Page 49

It’s not as simple as I thought it would be and I’ll keep coming back here until I find what I’m looking for.
Just as I am photographing the last document, a voice from behind me asks, “What are you doing?”
17
ARI
I jump out of my skin, then whip around, instantly feeling hot with guilt, to find Nathan with his hands in his pockets, standing with his legs spread wide and looking at me suspiciously.
That man wears suit pants like they were made for him, which they were, and are made from the finest Italian fabric. But there is something about him in a virgin-white shirt left open at the collar that does something to my insides, turning them to goo every time.
“Did you come looking for me?” I was too engrossed in what I was doing to hear him. He’s like a ninja or something.
“You’ve been missing for over thirty minutes, Arianna.”
I grit my teeth together, annoyed at him calling me that. How many times do I have to tell him it’s Ari? Only my parents and sister, Riley, called me Arianna.
And I didn’t think he would notice I was gone. He was too busy talking to his brothers about fucking Vivienne Cavendish.
God, that makes me feel sick.
“I was beginning to get worried,” he says. His voice is full of concern, which is unwanted. The way he walks with purpose toward me has panic weaving its way through my veins, andI gather the files back into a neat pile. Files I shouldn’t be accessing. It isn’t labelled “Attorney-Client Privileged” on the outside of the box for no reason.
Although I’ve never understood why it is. If there is nothing to hide, why is it labelled as such? And why is that letter between Nathan’s father and Kevin Taylor redacted?
What am I not seeing?
“You don’t need to worry about me,” I say, turning my back to him, pushing my phone inside my pocket, then discreetly place the case paperwork into the archive box. “I’m fine.”
The only person who has ever worried about me was my foster mom, Jean, and after she died when I was twenty-one, I’ve been looking after myself just fine. I don’t need anyone’s concern.
His steps grow closer. “What are you doing down here, Arianna?”
I close the lid, lift the box, and hold it against my chest before turning around to face him.
Straightening my shoulders, I hold my head high and walk past him to return the box, his cologne chasing me as I float by.God, he smells good.“I was digging out similar cases to help with the Vivienne Cavendish versus Regal Wings case,” I lie. “I must have taken down the wrong case number; this isn’t the one I wanted.”
“Right.” His footsteps follow me and just as I replace the box on the shelf, he’s right there, arms folded in front of him and leaning against the shelving unit. “You’re really good at your job.”
I feel my cheeks growing hot. “Thanks.” I accept the compliment, feeling guilty that he thinks I’m helpful, and I can’t even bring myself to look at him so I bend down to pick the other files I brought with me off the floor, stand to my full height thenlook around. The nervous tension between us growing by the second.
He’s right though, I am good at my job. I take great pride in what I do and genuinely love it. Regardless of any suspicions I might have about his father’s dodgy dealings, I am committed to upholding the law and strictly adhering to the rules and regulations of my role.
“You’re the best secretary I’ve ever had,” he adds, throwing my conscience sideways.
God, I wish my time here was over and I could stop hiding the reasons I’m really here.
I finally manage to look at him. “Thanks,” I say again, my body thick with guilt.
There’s this huge space of time that’s filled with awkward silence before he asks, “Come to The Connecting Kids Charity Ball with me next week.”
That doesn’t sound like a question.
“I’m busy,” I lie, but I would love to go; that charity is very close to my heart but a ticket costs over one thousand dollars.
He looks shocked by my quick response and asks, “Doing what?”
Making an effigy of your father and setting fire to it.“I have plans,” I simply reply. I don’t have a single thing to do next Friday night.