I finish my makeup, pull on jeans and a fitted black top, then grab my bag. Tonight I’m having dinner at the Pinecone Grill withthe girls. Iris’s brother, Nick, who runs the diner, is testing new menu items and we’re his guinea pigs. Free food and unsolicited opinions—two things this group has elevated to an art form. I need a night that’s just laughter and wine and stuffing myself with Nick’s delicious food like it will fill the empty spaces inside me.
A knock at the door stops me halfway across the living room.
My pulse kicks before my brain catches up. Jeremy flew to California this morning, but maybe his plans changed? Maybe he’s here instead. I want him to be here with an intensity that should embarrass me. The desperate craving to see his face, feel his hand at the small of my back, hear him say my name in that way that makes my skin hum. He’ll be back by the weekend, but my heart doesn’t give a damn about rational timelines.
I know I’m helping him become more of who he already is under all that armor, and I want to believe he feels more for me than simple gratitude and lust. The NorthStar partnership is the first time he’s taken such a hands-on role, and it looks good on him. It’s more than that, though. We’re good together. And if he’s standing on the other side of that door, I’m going to be brave and tell him I love him.
I open the door with a smile already forming, but it disappears in an instant. Because it’s not Jeremey standing on my landing.
The sport coat Jon is wearing costs more than two months of my current salary. I know because I bought it for him. His dark hair is gelled within an inch of its life, his jaw freshly shaven. The guy is all spit and polish, but he can’t hide the stench that clings to him. Not from me any longer.
“Avah.” His voice is measured, the tone he uses in a staff meeting when he’s about to deliver a seething set down wrapped in a compliment. “We need to talk.”
“Fuck off.” I go to shut the door in his face, but he catches the edge with one hand and steps inside like he still has a right to any space I occupy.
“Get out.”
He scans the apartment, likely calculating the distance between this life and the one I had with him. He thinks the math is in his favor.
“This is where you’re living.” His condescending tone is like nails on a chalkboard.
“An upgrade on every level.” I cross my arms, because I don’t like the way his gaze holds on me. “To be honest, I could be sleeping in my car and I’d still be happier than I ever was with you. Now get the fuck out of my house.”
His jaw tightens, and for a second I see that flash of familiar cruelty, but he covers it with a smile that doesn’t look like anything more than muscle memory.
“Your father came to see me last week.” He speaks as if he’s mentioning a mutual acquaintance and not the man whose existence I spent fifteen years trying to forget. “Charming guy, for an ex-con. Really knows how to work a room.”
The blood drains from my head so fast I feel dizzy. My dad sought out Jon. It’s the waking embodiment of every nightmare I’ve had since my father showed up at the bakery counter with his oily smile and veiled threats. Of all the worst-case scenarios I imagined, this one is so catastrophic, it didn’t even make the list.
“He has some interesting thoughts on the NorthStar Way families.” Jon straightens his cuffs the same way my dad brushed invisible lint from his sleeve, offering no indication he’s getting ready to deliver a kill shot. Men like them make the monstrous moments seem ordinary, which is the most dangerous part. “Cancer patients and caregivers making emotional financial decisions. You know he likes vulnerable people with money they don’t know how to protect.”
My gut twists. “I want nothing to do with either of you, and I’m not involved in?—”
“Don’t fucking play games with me, Avah.” As his mask slips, I get a glimpse of the beast beneath straining at its leash. “I’ve done some digging. You’re the one who got Winslow in the door withthe Johnsons.” He tilts his head, the sound of his neck cracking drowning out the heartbeat pulsing in my ears. “I imagine Jeremy would be very interested to learn that his girlfriend’s daddy is a convicted fraudster who spent fifteen years in federal prison for scamming the elderly. Not exactly the same demographics NorthStar serves.” His smile resembles a barring of teeth. “But close enough. Even you can’t schmooze or charm your way out of that PR nightmare. Trust me, I know firsthand yourcharmsaren’t that impressive.”
“Don’t even?—”
“I’ve already lost two clients because your boyfriend decided to play white knight and make calls to our firm’s investors after you did your distressed damsel routine. He cost me real money, Avah. So I’m going to make sure everyone knows exactly who you are and where you come from.”
I don’t doubt him for a minute. Jon is a man who would rather break his toys than share them. But even if this moment is more lethal than the late-night spiral I’ve had about what happens when the truth comes out, I can’t reveal an iota of fear to him. If I blink, there won’t be anything left of me for the sharks to feed on.
“We’re done, Jon. Get out, or I’m calling the police.”
I start to step around him toward the door, but he catches my arm. His fingers close with the practiced grip of a man who’s done this before. He squeezes hard, and pain shoots from my wrist to my elbow. My instinct is to shrink and try to become a smaller target. My mother taught me that without ever saying the words. Children don’t always need instructions on how to survive. Some examples speak even louder than words.
For one terrible second, I’m seven years old and hiding under the dining room table of my childhood home, weeping silently while china crashes to the floor around me, and my mother tries to hold back her cries of pain.
But I’m not that girl anymore. And I’m sure as shit not thewoman who sat across from this man in strategy meetings and laughed at his jokes while bruises faded under concealer.
I’m the woman who walked out of that bungalow and baked my way into a new career. Who climbed a cargo net with shaking arms while fifty people I barely knew cheered me on. I’m a woman who knows what joy feels like, and I’ll do whatever I have to in order to protect all of that.
I bring my knee up hard into Jon’s groin and twist out of his grasp. The sound he makes is deeply satisfying—a guttural, airless wheeze as he doubles over, both hands clutching between his legs. His face drops to exactly the right height, and I grip both of his shoulders and drive my knee into his nose with everything I have before pushing him away from me.
Blood sprays across his khaki pants and my scuffed wood floor. His high, nasal shriek would be funny if my hands weren’t shaking so hard I can barely make fists.
“You crazy bitch—” He cups his face with both hands, blood streaming through his fingers, as he staggers backward toward the door.
“Get the fuck out,” I whisper scream then grab his shoulder and shove him through the doorway onto the landing. He sags against the brick building, one hand on his face and the other on his balls.
