“I’ll think about it.”
“That’s not a no,” Demi points out, walking me to her door.
The cab ridehome gives me too much time to think about Aaron’s invitation, the dress sitting in the bag beside me, and the way my stomach flutters slightly when I imagine walking into that party. It’s ridiculous. I’m a grown woman, a successful attorney, not some college girl getting excited about a date.
Not that it’s a date.
By the time I reach my apartment, I’ve convinced myself that I’m only considering attending the launch for networking purposes. Comic book publishing is a lucrative business after all, and expanding my client base is always prudent.
CHAPTER 9
MINJI
The last thingI expected to do when I got to work this morning was to dodge flying coffee cups and office supplies. Yet here I am, doing just that. I tilt my head to the right as a coffee mug smashes against the wall, narrowly missing my head. I stand there, stunned, as ceramic pieces scatter across the conference room floor.
“He has no fucking right!” yells my client, Tamara Wilcox. She’s been in the office for an hour and transformed from a composed socialite to a woman who appears unhinged. Her hands tremble as she grabs another item to throw—a hefty crystal paperweight that costs more than most people pay for rent in a month. Shit!
“Mrs. Wilcox, please—” I start, but she’s beyond reason now.
“He can’t just hide assets from me! Ten years, Minji! Ten years I gave that man!”
I lunge across the table just as she hurls the paperweight toward the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking Manhattan. My fingers graze its surface, but I’m too late. The crystal hits the glass with a sickening crack. Thank God for safety glass.
The door swings open abruptly, revealing Aaron in the doorway. He is the last person I want to see this mess.
“Is everything?—”
“Get out!” I yell, but Tamara has already locked onto her new target. She snatches up a hefty legal binder and hurls it straight at Aaron’s chest. His reflexes are unexpectedly sharp as he catches the binder in mid-air.
I face my distraught client once again. “Mrs. Wilcox, I see that you’re upset, but destroying the office won’t benefit your case. I’m here to help you, but I can’t do that if you’re destroying everything in sight.”
“Help me? All you’ve done is tell me that my husband—whom I caught cheating with his twenty-four-year-old assistant—has concealed millions from me!” Her voice escalates to a piercing level, making my ears ring. Her eyes, rimmed with smudged mascara, dart frantically around the room for her next weapon.
Aaron steps forward cautiously, positioning himself protectively in front of me. “Mrs. Wilcox,” he says softly. “We haven’t been introduced, but I’m Aaron. I haven’t witnessed many divorces, but I can tell you that this moment right here—” He points to the broken mug and waving the binder “—won’t define your future. What you do nextwilldetermine that.” I move to stand next to him, wondering what he thinks he’s doing. Tamara pauses, momentarily taken aback by the interruption. “And who exactly are you?” she asks.
“Aaron Singleton,” he says with that disarming smile. “I haven’t been at the firm long but from what I’ve gathered watching Minji work, you couldn’t be in better hands.”
I feel a rush of emotions; annoyance that he’s inserted himself into my client meeting, and furious that he thinks it is remotely okay to do so.
Tamara’s shoulders slump slightly. “I-I trusted him.”
“I know.” I seize the moment of calm. “And he betrayed that trust. But destroying this conference room won’t get you justice. Working with me will.”
I gesture for her to take her seat, maintaining eye contact. “Let’s sit down and take a breath. Then we’ll talk about how we’re going to make Richard Wilcox regret the day he thought he could outsmart either of us.”
She sits, smoothing down her brunette hair, hands still trembling.
“Richard always said I was just a pretty face.” She scoffs. “That I couldn’t possibly understand the complexities of his business dealings.”
“Then he underestimated you,” I say, taking the seat across from her. “And that’s going to be his biggest mistake. Because you, Mrs. Wilcox, are more than just a pretty face… Trust me, he is going to regret it.”
Aaron’s eyes catch mine and he gives me a small nod before backing toward the door. But he doesn’t leave. Instead, he leans against the wall, watching our exchange with that irritating curiosity of his. I shoot him a glare that should freeze hell, but he responds with a slight shrug.
“Mr. Singleton.” I keep my voice professional. “Thank you. You may leave now.”
Even from across the fractured space, I see his eyes tick wider, the briefest ripple of surprise. His smile, though, doesn’t even tremble. “Of course,” he says, as if I offered him tickets to an exclusive gala, not just forcibly ejected him from the room. He pushes off from the wall, smooth as an apology. Then he glances at Tamara and gives her a nod—respectful, no trace of condescension. “Mrs. Wilcox, it was nice meeting you.”
The door clicks shut behind him, and the room settles instantly, like the air has been sucked out and replaced with a more breathable gas. Now it’s just me, Tamara, and thelast vestiges of chaos: the pulverized remains of a mug, the spiderweb crack in the window, and the lingering stench of scorched pride and dark roast.
