“Let’s talk for a minute. Touch base.” He squints, and I can see the slight formation of crow’s feet at the corner of his eyes. Vincent is a man now.
I do my best to stay composed, but I’m grasping on every strand of my self-worth to keep from crumbling. “Who the hell do you think you are, Vincent? You left me seven years ago after ripping my heart to shreds and forcing me out of the only city I ever knew, after feeding me to the dogs, no less.” I throw my hands up in the air. “I’m not a teenager anymore. You can’t just—come here!” I slam my foot onto the ground, angry and hurting so badly. I bite my lip, even more upset when I see the pity cross his face.
He stares at me, remorse coating the darkness of his eyes. We’re silent, but my heart pounds a mile a minute. Can he hear it?
Lifting his heavy arms, he links his hands behind his neck before dropping them back down to his side. “Eve,” he starts, licking his lips. “I know you’ve grown up, and I’m glad for that. You’ve achieved your goals and you’re astounding.” He lowers his voice and I strain my ears, subconsciously trying to hear every word.
My body, on its own accord, leans toward him. “You are allowed to be angry, but I hoped we could talk tonight. I know you aren’t a teenager anymore, okay? We’ve both grown. I didn’t mean to piss you off by coming to your work. But in my defense, I tried to call you. You wouldn’t answer.” He touches the edge of my face so gently—I have to wonder if it happened or if I was hallucinating.
I clear my throat. I should pull off my heel and stab him in the stomach. Call the cops, maybe. But I don’t want to show him just how angry I am. He shouldn’t know how much he affects me. I refuse to let him know.
I focus on small mundane things because the large issues are too much to handle. “You don’t shave anymore?”
A lazy grin spreads across his mouth. We’re barely a few inches apart now, and I can smell him, woodsy and clean.
“You know I don’t like to shave when I don’t have to,” he whispers. “And you keep your hair back tight or straight, but I know that after you wash it, it’s long and curly.” His nostrils flare as his eyes move down to my lips and back up again. I keep my eyes focused, not giving in. Still I notice how huge he is. Thick arms. Wide chest.
My face instantly flushes—I need to change the subject. “You’re making it out west like you wanted.”
“Yes. And you became a lawyer. You graduated early from Stanford, magna cum laude. You finished second in your law school class. Janelle has her own salon—”
“Wait, what?” It’s as if the music just stopped. I ball my hands into fists as I’m snapped back to reality. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me?” I take a step away from him, feeling violated. Vincent has been watching me for years. He ruined my life, and what, did he stick around to watch my unraveling?
He squints his eyes again and slightly tilts his head as if he’s confused.
“I’m not yours to watch, Vincent.” His name flies out of my mouth like a whip. “So, I should assume you know the hell I went through after you ruined my life?”
Honestly, I can’t believe how much rage I have inside me right now. It’s bubbling up and I feel the sudden urge to slap him across the face. I may have told myself that my hatred and resentment disappeared and that I grew up and out of the pain he caused, but clearly, it was only lying dormant.
His face flashes hot with his own anger. “For fuck’s sake, Eve. I did the best I could to protect you. And that part of my life is over now.” I watch him clench his jaw.
“Protect me? By cheating on me and making me believe we had a-a future?” I stutter before letting out an ironic laugh. “No. I’m not letting you in.” I look him up and down, registering his clothes. “And why are you wearing a tux?” I drop my hands to my hips, the thought momentarily stunning me that Vincent may have been at the gala tonight, watching me.
He smiles with that faraway look in his eyes; I recognize it as the one he makes when an idea is taking shape in his head. “Let’s rock-paper-scissors. If I win, you let me in. If you win, I leave.”
“You’re kidding.” This man is infuriating. He thinks he can just change the subject? “This isn’t a game. This is my life,” I exclaim.
One of my neighbors, an older woman in her seventies, pokes her head out her door. “Keep it down!” she shouts angrily.
