I stare out the cab window, neon smearing across the glass. “Sometimes that doesn’t feel true.”
“Well, it is,” she says. “You’re at your best when you actually believe in what you are doing. Not when you are trying to impress men you don’t even like.”
A breath slips out of me, slow and tired. “You always call me out for being a dick.”
“That’s what big sisters do,” she replies fondly. “You’re allowed to be competitive, Mark. Just don’t let it turn you into someone your nephew wouldn’t recognize.”
That lands harder than anything else she has said tonight.
“I know,” I murmur. “That’s why I called.”
“All right, it’s pumpkin time for me. Ayden will be up at five like clockwork. Come home and visit soon, okay? You can watch the awe-inspiring chaos of four-year-old T-ball.”
“I will. Love you.”
We hang up just as my cab stops in front of my apartment building. I pay the man and head inside and towards the row of mailboxes. I’m hoping the new collection of ‘80s rock vinyls I ordered has been delivered. It’s a nice building, but we don’t have a doorman—something I’ve never minded. Only fifteen units, so the management figured residents could handle their own packages. Usually, it’s fine. We’ve set up a little system—oversized boxes getwedged behind the mail area, smaller ones tucked inside the cabinets by the stairs. It’s not glamorous, but it works, and all the neighbors sort of keep an eye out.
I think it reminds me of my childhood home in that regard. It’s easy not to get to know your neighbors or the people around you in New York City. But here in the small building, I know everyone’s name and regularly pet their dogs when I see them.
I snag my albums with a grin and take the elevator upstairs to my apartment. It takes a bit of juggling to punch in my code on the keypad with the vinyls and my briefcase, but I manage and kick the door closed behind me.
I like my apartment, sleek lines and muted colors with a decent view out the large windows. It even has a balcony. The rent makes me nauseous every single time I pay it, but that’s just the reality of New York.
Something about it just doesn’t quite feel like my forever home.
For now, though, it works. It’s a short ride to my office and the courthouse. There’s a decent gym downstairs, and it’s only a couple of blocks to a subway station.
I set my briefcase down and carefully tear open the wrapping on the vinyls. The auction listing was truthful, and they’re in excellent condition, which makes me grin. I take one out of the sleeve and place it on the turntable, gently dropping the needle on it until music fills the room. It’s late, and I do have neighbors, so I keep the volume at a reasonable level.
I snag a beer out of the fridge, cracking it open. Leaning against the counter, I stare out thewindow, watching the city move below. For a moment, I’m blissfully alone. No reporters or opposing counsel, no politics breathing down my neck. And I can finally relax.
Still, though, it is lonely. Perhaps I should start dating. I haven’t really tried in a while. Not seriously. Casual hookups here and there to scratch the itch. Not many people can deal with the hours I work or all the functions I have to attend in order to keep my name relevant.
I sigh. The thought has no genuine appeal to it. Instead, my traitorous brain keeps thinking about Ava. The flash of anger in her eyes. I wonder if she knows she flushes with a subtle shade of pink when she’s flustered.
The thought wakes me up a bit. Shit. Maybe Jess is right, maybe I am developing a thing for Ava Kendrick. If that’s the case, I definitely need to date some more.
It isn’t like I’m about to let myself get tangled up with the goddamn viper.
Chapter Five
Ava
I can feel a headache building at the base of my skull when I exit the courthouse. They’ve been happening more and more lately, and I can’t figure out why. I probably just need food, water, and to punch something until my hand bleeds. I hurry toward my town car.
Sliding inside, half of me keeps waiting for Mark to reach out and grab my arm, ready to continue sparring. If he tries, I swear, I might stab him in the throat with my stiletto.
Tony glances at me in the rearview mirror. “Office?” he grunts in his deep Brooklyn accent.
I press my fingertips to my head. “Maybe. Definitely need to eat first.” Guilt churns in my gut as I try to remember if I had breakfast. Shit. Then I remember, yes, I did. A protein shake, aboiled egg, and fruit. I’m good. Still in control. I breathe deeply through my nose and out my mouth.
Through the tinted glass, I glimpse Mark as we pull away from the curb. For a moment, I swear he’s staring right at me.
Asshole.
I love my office; I really do. But on days like today, I envy Mark’s setup. He’s right across the street from the courthouse with no traffic or delays to worry about. Meanwhile, I’ve got to get across town, I’m starving, and I have a million briefs waiting for me back at the office.
Tony clears his throat, and I look away from the window to find a sandwich wrapped in white butcher paper being waved at me through the partition. “Eat. Traffic will take forever. Chopped cheese from the bodega.”
