Undeniable (Undeniable, #1)(42)

The morning Kami called me informing me that Chase had finally agreed to meet with me, I practically fell out of bed and nearly killed myself dodging Manhattan traffic getting to the thirty-fifth floor of Martello Tower, where the law offices of Fredericks, Henderson, and Stonewall were housed.

“Mrs. Fox-Deluva?”

I stopped my anxious foot tapping to Janis’s “Me and Bobby McGee” and yanked my earbuds out. “Yeah?”

“Mr. Henderson will see you now.”

I had only been inside Chase’s office once before when he first made partner and wanted to show it off. It was every bit as opulent and extravagant as his home was. The office itself was huge with plush carpeting, wall-to-wall bookshelves, a cozy seating area, a minibar, and a private bathroom complete with a shower. His desk was dead center—solid oak, large and imposing—with two leather wingbacks for clients.

When I walked in, Chase was standing by his minibar pouring two tall glasses of whiskey. He turned when I walked in and paused to smooth out nonexistent wrinkles in his pinstriped suit that I knew cost more money than most people spend on cars.

“Eva,” he drawled, gesturing to a wingback. “Please have a seat.”

I narrowed my eyes. “Cut the shit, Chase. Why the f*ck did you make me wait so long?”

His brow rose. “I’m sorry. Were you in the waiting room long?”

Sheesh. He needed a good kick in the balls.

“No, Chase. You made me wait three weeks just to talk to you! What. The. Fuck?”

He smiled, and I wrinkled up my nose. If a shark could smile, it would look just like Chase.

Chase gestured for me to take a seat. When I did, he handed me a glass of whiskey. I took it and gaped at him.

“You do realize it’s nine in the morning, right? And this is an eight-ounce glass of booze?”

He took a seat behind his desk. “Eva, you do not refer to Macallan single malt as booze. For $75,000 a bottle, I think it deserves some respect.”

I wrinkled up my nose again. “You paid $75,000 for a bottle of booze?”

He raised an eyebrow. “I’ve paid more for better.”

I raised both my eyebrows. “Um…cool?”

He smirked. “Yes, I can tell you’re impressed as usual with the finer things in life.”

I rolled my eyes. “Whatever, Chase. Frankie?”

He drummed his fingers on his desk. “I’ve already gone over Frankie’s extremely large file with a fine-toothed comb.”

I perked up. “And? Can you help him?”

He smiled his wide, bleached-white smile, and again I thought of sharks.

“I can,” he said smoothly. “I’m fairly certain that with the aid of some business associates of mine, I can have him on the medication he’s obviously needed for some time now. I believe the introduction to psychiatric drugs will not only improve his prison stay, but also allow him to speak with law enforcement without trying to kill them. When his mental health has improved, we can start looking into the charges against him.”

“Oh my God,” I breathed. “Thank you.”

“Ah, ah, ah.” He waved his index finger at me. “Here’s where the booze comes in. I figured you would need it when I tell you how much my services will cost you.”

“Money isn’t an issue; you can have whatever you want.”

His malicious smile spread to his eyes. “As you are well aware, I have more money than I can spend in ten lifetimes.”

I narrowed my eyes. “What are you doing, Chase?”

“Frankie attacked a guard last night, almost killed him,” he continued, “which is why I agreed to meet with you today.”

Oh God.

Oh no.

Eva will f*ck me eventually. Everyone has their price; I just haven’t found hers yet.

“Chase,” I whispered, feeling sick. “Please don’t do—”

He held his hand up. “Frankie’s in solitary, Eva. In. The. Hole.”

I bit my lip to keep from crying. Frankie would not survive the hole.

“God, Eva, you poor thing. You must be feeling pretty desperate right about now and willing to do anything to save your psychopath of a husband.”

I blinked, and two tears slipped out. “Everyone has a price. Right, Chase?”

He grinned. Then he pointed to my abnormally tall glass of whiskey. “I figured you would need it.”

“You’re sick,” I choked out. “You f*cking planned this; you purposely waited until Frankie didn’t have any more time.”

Unperturbed, he took a sip of his drink and nodded. “I did.”

“Fuck you,” I rasped. “I thought you were my friend.”

He had the nerve to look offended. “We are friends, Eva. In fact, we are such good friends that I want to be the one to save the homicidal maniac you married.”

“Why?” I demanded. “I’m biker trash, right? You’ve said it a million times. I come from dirty money, and my family—the club—is a stain on society. So why are you so hell-bent on f*cking me?”

He took another swallow of whiskey. “Since you were oblivious to my attempts at bedding you all throughout high school, during, and after college, I thought maybe you were one of those women who responded to being put down. I was wrong. Nothing works with you. Unless you’re with Frankie, you’ve got a chastity belt on.”