Page 54 of Cruel Lies

"You're welcome."

"I'm still mad."

"I'd be disappointed if you weren't."

The only thing more infuriating than arguing with a stubborn man is when he acknowledges his faults, yields, apologizes, and then refuses to give you anything else to push against. I came up here with a full head of steam and he just absorbs it, agrees with the parts that are true, and somehow ends up makingmefeel like the unreasonable one.

Except not in the Todd way. There's none of thatyou're crazy, you need therapykind of exasperation. Ronan makes me feelseen.

It's deeply destabilizing.

I scowl up at him. He's still leaning against the desk, close enough that I can see the place where his jaw meets his throat, and I'm suddenly aware that I've stopped talking and that we're very, very alone in his office.

"I had three meetings this morning," I hear myself say.

His eyebrow ticks up. "Did you now? Of whom should I be jealous?"

"Divorce attorneys. After what you said, about Todd not quitting…" I cross my arms. "… I figured I should be prepared."

"And?"

"They were terrible," I admit. "The first two wanted an arm and a leg to do jackshit. The third one didn't show up at all because someone richer than me wanted his lunch hour."

Ronan doesn't smile, but he does nod, satisfied and quiet. "That's the field, Ms. Meadows."

"You undersold how bad it would be."

"I didn't want tocompletelycrush your hopes."

I look at him. He looks at me. And the idea that has been circling the drain of my brain since two in the morning, the one I have been very carefully not articulating, surfaces all at once, fully formed.

"You should be my lawyer," I blurt.

The change is immediate. Subtle, but immediate.

"No."

I press forward. "Why not? You know the system. You know how men like Todd play it. You know—God, you know more about my situation than any of those vultures I talked to today, and you didn't have to bill me to learn it. You'd actually—" I stop, hearing myself, hearing how much it sounds like I'm begging him for something, which I refuse to be doing. "It just makes sense, is all. As a matter of logistics."

"It doesn't," he says.

"It's not the entire equation." He pushes off the desk and turns toward the window, hands sliding into his pockets, presenting me with the long line of his back. "Todd came to me first."

"So?"

He turns his head, just enough that I catch his profile. "It means that taking you on as a client would be malpractice.Possibly disbarment."

"You let his case rot, didn't you?" I point out. "You did nothing for him. You told me that yourself. Or were you lying?"

"I haven't lied to you once," he lashes out, a surprising note of anger coming into his voice. Then he smooths it out. "Doing nothing for him isn't the same as doing something for you. The line matters, Ms. Meadows. It's one of the few I have."

And there it is again—that flash of something I keep catching at the edges of him, the thing that makes me think there are entire rooms inside this man I haven't been allowed near.

A man needs a code,he seems to be saying, without quite saying it.Lines he will not cross.

What does it say about me that I immediately want to test those lines?

A smarter woman, a woman with a functioning sense of self-preservation, would take the win. Tally it up in a column markedReasons Ronan Akov Might Not Be a Completely Irredeemable Bastard.