Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(62)

“How do I look?” I asked the middle-aged woman behind the wheel.

She peered at me through the rearview mirror. “You want honesty?”

Generally yes, although now I’m not so sure.

“You look like a wreck. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“But you got good bones and a nice rack, so go knock him dead, sweetheart.”

With those powerful words of encouragement, I shot out the back door of the cab.

It was five minutes to nine, but I made it. I walked into the joint and explained to the ma?tre d’ that my companion was waiting, then hurried through the maze of booths, an unexplainable rush of affection slamming into me when Christian looked up from his screen, boyish surprise coloring his face.

He closed his laptop, sitting back, enjoying the view. I stood in front of him, not taking a seat just yet. I was panting, my hair was a mess, and I was in desperate need of washing the day away.

“Should we be seen together like this in the open?” I wanted to get the important bits out of the way.

“No one knows us here. At any rate, if we see each other once or twice in public, no touching, no flirting, this could still be summed up to you working on the case, trying to convince me to talk my clients into settling. As long as we don’t . . . canoodle.”

“We won’t canoodle,” I said briskly.

“You okay?” he asked, no trace of sarcasm in his voice.

“Why wouldn’t I be?” I barked, still on the defensive. I couldn’t exactly tell him about my conversation with my father, even though, technically, I’d come here to do just that.

“Because you’re here,” he said gently, standing up and pushing my chair back for me. I took a seat. He put his hands on my shoulders. My whole body came alive. His skin was warm through my clothes. I no longer felt like a traitor, like a harlot, for wanting to be with him. My father was a monster who deserved to be punished. Christian was right. He wasn’t to blame for Conrad Roth’s downfall.

He sat in front of me, his glacial blue eyes twinkling with what I could swear was sheer happiness. He looked surprised, even a little giddy. “What made you change your mind?”

“Is it important?” I huffed, feeling my eyes prickling with tears again.

“Yes.” He reached to fill my glass with wine. It did look like the expensive stuff. I better not sleep with this man. “To me, it is.”

“Why?”

“Because you’re not going to sleep with me as long as you think I’m wronging your father. So I want to know if the penny has dropped yet.”

His words brought me back to earth. Of course Christian was only interested in me as a conquest. A shiny prize. A bonus for winning this trial, something that could be taken away from my father. I slapped my napkin open and ironed it across my lap, then grabbed a fork and twirled it over pasta. I was so hyperaware of his eyes on me, so overcome with emotions, I hadn’t even touched the food on the table.

“I’m here because I needed a breather and a good meal. Nothing more.” My voice was steady, but I couldn’t look him in the eye.

“And I’m here because of the food,” he deadpanned.

“It’s good food,” I pointed out, pretending to flip through the menu. I felt his gaze on me. I shut the menu, putting it down and shaking my head. “Why did you become a lawyer?” I demanded.

“Excuse me?” He raised his eyebrows.

“Out of all the professions in the world, why did you choose this one? You’re bright. You’re sharp. You could have done anything.”

I was waiting for a joke, a change of subject, or maybe a generic response. But instead, Christian gave it some serious thought before answering. “Growing up, I’ve been the victim of unfair treatment. I guess a part of me always wanted to make sure it’d never happen again. If you know your rights, you know how to protect yourself. I didn’t always know my rights.”

I swallowed. “That’s fair.”

“And you?” he asked, before I could dig into what it was that had happened to him. “Why PR?”

“I like helping people, and blood makes me queasy. It was either PR or medicine.”

Christian laughed. “Great choice. I can already imagine you yelling at your patients that they were being drama queens.”

I laughed too. He sounded like he understood me. But . . . how could he?

The rest of the conversation flowed nicely. Even though there was a lot both of us wanted to know about one another, we stuck to a subject that couldn’t garner arguments or debate—food.

He began explaining to me about each dish he’d ordered. When he was done, I pursed my lips, studying him. I’d met this man before, I decided. Maybe briefly, at a bar, one of the parties I’d gone to in college, or a charity event, but I was certain we knew each other.

“Mesmerized?” Christian’s cocky grin was back on full display.

I shrugged, taking a sip of my wine. “I just think it’s cute.”

“What’s cute?”

“How badly you want to win our bet.”

Christian clinked his wineglass against mine. “One thing you should know about me, Arya—I never lose a bet.”





CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE