I breathe in and out slowly to settle myself and read it again, with more focus and attention than I gave to my constitutional law final.
No matter what interpretation I force on the words, she doesn’t sound upset. I’d even say she sounds happy.
Fuck.
I said I wantedrespectfulindifference, not disrespectful apathy. If Lareina were the kind of wife I told her I wanted back in Vegas, she would’ve asked why I was working so late, offered to stop by the office so we could grab dinner together.
She almost sounds like a woman who’s happy to have her husband working late so she can hang out with another man. Like Ethan Beckman. The only reason I’m not barging into our home without notice is that the fucker’s busy dealing witha nasty countersuit involving two Hollywood celebs with more fame and money than brains or common sense. They’re exactly the kind of clients you would wish on your worst enemy.
But I’d take them on if Lareina would be even half as jealous as I was when she mentioned Soledad.
Fucking Soledad.I’m going to make sure she serves jail time for what she did in Vegas. I don’t care what strings her dad tries to pull. I not only know how to cut them, but pull my own to make her miserable. If she flails enough during the process to take Harvey down with her—well, that’s doubtful, but one can always hope—so much the better.
I glance at the desktop clock. Is Lareina working in her studio again? I bought multiple canvases, one of them ridiculously large. Although I was a bit shocked at how enormous it was, I was also secretly glad. It’ll take her a while to paint all three, beyond the next few months. Maybe a year or longer. At least, Google seems to think so.
I come out of the office to stretch my legs and grab some coffee. As I make a turn to reach the break room, I almost bump into—
“Ack!” The coffee in Kenna’s hand begins to tip forward, but she suddenly twists her wrist. The dark brew spills on her pale beige blouse. I start to reach for her, but she staggers back a step or two and looks down at the huge stain, her eyebrows pinched and mouth open.
I feel bad for her, since she obviously tipped the hot drink on herself to prevent it from spilling on me. I keep a spare suit and shirt in the office just in case, but I doubt she does the same.
“Are you okay?” I ask. “Let me get you some paper towels.”
“No. No!” She pulls back as though I’m a leper. “I’m fine. Really.”
What’s that about?Earlier she was telling me about some great drip coffee place, and now she’s acting like being near mewill give her cancer. Her gaze flicks to something behind me, then her complexion turns chalky.
I turn and see…Josh?
“I gotta go.” Before I can say anything, Kenna spins in a half-circle and trots off.
“Did you do something to her?” I ask my brother.
Josh smiles sweetly. “Why, good afternoon to you too, Ares. Yes, thank you, I’m having a great day.”
My suspicion radar is pinging hard. “Cut the sarcasm and answer the question.”
“I haven’tdoneanything. Just saw her outside the lobby with some thuggish guy. A debt collector.”
I frown at the visual he’s painted. “A loan shark?”
Josh shrugs, but it feels like an affirmation. Wordlessly, we walk toward the break room.
“She’s lucky it wasn’t Aunt Jeremiah who caught her,” he remarks.
She would’ve fired Kenna on the spot. My aunt believes perception matters more than reality and doesn’t tolerate anything that could damage the firm’s reputation.
“But that doesn’t explain why she was fleeing like that.” I give him a look. “Unless she owes you money.”
“She doesn’t, and even if she did, I’m a nice guy. But maybe she’s scaredyoumight tell The Fogeys. After all, you’re inflexible and humorless.”
I snort. The two adjectives are what almost everyone at the firm uses to describe me when they don’t think I can hear.
“I had a word with her about that, too,” Josh adds.
“That isn’t like you.” My brother doesn’t give a shit about most people’s problems…unless they’re paying clients. Or family or close friends. His unusual behavior piques my curiosity, but I stomp on the feeling. If he wants to explain himself, he will. If he doesn’t, nothing can make him. If I push too hard, he’ll spinsome convincing bullshit story. “Besides, I wouldn’t have ratted her out to management.”
He makes a noncommittal noise. “I wanted to step in before you did something you shouldn’t.” He pours us two mugs of black coffee and pushes one to me. I take it with murmured thanks. “I saw the scar on her back.”
