Ruthless Rival (Cruel Castaways #1)(93)
She wasn’t going to say anything.
I wasn’t sure if I wanted to laugh or scream.
I didn’t think the chances of Arya keeping this a secret were high. I supposed telling on me just seemed like the natural thing to do. Which was why I was more preoccupied with her forgiving me than her revealing my secret. Any other man would have taken what she’d given him and left. And maybe I had been that man two months ago. But I wasn’t him today, nor would I be any day after.
“So you’re saying the next time I contact you, you’ll have me disbarred?” I drawled.
“At the very least.”
“Very well. Thank you, Ari.”
“Burn in hell, Nicky.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHRISTIAN
Present
I didn’t want to fly out to Florida in the middle of the week. It had nothing to do with the mounting pile of work I had waiting for me at the office or the two puzzled partners who couldn’t understand why my first move had been to fire one of their most promising associates. I knew Claire wouldn’t try and pull the sexual harassment card against me, mainly because we were both ultracautious, calculated people, and she knew I’d saved all the messages she had sent me in the past in which she’d been begging me to bed her. Dragging me or the firm through court would detonate the one thing Claire valued above all else—her pride.
Plus, I had notified HR about it when we’d first started.
I didn’t like the idea of leaving New York when things between Arya and myself were unsettled. But as Arsène and Riggs had pointed out when I’d told them about my conversation with Arya, this sort of shit was beyond their pay grade, and I needed a woman’s touch to figure out where I was headed from here.
Alice Gudinski lived in a sprawling Palm Beach condo. Arsène, Riggs, and I visited her occasionally, especially during the holidays, but the past couple of years had been hectic work-wise, so I’d dropped the ball.
I’d made us a reservation for a seafood restaurant with an ocean view.
Of course, I was also ten minutes late, coming straight from the airport.
Alice waited for me on the veranda, which overlooked the sunset. She wore a kimono and was cradling a Bloody Mary the size of a champagne bucket.
“Ah, my favorite toy boy without benefits.” She kissed both my cheeks, then my nose and my ear. Alice looked radiant and not a day over forty. To an outsider, it wasn’t far fetched that we were a couple. A dashing toy boy whose millionaire girlfriend had bought him a little Realtor office on the beach. Only I knew she’d never take a lover after losing Henry. “You look decadent.”
“You look lovely, as always.” I dropped a kiss to the crown of her head before helping her to her seat and lounging opposite to her. A waitress dashed to us with a glass of sherry on cue, no doubt having gotten prior instructions from Bossy Alice.
“Shame Arsène and Riggs couldn’t make it.” She sipped her Bloody Mary, the orange-and-pink sunset burning the sky her backdrop.
“Riggs is currently in England, taking pictures for an article about beached whales, and Arsène quit civilization sometime after his college graduation. I’m afraid you’re stuck with me.”
“You’re my favorite, anyway. The other two are just the side pieces.” Alice took another sip, winking. “But you don’t suffer from too much free time, either, which leads me to believe this is not only a social call. How can I help you?”
She saw through my bullshit from fifty yards away. It surprised me I didn’t see Alice more often. And angered me too. Because during my Andrew Dexter years and then my Harvard years, I used to spend as much time with her as possible. She’d been my lifeline, providing me with direction and advice, explaining to me the ins and outs of high society. Helping me blend in with the rest of them.
“I intend to change that and make sure there will be a lot of social calls in the future for us,” I informed her, waving for the waitress to come and take our order.
Alice shook her head, laughing. “Oh, silly boy. I’ve already placed the order for us. You really think I’m going to let some Manhattan punk tell me what the catch of the day is?”
“You’ve been in Palm Beach for less than two years,” I pointed out.
“Nevertheless.” She patted her coiffed hair. “At any rate, where were we? Oh yes. You’re in trouble. Is it Traurig or Cromwell? I bet it’s Cromwell, that old sod. He is suffering from some serious youth envy.”
Alice’s late husband was a corporate lawyer, so she knew a thing or two about firm politics.
The food arrived. More specifically—half the goddamn ocean’s creatures. Alice had a healthy appetite for a woman of her physique.
“It’s not about work.” I speared a scallop swimming in olive oil, butter, and oregano with my fork and brought it to my mouth.
“Your investment portfolio?”
“No.”
“Are you finally selling and moving to DUMBO? You could get more bang for your buck there.”
I shook my head.
“Well, what is it, then?”
“Arya,” I said. “Arya Roth.”
Forty minutes and five entrées later, Alice was up to speed with my Arya situation. She’d known about Arya from when I was seventeen, but not about the recent development in our story.