I want to point at Vincent—tell her it’s all his fault. Instead, I attempt to channel a civilized person. “Everything is fine,” I smile tightly. “My apologies.”
“Well, it’s after eleven and I’m doing a commercial tomorrow!” She slams the door and I look back at Vincent. Chuckling, he reaches out his hand. “Come on. Let’s play.”
Tears prick my eyes. I’m proud of him, but it also hurts. His dream was also mine, once. We were supposed to be about truth and honesty, but in the end, he gutted me. If he thinks he can bring out the old me with a stupid game we used to play, he’s mistaken. That girl was burned alive years ago and there’s no trace left of her.
He stands tall, his stance almost playful.
“Okay. Fine. On three. But if I win, you’re gone, right?”
He smiles. I’ll call him on it if I think he cheated.
I put out my hand reluctantly. “Rock-paper-scissors says shoot!” My fingers morph into a fist to make rock, and of course, the asshole’s hand comes out straight to make paper. He wins.
I open and close my mouth like a dead fish, wanting to find fault. Instead, I open my front door. Pulling off my heels, I leave them by the door before walking barefoot to my kitchen table.
“Prison,” I say point blank, taking a seat. Vincent sits in front of me, his long legs stretching out below the table. I cross mine, making sure not to accidentally brush against his.
“Yes. I got out six months ago, but had to stay in New York for probation. The last seven years have been dedicated to the Milestone. I worked my ass off in lockup and continued the work after I got out. And now I’m finally there, out in Nevada and living on the rez.”
“And how’s your father?” I press my lips together firmly, trying to compose my trembling body.
“You cut to the chase now, yeah? No more running and hiding?” His lips quirk in a grin.
I smile back sarcastically. “Nope. Those days are done and gone, Vincent.”
“Though nothing can bring back the hour of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower...” He pauses, waiting for me to finish the poem.
“I’m not here to quote Wordsworth,” I exclaim, “Jesus.” I shake my head angrily, but my heart flutters; he knows I love poetry. And of course, he’s quoting from “Splendor in the Grass,” a poem that speaks of childhood as a time when we’re the most able to see clearly, before adulthood comes and jades us. But that’s the thing about adulthood—we can’t escape the loss of innocence. Our bodies change, but so do our minds.
He laughs, shrugging his massive shoulders. “What can I tell you? I did a lot of reading in prison.”
I cross my arms over my chest, giving him my best I’m-a-lawyer-and-I’ll-nail-your-balls-to-the-wall glare. There’s no way in hell I’m letting him sweet-talk me right now.
“Okay, okay!” He lifts his arms up in front of him like a shield. “We’re business partners in the Mile. The family is silent, of course. Aside from that, we’ve got nothing else between us. I’ve separated.”
“Separated?” I ask inquisitively. “How did you manage that?” I shake my head in disbelief.
“Well,” he sighs. “I guess when I met you, I started doubting the family. But I figured I made my bed and had no choice but to sleep in it. My senior year of college, when we were together” —he says, gesturing between us— “I thought it would be possible to keep one foot in and one foot out. I figured once I left New York, I’d be able to have the freedom.”
I lean forward in my chair, wanting to look disgusted and angry over his mention of that time. Instead, I listen with bated breath.
“But in prison,�
�� he says, clearing his throat. “Shit started unraveling within the family. They got involved with things that I wouldn’t stand behind. I was growing the Milestone and knew that I wanted no part of the family anymore. Told my father he could kill me if he wants. Or, he can let me run the business and we can be partners. But the Borignone table isn’t mine to sit at anymore. Don’t want that shit. And truthfully, you and I both know that I never did.”
My jaw practically hits the floor with his utterly honest confession. His head stays raised, exuding strength. “I’m secure now, doing what I want.”
I shift in my seat, my eyes darting to the floor. This is his lifelong dream he’s about to live. I want to ask him if he remembers our first conversation over dinner the night we met. About changing one’s path, and now, here we are—changed. But have we, really?
I clasp my hands together, gathering my wits. “Look, Vincent—”
“You sure do like to say my name a lot, Eve.” Again, that roguish grin.
