every time I thought about Arya in that black dress and those pearls, my cock tapped against my abs to draw attention. Excuse me, sir, but I’d like to be relieved. I could call Claire and have her take care of the problem, but Claire wouldn’t do.
This was when I started making excuses for my cock, which was never a good place to be in.
As with everything, I presented myself with astute arguments.
What is one jerk-off, in the grand scheme of life?
I still loathed Arya Roth. I was still going to take her and her father down, ruin her perfectly constructed universe. The plan hadn’t changed.
Better get it out of my system now than with her.
I couldn’t have her. She was off limits. Caving in to temptation in the shower was far better than yielding to it in the Mandarin, going through an entire box of condoms while screwing my entire lawsuit in the process.
She’d never know.
My favorite out of the three.
Arya would never guess the man she’d seen today was the kid who’d kissed her with trembling lips. Who used to count up the days each September until next summer break. Who would sneak into Duane Reade to sniff the shampoo she used when missing her had become too much.
I grabbed my dick, my palm moving up and down. I closed my eyes, squeezing it harder, imagining my fingers running up her thighs, flipping her dress up, pressing her against my office desk, flattening her back over a pile of documents and my laptop . . .
A low snarl ripped from my mouth. I didn’t even get to the part where I was inside her before my hand was coated with warm, sticky release.
I staggered backward, turning off the faucet and pushing the glass door open. I wrapped a towel around my waist and walked over to the mirror, leaning against the vanity, scowling at myself.
You fool. I shook my head. She’s already dug her way deep inside your veins.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
ARYA
Present
There was a medical term for what I was being right now.
Pathetic.
Okay, maybe it wasn’t medical, but it sure as hell was the current situation I was dealing with.
Though I didn’t appear that way, sitting next to Dad at the pretrial hearing. I looked presentable in a gray wool dress and high heels, my hair pinned into a french twist. But I felt like a fool, my heart twirling in my chest, because I knew he would be here.