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Keeping his head bowed, tapping his fingers against his laptop keyboard, he asks, “Can you keep an eye on everyone’s responses today? I’m tempted to push for more settlement money depending on those.”
“Absolutely, and I called James”—our client—“early this morning, and he had already arrived for the meeting.”
James’ wife was killed when the brakes failed on their new car. I was up most of the night reading the case file, and after months of denying it, the motor company finally admitted liability.
Nathan stares at his laptop screen. “I know James is desperate to move forward. After today, maybe he can finally get some closure following the death of his wife. Not that ten million dollars will ever bring her back.”
“No money in the world will ever bring my beautiful family back.” As soon as I’ve said those words, I instantly regret it, but I just couldn’t help myself. To me, their lives were priceless, as are all the future memories we could have made together but which can never be anything more than a wish for me now.
If only things could have been different.
But they’re not, and there aren’t enough miracles in the world available to bring them back.
I jump, making my coffee slosh about in my cup, when Nathan slams the lid of his laptop shut then slides it onto the seat opposite us. “What happened to your family, Arianna?” he asks, his voice full of curiosity and determination, his face mirroring the same. He looks… concerned… sorry for me… like he cares?
Which he shouldn’t. I don’t want his sympathy.
“They died.” It sounds so clinical when I say it like that, but there’s no dressing it up and putting a pretty bow on it. It happened.
His eyes narrow, crinkling at the edges, and I can almost hear the next question he’s desperate to ask running around his brain, because it’s always the same one that follows every time I tell anyone that my family died.
“In a car crash,” I answer his non-vocal question. “I was fifteen. I survived.” My grip around my coffee cup tightens, and I turn away to focus on the scenery out the window before swiping away a tear that’s rolled down my cheek. “They didn’t.” Sometimes, like now, my emotions get the better of me and I can’t stop them from overwhelming me.
There’s a huge stretch of silence that rolls by until he finally says, “I’m so sorry, Arianna.” The warmth of his hand on my thigh makes me want to lower my defenses and allow him to leave it there because I find it comforting, but I can’t. Instead, I swivel my legs away from him and his hand disappears.
“Is the scar along your shoulder blade from the crash?” he asks slowly.
When he touched it, I begged him not to. But if only he knew that sometimes even I can’t look at it. It makes me feel guilty; that I lived, and they didn’t.
When I don’t respond, I think he might push for more detail, but thankfully he doesn’t, letting me wallow like a hippo in my own grief.
“Eat.” The muffin he bought for me appears in my lap. Much softer than before, he says, “If this case is too close to your heart and you find it too difficult to sit in on the negotiations today, please tell me.”
“I’ll be fine.” I’m not feeling one bit hungry, but I don’t want to talk anymore, so I open the brown paper bag, lift the muffin out of it, and take a bite. I almost moan when the flavor of caramelly goodness and banana fills my mouth, awakening my senses.
My stomach groans in appreciation. Maybe I am hungry after all.
“I hate that you lost your family.” His husky voice is filled with genuine compassion that makes me want to climb into his lap and curl myself around him, because I know what being wrapped in his arms feels like. Like home. Which they shouldn’t.
There’s no rhyme or reason to us.
Working for him isn’t permanent. I’m here for one purpose, and hopefully, it brings justice for my family and the closure I so deeply need.
“Thank you.” I turn away, feeling guilty about my reasons for being here, but I can’t let him cloud my emotions.
Time passes and I have almost finished my delicious muffin which has made me feel so much better, pulling me out of my sadness. I cast a nervous glance in Nathan’s direction when I feel him staring at me again.
“You’re very beautiful,” he says out of the blue, then adds, “I find it difficult to concentrate when you’re around.”
His confession has heat flushing in waves over my skin.
Not only am I a traitor but my body is too. It knows what it wants… Him.
Dropping his attention to my mouth, he sucks in a breath of the heated air between us. The tension is almost too much as heat pools between my thighs, my skin tingling with anticipation.
I push the last bit of muffin into my mouth then lick the sticky caramel topping off my lips. In a heartbeat, his entire demeanor changes, his shoulder stiff as if on high alert.
He points at my lip. “You missed a crumb.” His voice is low and dangerous sounding.