I blow air from my lips, exasperated. “Look,” I repeat. “You can tell me anything you want. But let me get one thing straight.” I lift a finger in the air. “Firstly, I have built a life here.”
He looks around the apartment as if he’s calling bullshit. My blood grows hot. How dare he judge me! Skimming my open floor plan, all of my furniture is modern and useful in clean beiges and soft browns. I’m just not a warm type, and I guess my apartment shows that. But that doesn’t mean I’m not happy. Anyway, since when do throw pillows and blankets mean happy home? I own this place and I’m proud of that.
My hands grip the edge of my chair. “If you want to work with my firm right now, that’s fine. But our relationship will be strictly business. You don’t know me anymore, and I don’t know you. And all those promises we made when we were kids are just that, promises made between kids. They don’t matter. Your business is important to me—to the firm. So, I can make this work if you can.” I shut my mouth and wait for his agreement.
He hums his assent calmly. “I understand the way I left all those years ago was...” he pauses, not finishing his sentence. “But for the sake of our dealings, I agree we must keep ourselves as strictly business. Actually” —he leans forward in his chair— “that’s why I’m here. Your office is widely known as the best, and I need you for the Milestone.”
My stomach sinks with his agreement, but I don’t show it. I guess what else did I expect? That he’d come here and beg forgiveness?
“Well,” I clear my throat. “I am good at what I do.” I sit taller, doing my best to act as if I’m completely unaffected.
He shifts toward me, and I try not to swoon from how good he smells. “I like your gown. But you should have the straps tightened. They keep falling.” His fingers graze against my bare skin as he lifts both straps back up my shoulders. My entire body freezes before melting from his touch.
He gets up to go and I stand up after him. We’re facing each other and I internally groan, wishing I didn’t take off my shoes earlier. My eyes dart to his feet; he’s wearing a pair of steel-toed black boots, completely at odds with the tux. It doesn’t match the outfit, but he makes it look rugged and sexy. He’s impossibly tall and imposing. I’m struck by how small I feel. Almost at his mercy, and all at once, a blast of lust shoots straight through my blood. I’m hot and wet. For him.
He smirks wickedly. “I’ll see you at the office, then.” And with those words, he walks out my door.
9
EVE
I step into the office building’s elevator with a grande coffee from Starbucks in my left hand and my Chanel purse slung over my right shoulder. It’s Monday morning, and I’m wearing my extra-large and round black Dior sunglasses to hide the bags under my eyes; even my heaviest-duty concealer couldn’t cover my dark circles today. Now that Vincent has reappeared, all I can do is agonize over every possible scenario in my head.
Thankfully, Marshall only called twice; his begging did nothing but turn me off even more, making it deadly clear that we are absolutely done.
The elevator door dings and I walk out into the hallway. I push through the firm’s front doors expecting the hum of cold air conditioning to greet me. Instead, I feel as if I’ve just walked into an alternate universe.
The office is buzzing with noise. Instead of sitting in their respective cubicles, everyone is congregating at reception. Lauren is perched on top of the front desk, long legs crossed and dangling off the edge while Max, the young office tech guy, is giving her fuck-me eyes. The mergers and acquisitions group laughs together off to the right, clapping their hands in glee.
“Um, what the hell is going on here?” I push my sunglasses up on top of my head as my gaze works the room. “Did I miss something?”
Lauren’s smile is joyous. “Oh. My. God, Eve! Vincent emailed the contract early this morning. He’s already sent a four-million-dollar retainer, and this is just the beginning. The entire firm is trying to angle their way to work on the Milestone to get a cut of billable hours. Isn’t this exciting? The best part is, the bosses are out celebrating together over a breakfast meeting, and they’ll probably be out today golfing! Do you think bonuses will be larger this year?”
