I stared down at the floor, my eyes fixed on a faded scuff mark on the tile. Each breath became a quiet negotiation with my body to remain steady as panic and despair tried to take over.
“I maybe got a little forceful at times, but I never laid a hand on you without reason. You needed discipline. Direction. And who could blame you, after everything you went through with your father.”
I didn’t want to listen, but his little barbs pricked deep into my skin, and the old scars reopened, the old pain, the old doubt began to bleed fresh.
“Now, there are some files I need to transfer to you before our meeting. Please give me your phone. It’s more secure than email, which can be a risk. This way, the files will have time to transfer ahead of our discussion.”
He held out his hand. Everything in his demeanor, from his posture to his plastered expression, ostensibly read professional. But I knew better. The quirk of his eyebrow told me not to defy him. The twitch in his jaw informed me of the consequences if I didn’t comply. The glare in his eyes warned me not to make a scene.
With resigned reluctance I slid my phone across the table, watching my only plan to wrestle my way out of this—texting Luke while Vincent was occupied—slip right out of my fingers and straight into his controlling hands.
The grin that spread across his face radiated obscene satisfaction, like the Grinch who stole my freedom and reveled in the theft.
Vincent straightened, turning toward the room. “Okay, thank you for your patience, everyone. Does anyone wish to speak with me?”
Talia rose before anyone else, moving toward us with determined strides. “I would, Mr. Langley.”
“Please, call me Vincent,” he said, flashing his winningest smile.
“Vincent, I would like to see what my options are about filing a civil suit against my abuser. It’s something I’ve been sitting on for a while, and I didn’t think I’d ever have access to someone like you, and if Oliver is using your firm’s services and now you’ve partnered with the community center it must be kismet.”
“Kismet indeed,” Vincent murmured, his gaze sliding to mine carrying a gleam that twisted my stomach into knots. “I’m happy to help however I can. Can you tell me a little bit about your circumstances?”
I began to walk away to give them privacy, to grant myself a reprieve, but Talia grabbed my hand.
“Stay. You’ve heard all this before anyway, I don’t mind.”
Always so admirably fierce, Talia looked at me with imploring eyes. For all her brashness, I understood how difficult this was for her. I wouldn’t be a good friend if I walked away, especially not when, in her own way, she was asking me to stay. So I sat beside her and forced myself to stay present as she spoke with Vincent.
“You have a strong case,” he told her. “If you’re interested, I can connect you with one of our top civil litigators. She specializes in domestic abuse cases. She’s brilliant.”
Talia’s face lit up. She had mentioned wanting to take her ex to court on more than one occasion, to make her abuser pay, but had never believed she had the resources. And now they were being offered to her.
I couldn’t rip this chance out from beneath her feet because the man offering it was the same one who had stolen my hope, and he knew it, because as he peered over Talia’s head, looking directly at me, his expression brimmed with smug triumph.
Vincent closed the folder he’d been jotting notes into and handed Talia a business card. “Call this number anytime. Tellthem I sent you, and they’ll prioritize your consultation. I promise.”
“Thank you so much!” She turned to me. “Can you believe it? I’m going to do this. I won’t have just gotten away but he won’t get away with it.”
I forced a smile that hurt to hold. “That’s incredible, Talia. You deserve this.”
Talia did deserve justice, and so did anyone else in this group. That more than anything kept me silent while others approached, dreading when everyone had their questions answered and I would be forced to leave with Vincent.
Chapter 32
Luke
With Oliver busy between group and then his weekly smoothie excursion with Talia, I decided to hang late at the office. The team had voted for pizza, which was as good an excuse as any to stick around.
We were set up in the break room. Shawn folded an entire slice in half and shoved it into his mouth. “This,” he declared around a mouthful. “Is why I love late nights. Nothing cures a Tuesday like cheese grease and pepperoni.”
“I still don’t understand how you can eat like that and somehow maintain whatever that is,” Brent muttered, waving a hand to indicate Shawn’s body.
Shawn’s eyes lit with a predatory gleam that even a grainy, early-2000s flip-phone camera would’ve picked up. “If you’re going to compliment my physique, at least commit. Half-ass praise is for Yelp reviews, not for the man you’ve been undressing with your eyes for the better part of a year.”
“I wasn’t complimenting you. I was questioning the biological impossibility of you consuming pure cholesterol and saturated fats on the regular and not blowing up like a blimp.”
“It’s okay to admit it you know,” Shawn said, ignoring Brent’s protest. “Everyone appreciates a quality view now and then. I work hard for this body you pretend not to notice. Admiration is natural. Healthy, even.”
