Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(82)

CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE


CHRISTIAN

Present

The days felt shorter after that evening at the pool. Much shorter than their twenty-four hours. The morning after I let Arya win, Judge Lopez summoned me and Conrad’s attorneys to discuss the close of evidence. In my estimation, that put us at about a week till this whole thing wrapped up. The jury, I was positive, was going to take no longer than a couple of days to come up with the verdict.

That night, Arya couldn’t see me. She had dinner plans with a client, and at any rate, she explained, Jillian didn’t know the full scope of our relationship. Or lack of. It shouldn’t have bothered me. That Arya was keeping this from Jillian. I mean—wasn’t that the whole goddamn point?

But it did niggle at me. The end was nearing. And nailing Conrad didn’t feel as important as being able to enjoy his daughter.

The following evening, Arya couldn’t see me. Again. This time due to Jillian feeling unwell.

“I think I’m going to make her chicken-noodle soup and watch Friends reruns with her,” Arya sighed to me on the phone. I smiled and took it. What else could I do? I had no right to demand her time, her resources, her attention. We’d agreed it would be casual, and casual meant low to nonexistent expectations.

On the third day—four days before the end of the trial—Arya texted that her parents wanted to see her, and she didn’t know how long they would meet for, so it was best not to make any plans together. At this point, I was sure she was avoiding me. I left court during a brief break, hailed a taxi to my apartment, banged open the loose parquet under my bed, and took out her book. I took a picture of it in my hand and sent it to her.

Christian: Enough is enough, Arya. See me tonight and no one gets hurt.

Arya: So you are not above extortion.

I’m not above anything when it comes to you.

Christian: We had a deal.

Arya: I don’t remember signing any paperwork.

I waltzed back over to my front door; I needed to be in court in twenty minutes. In fact, it was time for me to personally cross-examine one of Conrad’s witnesses. Now was not the time to chase skirts.

Christian: What happened?

Arya: I just don’t see the point in spending every evening of the week with you when it’s going to be over in a few days, anyway.

Christian: Let’s talk.

I used the time it took her to answer to call an Uber. Just in case, I texted Claire to make up a good excuse in case I was going to run late. Judge Lopez was a ballbuster, even if he did like my golf moves.

Arya: What about?

The weather. What did she think?

Christian: I’ll come to your place at six tonight.

Arya: No. Jillian can’t see you.

Again with this bullshit. I didn’t have the heart to tell her Riggs and Arsène were pretty much in the know about every orgasm we had shared between the sheets—or in my kitchen, my shower, my Jacuzzi, or her reading nook—since we’d started hooking up. I was tired of being a secret, even if I was the very asshole who had suggested it in the first place.

And for a good reason too.

Christian: I take it you don’t want your book back.

Arya: I’ll sue you.

Christian: I know a good lawyer.

Arya: There’s a special place in hell reserved for people like you.

Christian: Heard lawyers get lava-view condos. Be nice and I just might let you room with me in the afterlife. When can I expect you?

Arya: Seven.

Christian: Don’t be late.



But of course she was.

Late, that was.

Arya arrived at 7:23, not a trace of regret or embarrassment in her stony face. As I buzzed her up, I had to remind myself that she had every reason to want to cut ties with me. I was the painful reminder of everything she’d lost.

She walked in, tossing her bag onto the black leather couch, ignoring the dinner for two I’d made, which was sitting in the breakfast nook, getting cold.

“You wanted to talk?” She didn’t bother toeing off her Jimmy Choos, which was suspect, since that was the first thing Arya did when she walked into my apartment after a long day.

“I made dinner.” I headed over to the kitchen and grabbed two glasses of merlot. I handed her one. She hesitated before taking it. Staying long wasn’t in her plans.

“You did.” Her eyes traveled over my shoulder. “Sorry I was late. I had a call with a client in California. They were in no hurry to hang up.”

“Not a problem. Cold steak has always been my favorite. Mind taking it to the kitchen?”

I suppose this was my version of eating humble pie. I didn’t like the taste of it at all. I’d never chased a woman in my life and wasn’t planning to make an exception for Arya, but I couldn’t accept the idea that this was going to be over in four days. I needed more time. A few more months of an illicit affair weren’t going to kill anyone. Other than, perhaps, my remaining working brain cells. I wasn’t in the business of thinking straight whenever I was with this woman.

“You know what? I’d rather do this here, if you don’t mind.” She settled on the armrest of my black leather couch, cross-legged, holding her glass from the stem. I wanted to strangle myself for getting into this situation. All of this could have been prevented if I’d resisted the urge to meet Amanda Gispen.