When I find the courage to speak, I glare at him. "How could you let her do this?"
Adrian sits back down and sighs, as though I'm just a petulant child who cannot understand. "Ms. Blake?—"
I stand, unable to remain still. "Don't. Don't you, 'Ms. Blake', me. How could you let her write something this manipulative? Does it even make sense to you?"
"I advised against the clause. Strongly. She insisted it remain."
"Why? Why would she—" My voice cracks, and I hate it.
"She said you needed, in her words, 'a push to take a chance on love.'"
"A push? This is emotional blackmail! I know it, you know it, even that damn pen you're holding knows it!"
"The terms are legal and binding. I've verified?—"
"I don't care about the legality! This is" —I run a hand through my hair, searching for words— "controlling. Outdated. It's?—"
"It's what she wanted."
I step closer, anger building with each word, and jab an accusing finger at him. "You don't get it. You couldn't possibly understand."
One eyebrow raises a little, and he leans back in his chair. "Enlighten me."
"That library is—was—" I struggle to articulate what it means, and I only get angrier at the sight of Adrian looking so calm and unfazed. "It's where I fell in love with stories, with books, where I learned how stories have the power to make us feel so many things at once. Violet gave me that. And now she's using it as leverage to force me into some fairy tale she invented?"
Adrian pauses. "She was concerned about you."
I laugh bitterly. "Concerned. Right. You probably told her I was some tragic spinster?—"
"I told her nothing of the sort. She reached her own conclusions."
My voice rises. "Based on what? That I'm not in a relationship? Maybe I don't want one. Maybe I'm perfectly happy alone."
His expression remains measured, and I try to resist the urge to shake him. "Are you?"
"What?"
"Happy alone. Are you?"
The question throws me. "Oh, how dare y-you. T-that's none of your business."
He tilts his head. "Actually, it's exactly my business now. I'm tasked with evaluating your relationship's authenticity."
My anger shifts to something sharper, and I have to clench both hands to avoid pummeling him with my fists. It won't hurt him, for sure, but whatever. It's the thought that counts. "You. Of all people. You're going to judge whether I'm in love? By what standard, huh? You seem like someone whose strongest emotion is satisfaction when his clients break down in this room."
Something flickers in his expression—I catch it, a momentary slip in his perfect control. Good. I'm getting to him. It won't help my situation, but I need someone to feel just as furious as me.
"I'm qualified to assess human behavior and truthfulness, if that's what you mean."
I laugh, no humor in it. "You're a corporate attorney. A soulless corporate drone who wouldn't recognize love if it hit you in the face at the speed of light. You practically bleed paperwork."
His jaw tightens—there it is again, that crack in his composure.
"When was the last time you felt anything? When did you last take a risk, let someone in, do something that wasn't calculated and controlled?"
Adrian stands, and suddenly he's close—I hadn't realized how tall he is. So tall I have to tilt my head back to stare at him, and I'm wearing four-inch heels. "When was the last time you did?"
My breath stutters and hitches. He's close enough that I can smell his cologne. I want to say I hate that scent, too, but my thoughts seem to scatter with his nearness. My gaze zeroes in on how long his lashes are.