I roll my eyes. “I guess while the cat’s away, the mice will play,” I say quietly under my breath. I don’t have the energy to get caught up in the party, and there’s a ton of work on my desk I should be getting to. I walk as quickly as I can toward my office, but stop short when I see the DBC opening up beers in the conference room. They have their bottles raised high, about to cheers. Before they can notice my presence, I run into my office, slamming the door shut behind me.
The day passes quickly as I work on finalizing the details for a huge condominium closing I’ve got with the bank on Friday. I’m back and forth with the seller’s attorney, haggling over contractual language. After filling out the last of the forms, I realize how badly I need to pee.
I get up, straighten my skirt, and head to the ladies’ room. Luckily, the office has calmed down a bit as most people have already left. When I’m about to wash my hands, Lauren steps inside.
“There you are! I’ve tried to reach you all day. How was the gala?”
“Oh, it was fine. Broke up with Marshall.” My voice is nonchalant.
“What?” she practically screams.
I shrug my shoulder before turning the water on.
“Is that why you’re locked up in your office instead of celebrating?”
“No way.” I shake my head. “You know I never really liked him,” I reply, resigned.
“Well, everyone has been in the best mood. You should be, too.” She sounds annoyed.
“I have a closing this week, and I had to finalize everything. My client wanted me to push for a lower purchase price before closing, and I wasn’t happy with the contract language, so I had to negotiate the hell out of the sellers.” I dry my hands on a paper towel before pulling the clip out of my hair and twisting it back up again.
“Tell me you’re coming out with us to celebrate. Jonathan is already at the bar. I was just about to barge into your office after I finished freshening up.” She drenches her hair with texturizing spray and fluffs up the roots with her fingertips.
I open my mouth ready to tell her that there is no way in hell I’m going out tonight. But before I can start, she pushes her bottle into my hand.
“Please use some for tonight. Your hair is super limp and you need va-voom if you’re going to pick any guys with me after the douchebags leave.”
Ah, there it is; she needs a wingman. I want to laugh, but all I have the energy for right now is a half smile. “I don’t think so. What I really need is a long hot shower and dinner. I would be terrible tonight, anyway. I mean, look at me.” I gesture to my rumpled appearance.
She pouts in an over-exaggerated way. “First of all, you’re gorgeous even when tired. And second of all, Vincent put in a contractual request that guarantees you work on the project.” Her high voice turns to
pleading. “You need to be celebrating like crazy right now. You’re like, the woman of the freakin’ hour. No—the woman of the year.” She claps.
I frown.
She huffs, exasperated. “I’m not sure why you look so pissed off. By the way, you’re going to wrinkle if you keep making that face. Don’t say I didn’t warn you when you’ve got lines in your forehead that even Millennial Plastic Surgery can’t get rid of.”
Now it’s my turn to roll my eyes.
“Eve,” she says emphatically, holding me by the shoulders. “Imagine the hours you’re going to bill. Not least, Vincent is insanely sexy. I was dreaming of him last night. I wonder how his beard would feel rubbing against my thighs.”
“Oh, come on, Lauren. He’s a client.” Her comment has my heart squeezing.
“Well, I’m not his attorney. Unlike you, I don’t have any obligation to keep a distance.” She moves her eyebrows up and down like she can’t wait to get down and dirty with him. It’s as if I can’t breathe.
“Anyway, I tried to Google him, but the man has like, zero social media presence. So annoying. Who in this day and age is this impossible to find?”
What I want to tell her is she’s absolutely correct. Vincent is, for all intents and purposes, virtually nonexistent; I know this for a fact because I looked him up myself, hoping maybe I would see his new life since he got out of prison. For a guy who used to have thousands of followers on social media, it’s crazy how he was able to just erase that entire part of his life. Unfortunately, I even found myself snooping on Daniela—something I haven’t done since I left New York City. I was pleasantly surprised to learn that she was busted for cocaine possession and sent directly to a rehab facility. After a six-month stint, she went to Colombia to help in her father’s business. I tried to find out more, but she too seems to have vanished from the social-media stratosphere.
Redemption (Vincent and Eve #3) Page 7