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“Sure you are,” I scoff.

“Did you come all the way over here just to yell at me, or did youactuallymiss me?”

“Hardly.”

“Too bad,” he murmurs.

My nose wrinkles. “Why?”

“Because I’ve missed you.”

I refuse to let surprise show on my face; I remind myself that things like that are all part of Ezra’s game. That making me think he’s actually being nice would be like a gold star to him.

“Sure you have,” I reply blandly.

His fingers slide from the bar to tease against the tips of mine, his touch so slight that I might not even notice it if not for the sparks of electricity it causes to shoot along my skin. “I can show you just how much,” he tells me, his voice lowering to a level thatmakes me want to press my legs together. “If you want to come over later to…go over things.”

I tell myself that the shiver along my spine is one of distaste. The mistruth is like a lifeboat in an entire sea of lies that I’ve been treading these past few months.

I yank my hand away. “Not happening. I’m busy, and I already told you we aren’t doing that anymore.”

“Suit yourself.” Ezra shrugs. “I guess I’ll just see you at my office to discuss the settlement proposal in a few days then?”

“They tell me it’s mandatory,” I reply dryly.

“Can’t wait to see you either,” Ezra chuckles.

“Try to keep the bullshit to a minimum, if you can.”

“But, Dani,” he says with a wide grin, “you look so pretty when you’re pissed at me.”

I throw up my hands, spinning on my heel with a frustrated sound as his laughter chases after me. I don’t know how many times I’ve told myself not to let Ezra rile me, but it seems like my brain still hasn’t gotten the message, like he has intimate knowledge about all my buttons and exactly where to press them. I clench my fists as I stomp back to my parents’ table.

I’m definitelynotstill thinking about the way my skin tingles where he touched me.

Five

Dani

I can thinkof a dozen things I would rather do than visit Ezra’s firm.

That very real list includes, but is not exclusive to: having a colonoscopy, seeing people from my old high school at the grocery store, getting a flat on I-35 before a court date, listening to my mother talk about her and Bill’s sex life…I could go on.

Yet, here I am, walking through the wide-open space of the entryway as I step off the elevator and onto the floor where the Hart & Associates offices are located. The foyer is carefully decorated in a way that only a group of rich men can manage—sleek, black furniture and obnoxious wall art that looks like something from Wayfair but probably costs five times as much—it even comes complete with a perfect blond receptionist who stands to greet me when I get close.

But her, I like.

“Hey, Maggie,” I tell her, returning her smile. “Love your dress.”

She smooths her hands over her hips, flashing me a brief coquettish pose. “You like? I got it from T.J.Maxx.”

“Shut up,” I gush. I give her another once-over. “Damn.”

“I know. I look amazing.” She winks as she settles back into her desk chair. “Which Mr. Hart are you here for?”

“You say that as if any of them are preferable choices for company.”

Maggie holds up her hands. “No comment.”