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I scowl at him, hating that he can read me so well. “It might be when they’ve been divorced for fourteen years.”

“In our line of work, we call that the perfect divorce.”

I don’t respond to that, just shake my head. Manny and I have a different opinion on my parents’ “perfect divorce.” He knows I don’t think such a thing really exists. If there aren’t any perfect marriages—and I’ve long decided there aren’t, since the one I held to the highest standard was never real—then it stands to reason that there can’t be a perfect version on the opposite end of the spectrum. Once you find out the life you knew was a lie, you stop believing in a lot of things.

“I’ll call them tonight,” I tell him instead.

“Good. Your dad and I are golfing Sunday, and you know I hate lying to him.”

“I’m aware. It’s annoying, really.”

He gives me a small smile. “Make sure to keep me updated on things with the Casiraghi case.”

“Your office is thirty feet from mine. I can just shout when I have news.”

He rolls his eyes. “Whatever works.”

He pushes away from the doorframe as if he’s moving to leave, and I stop him.

“Do we know who the husband has hired yet?” I notice Manuel wince, and a foreboding feeling creeps through my limbs when he turns back to give me a withered look. “No.”

“I’m told Mr. Casiraghi called Hart and Associates last Wednesday.”

“Goddamn it,” I huff. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t want you to get any more stressed out about your meeting with Bianca. I know how weird you get where Ezra Hart is concerned.”

A flush creeps up my neck, and with my pale complexion, I know it will be noticeable. “I do not getweird,” I bite out. “I just hate the guy.”

When I’m not fucking him, that is.

“He’s not my favorite person,” Manuel offers, “and it’s going to make winning that much harder, but you’ve beaten him before.”

Not as many times as I’d like,I think bitterly.

“I’m sure he’s already crafting some bullshit defense about how the woman Lorenzo has been emailing is his personal trainer, and that’s why she’s so interested in his body.”

Manuel laughs. “Most likely. You’ll just have to find something Ezra can’t twist. You can’t skirt around solid evidence.”

“Right.” I nod, mostly to myself. “Right.I’m going to kick his ass.”

Manuel winks as he turns to go. “I have no doubt, kid.”

I sit at my desk and fume for a few more minutes, thinking about the stupid texts Ezra has sent this week where heconveniently left out that he’d be my opposing counsel. I sure as hell hadn’t waited more than a day before bragging about possibly representing Bianca. Did he know then? My earlier smugness now makes me feel a little embarrassed. God, he was probably laughing at me the entire time.

I snatch my phone from the corner of my desk, opening our text thread and furiously shooting one off.

Me:How long have you known you were representing Lorenzo Casiraghi?

I watch the dots appear with narrowed eyes, waiting for his response.

Asshole:At least a few days before your charming text. Did you end up landing the missus?

Me:You’re the literal worst person I know.

Asshole:Aw. I miss you too.

He sends me a GIF of Paul Rudd on theHot Onesshow saying “Look at us. Who would have thought?” and I roll my eyes.