Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(47)

My stomach flipped nervously, and a can of butterflies cracked open, filling it with velvety, flappy wings.

“He’s lying.”

She relayed my reply to him, then listened to what he said and laughed.

“He says he knew you’d say that but that he has information you’d like to know.”

“Tell him I’ll be down in a minute.”

I half-heartedly patted my hair into submission, grabbed my phone and sunglasses, and headed for the stairway. Since there was zero chance I was going to enjoy this conversation, I decided to get it over with. No doubt Christian was here to hit me with more bad news. Question was—how did he know where I worked if he’d tossed my business card the day we’d met at the Brewtherhood?

I took the stairs two at a time. Christian waited on the curb, playing with a matchbook, talking on the phone. When he saw me, he lifted his finger up, in no rush to finish his conversation. Only after he gave one of his associates a detailed explanation of how he wanted them to file a motion to compel something in court, he turned off his cell and tucked it back into his breast pocket, whirling to look at me like I was three-day-old moldy takeout he’d just found staring back at him from the kitchen sink.

“Ms. Roth. How are you?”

“Good, until about five minutes ago.” I slid my sunglasses over my nose. “Now I’m wondering what fresh hell you’ve prepared especially for me.”

“You wound me.” He produced a cigar, speaking in a tone that very much didn’t sound wounded. “I would never prepare fresh hell especially for you. Although you are about to be delivered a generous piece of it.”

“Get it over with, Miller.”

“I wanted to tell you in person before you found out through the grapevine. Those lawyers your father hired seem about as competent as a pet rock and can’t even seem to slow the speed at which the trial date is moving.” He lit the cigar. Tragically, even while puffing the stench straight to my face, he looked more like an Esquire cover model than the antihero in a mobster film.

“Four more women stepped forward and decided to join Amanda Gispen’s lawsuit. One has some colorful, very intimate pictures your father had sent her. Not something you’d like to see yourself but something I’m obligated to share with others to zealously represent my clients, which means including this in the evidence, so the photos will be presented, enlarged, in the courtroom during trial.”

Pressing a hand against the redbrick building of my office, I inhaled a jagged breath, trying not to appear as devastated as I was. This was getting out of control. There were now five women testifying against him? And there were pictures?

Did he do it? Could he?

Now I knew why my mother had said she didn’t want to know. The answer was terrifying. One complaint was something I could rearrange in my head. Make excuses for, in the absence of context and other victims. Five were problematic. Especially as, being a woman myself, I knew how overwhelming the prospect was of sitting on a stand in front of seasoned lawyers, getting grilled and questioned about something so deeply triggering. I felt my knees go weak.

Christian studied me intently, like he was waiting for the penny to drop. “This thing is not going away, Ari.”

“Ari?” I jumped, my eyes widening.

“Arya,” he amended, flushing slightly. “Your life’s about to implode if you don’t step away from this.”

“Seems like it, and you’re all too eager for the fireworks part. Are you expecting me to drop my own father as a PR client?” I tossed my hair to one shoulder.

“No, I’m expecting him to drop your firm and spare you the awkward conversation. Ask Jillian to drop him if you don’t feel comfortable doing it.” How did he know about Jillian? Did he genuinely think I believed he was worried for me and mine? “You should do the right thing by taking a step back from this. Though come to think about it, I have no idea why you haven’t done so already.”

“Don’t pretend like you know me,” I bit out. “And don’t exhale smoke on me.” I grabbed the cigar from between his fingers, snapped it in two, and dumped it in a nearby trash can.

“You’re crazy,” he said, but his face showed amusement, not anger. He enjoyed riling me up. Got off on my wrath. “Which, by the way, I find oddly delightful.”

“Don’t flirt.”

“Why not?” he asked. Ugh. Good question. The attraction was maddening.

“Claire?” I asked tiredly.

He shook his head. “Firmly in the past as of last week.”

“Sorry to hear,” I said, in monotone.

He grinned. “No, you’re not.”

“You’re right. I’m pretty focused on the shit show called my family life right now.”

“Understandable.” He couldn’t stop staring at me, and vice versa.

“I appreciate the heads-up, Mr. Miller.”

“The trial will be fast. Judge Lopez doesn’t want a spectacle. The evidence is overwhelming. This should be a quick wrap-up.”

“Now would be a good time to stop talking.” I swiveled toward the entrance door, ready to leave.

“Arya?”

Was he deaf?

I turned back to face him, a plastic smile on my face. “Yes, Christian?”