James’s eyes flick from Matthew’s unyielding stare to my face, then back.“So this is who you’ve been shacked up with since I threw you out of my apartment?”he spits, his lip curling in a venomous snarl.
His words hit me with the force of a slap.A hot flush of shame and anger burns up my neck.
A muscle tightens along Matthew’s jaw.A new flicker deep in his eyes confirms it.
He doesn’t know James threw me out.
The thought is a fresh twist of exposure amidst my own burning anger.
Matthew’s arm tightens around my waist.“Where else, asshole?”he counters, his gaze coolly dissecting James.“You think all men are self-absorbed, manipulative dicks like you?”
A muscle jumps in James’s clenched jaw.He takes a slow, deliberate breath.
“Can’t say I didn’t warn you, Counselor.”James straightens his suit jacket, a smirk of condescending authority returning to his lips.“Harold Bancroft is an old acquaintance of my father’s.I wonder how he’ll feel when he learns his esteemed lawyer is… fraternizing”—he glances at me before his gaze snaps back to Matthew—“with the very woman he’s paying a hefty sum to get rid of.”
My stomach plummets.
Bancroft.
Of course.
James wouldn’t just threaten me; he’d go after anyone who tries to help.
Guilt churns like acid inside me.I glance at Matthew, dreading his reaction.He doesn’t flinch.If anything, his stance becomes more rooted, his expression icier.
“James, Matthew, don’t—”
“Sorry to disappoint, Devlin, but not everyone’s for sale,” Matthew interrupts, his voice deceptively soft, yet every word lands like a perfectly aimed dart.“Or did Daddy forget to teach you the difference between buying influence and earning respect?”
James just stares, his face mottling.The muscle in his clenched jaw jumps erratically.The polished veneer of the cool, collected businessman is cracking, revealing the ugliness beneath.
He struggles for composure.A dismissive sneer twists his lips.“Say what you want,” James bites out.“Lucky for you, I have guests.”He gestures vaguely to the now utterly silent, very attentive occupants of his booth.“I don’t get my hands dirty brawling with the likes of you in front of them.”He shakes his head, that sneer deepening.“That’s not how I play.”He steps up closer to Matthew, his eyes narrowing into vindictive slits.“I hit where it really hurts, Matthew Warren.You better believe Harold will hear all about this.”He gestures flippantly between us.“I’d polish up that resume if I were you.You’ll be lucky if you’re still employed come Monday morning.”
Another wave of icy dread washes over me.
This is all my fault.
Matthew is now caught in James’s vindictive crosshairs because of me.
I want to scream, to tell James to leave him alone, but the words freeze in my throat.I search Matthew’s face for any sign of fear, of regret.He remains unnervingly still.That ghost of a smirk plays on his lips, as if James’s threat is nothing more than mild amusement.
“Try it, and I’ll bury you.”Matthew’s voice is quiet, almost conversational.“You think Bancroft is your ace?I’ll expose every dirty deal and every shady connection, so the mere mention of your family name will make Harold run screaming.”He pauses, letting the threat hang heavy between them, his eyes as solid as obsidian.“And that loan for Maddy’s Place?”He glances at me for a fraction of a second, acknowledging me before turning back to James with icy finality.“Consider it settled.A gift from me to Amy so she can be rid of your control once and for all.”
The words hit me harder than James’s threats.
A gift?
My head spins.
I turn to Matthew, lips parting, a protest already forming.My hand instinctively reaches for his arm.
Before I can utter a sound, James explodes.His face contorts with rage, losing whatever is left of his composure.“Who the fuck do you think you are?”he bellows, his voice cracking with fury, drawing stares from everyone in the booth behind him.Heads tilt toward each other; mouths move in urgent whispers.
Matthew meets James’s glare with a look of almost bored disdain.“All I’m saying is, go ahead,” he clarifies, his voice still infuriatingly calm.“Make that call to Bancroft.And while you’re at it, I’ll make a few calls of my own.”A predatory smile touches his lips.“Let’s see who has more to lose, shall we?”
The fight drains out of James, replaced by a brittle attempt to reclaim his dignity.“This is neither the time nor place,” he says, straightening his blue-grey suit jacket with a sharp tug.“I’m busy.”He gestures vaguely to his entourage.“But you,” he seethes, his gaze landing on me.His hand rises to point an accusatory finger directly at my face.“You surprised me.You’re clearly not as innocent as you pretend to be with your precious ideals about love.How are those working out for you?Cuz it looks to me like arrangements have their place after all.”
Before I can even flinch, Matthew steps between me and James’s finger.His body is a solid wall.“Put your fucking finger down if you want to keep it.”The warning is laced with an unmistakable promise of violence.
