“Reschedule it. It isn’t that urgent.”
Aspen nods. “All right.”
She starts to turn away. I stop her. “Is there something you want to say?”
There. I’m giving her an open opportunity to vent.
She blinks a couple of times. “No, I don’t think so. But I’ll let you know the new time for your ten o’clock.”
She walks out, then closes the door behind her.
Fuck. She sure knows how to twist a knife. She has to know why I asked that question. And she knows I always sided with her when it came to her and Sadie. She could’ve—
But you didn’t side with her today. Youcaused the whole incident.
A few minutes later, I get a message from Aspen through the firm’s messaging app.
–Aspen: Lola Court says you can stop by anytime.
I jump to my feet and stride out of the office. Aspen’s at her desk. Her purse with the broken strap is nowhere to be seen, and the floor is clear.
“Let’s go,” I say.
“Us? I’m going too?”
“Yes.”
She frowns, but then her face clears. “Oh. Ms. Court mentioned that she could have everything delivered to the office or your place. Your choice.”
What?I stare, wondering what she’s talking about. Then it finally dawns on me that she thinks I’m taking her with me to carry my stuff. What’s left of my patience vanishes. “Just get up and come with me.”
Lola’s probably wondering why I want to see her. She normally selects various options for me and sends them over to my place. I keep what I like and return the rest. After years of providing the service, she knows my taste and preferences.
But this isn’t something I can handle using our usual method.
We reach the garage across the street from the office building. I lead Aspen to my Maybach and open the passenger-side door before I remember we aren’t dating, and I don’t have to be nice to her. As a matter of fact, I need to do everything in my power to get her to quit.
But it’d be ridiculous to slam the door shut now. Besides, I’m just trying to make up for the fact that Sadie is a destructive bitch.
“Get in,” I say.
Aspen looks at me like I’ve lost my mind, and a layer of skin seems to peel off me under her scrutiny. Hating the vague sense of vulnerable uncertainty she’s stirring within me, I let go of the handle and walk around to the driver’s side.
I start the engine. The audio plays Paloma Faith’s “Only Love Can Hurt Like This.” The singer’s voice reminds me of the time Aspen drove me to the Mexican restaurant the day I fell off Starfire during a polo match. Back then, it was “Do You Want the Truth or Something Beautiful?”
Does she remember that too? It’s impossible to read her face, since she’s looking out the window like she can’t bear to be in an enclosed space with me.
Well, too fucking bad.She’s here. And she’s going to have to deal.
“Can we listen to something else?” Aspen asks after a few seconds.
“No.”
She sighs and shrugs slightly, probably thinking that all she has to do is wait a couple of minutes for the sound system to play the next song.
I don’t think so.
I hit a couple of buttons on the steering wheel. The song dies with the final note, as the singer says, “A deadly kiss.”
