That one sliced through my chest like a rusty knife.
“We’ve decided it was best if we parted ways. She won’t say a word to her father about it. He’ll think it was just the mafia being the mafia. She’s high profile, loaded, sought-after—”
“Something’s not making sense here.” He raised his hand, stopping me midsentence.
I arched an eyebrow. “Oh?”
“You’ve never kept shit like this from me. Ever.” Tom stalked toward me, his eyes zinging with determination. “You’re not giving me the whole story. Why did you keep it to yourself? Why didn’t you tell me about the Russians right away?”
Because I couldn’t stay away from a certain Thorne Princess.
“I can handle my own problems.”
“Bullshit!” He slammed his palms against my chest, pushing me. The desk scraped behind me. “Give me the missing piece.”
“There’s no missing piece.”
“I’ll go and ask Miss Thorne herself. She’ll answer, too. That girl couldn’t lie if her life depended on it,” Tom warned.
He wasn’t wrong. Hallie was pure as fresh-fallen snow. Still, what were the chances he’d hurl his ass all the way to California just to ask her? I stared at him flatly, calling his bluff.
Tom waltzed over to our secretary’s desk, ripping a Post-it note from a pile and scribbling something, slapping it against her screen.
Get me on a flight to L.A. Today.
T
He picked up the phone and made a call.
“What’re you doing?” I asked tersely. I didn’t have patience for this shit. I was tired, agitated, and above all, still digesting the fact that Hallie had thrown me out of her life.
“Calling Holmes’ daughter. At the funeral—which you bailed on, by the fucking way—I promised I’d give her a call if I’m in Cali again. She wants to talk about her dad.”
The asshole meant business. He was going to jet to California and hear from my former employee how I’d fucked her.
It was time to face the music, even if it sounded like a cat in heat.
“I fucked her,” I spat out finally.
Tom froze, his phone still pinned to his ear. I heard a few, fainthellosfrom the other line. Slowly—very fucking slowly—he lowered his phone, killed the call, and tucked it into the inner pocket of his blazer.
“Youfuckedthe ward?”
Hearing the words flung back at me, they sounded all wrong. I waved my hand dismissively.
“It was more of an affair.”
“You don’t do affairs. You do contracts and NDAs and rape fantasies. All the sordid shit.”
“People change.”
“People—yes. Not you.” His hands quivered with anger and he balled them into fists by his sides. He snarled, animal-like, making his way to me.
I stood straighter, my muscles tensing in case we had to rough it out. Wouldn’t be the first time. We were forced to do this a lot as kids. Solve our disagreements with our fists.