I start toward the waiting limo.
“Hello, sweetheart.”
I stop and look at the cool brunette climbing out of a flashy red Ferrari. A well-fitted white jumpsuit with black and gold accents drapes beautifully over her model-thin body. She’s pale, but good makeup has left her cheeks slightly rosy. She struts over to me with the confidence of a woman who knows she’s in charge. Dark sunglasses cover her eyes, but not her high cheekbones or the crimson lips stretched into a smile. My money’s on the smile being practiced. She emanates too much coldness to be genuine.
“Hello, Zoe,” I say. “What’s up?”
She pulls off her sunglasses. Her blue eyes gaze at me with predatory intensity. “Is that how you greet your godmother?”
I raise an eyebrow and stare back at her. “How should I greet you?”
Her smile widens as she takes a step forward, invading my personal space. In response, I stay rooted to my spot, my spine stiff. Her eyes are just as cold as before. “Why don’t we talk over lunch? You haven’t eaten yet, have you?”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Ares
Bryce gives me a wary stare as he steps into the elevator late in the morning. “Why are you smiling?” His gaze drops to my coffee. “It can’t be that.”
I instantly pull the corners of my lips down. “I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. It’s super unnerving, especially since I know it isn’t because you fucked up Ethan Beckman.”
My mouth tightens until I feel brackets forming around the corners. The mention stirs the annoyance I’ve pushed aside since yesterday, when I learned my wife hired that asshole. Just what the hell is wrong withus? We Huxleys live and breathe law, revel in gutting our clients’ opponents and building liability-free empires for them. Hell, I would’ve done it for free.
Bryce peers at me. “Don’t tell me he fucked you over.”
I grind my teeth. “It’s complicated.”
“Nothing ever good follows when somebody says ‘it’s complicated.’”
“Lareina hired him.”
“Beckman? Why?” Bryce says the word with half despair and half outrage, like a teenager who just learned that porn isn’t real. “For what? A prenup?”
“To sort out her financial affairs and get the parasites off her trust.”
Bryce’s jaw drops. He’d be excellent at that. “She doesn’t need Beckman for that! What am I, chopped liver?”
“No. Liver is nutritious.”
“Not funny.”
“Wasn’t a joke.”
“What does she see in him?”
“He came recommended.”
“By whom?” Bryce seethes.
“Obviously somebody with terrible judgment.”
The elevator stops on my floor and I step out, almost bumping into Kenna.
“Excuse me,” she says with a small, embarrassed smile.
“My fault.” I note layers of bandage wrapped tightly around her left wrist. Normally I’d ignore it—after all, engagement is encouragement. So many girls thought any sort of response from me was a sign I wanted them, and it led to some unpleasant endings. But I think of her scars, and the question tumbles out. “Are you all right?”
