Page 26

Emma

I glance over at Clifton.

He’s slumped in the passenger seat of my car, staring out the window with a blank expression on his handsome face. The guy could be a movie star if he wanted. But it seems like all Clifton wants is to cause trouble and get in fights. I can’t help but wonder if it’s all a ploy to upset his dad, or to get attention.

I can’t imagine how tough his life must have been, growing up without a mother and with a father that, while a good guy with his best interests at heart, was emotionally chilly.

But the blank look on Clifton's face tells me he doesn't care about anything, not even the fact that he was just in jail, that I’d bailed him out, that he knows his dad is too mad to show up for him.

In truth, his dad has seemed a bit off lately, and has been leaving work more often on errands he schedules in advance. I have no doubts he’s up to something - maybe he’s met another woman and that’s why he’s coming down harder on his son.

“You’re staring at me.” He sounds grumpy. “Shouldn’t you focus on the road so you don’t kill us?”

“Self-driving car,” I say, gesturing at the display and taking my hands off the wheel.

He glances my direction and arches an eyebrow. “Haven't those been getting some bad press lately?”

“The odds are in our favor.” I hate when people cherry pick data to suit their argument rather than actually digging into an issue and learning the truth.

I'm a little taken aback to see him wearing a black hoodie and jeans. His dark hair is somehow still neat, and his brilliant green eyes refuse to meet mine. He looks like a man who just doesn't care anymore. His split lip has bruised around his mouth and I wonder what to do.

“Do you want to go get that checked out?” I ask, gesturing to his face.

He brushes the spot with his thumb and shakes his head. “I’m fine.”

I lift a shoulder. Fine. I’m not going to try and force him to be seen.

With a sigh, I focus on the road, trying to ignore the tension in the air. Even though I'm not physically driving, it's hard to break the habit of paying attention to the road.

“Did my dad buy you this car?” There’s no way to ignore the bitterness in his voice.

Not only do I not like what he's asking, I worry about what he might be insinuating. “If you're asking if your father and I have an inappropriate relationship, no. I find it quite concerning that you think a woman can't buy her own car.” With those two statements I sum up my worst concerns.

The hum of the engine isn’t enough to ease the loud silence between us as the seconds stretch out with no response from him. I want to look at him, but I don't dare. Instead, I find myself holding my breath and waiting for whatever words he has next.

“It’s interesting that that’s where your mind went,” he says.

I hazard a glance at him, unable to help myself. “I've heard the whispers in the office. I'm also smart enough to know that plenty of people don't believe a woman can't get to my position without some other factor at play. I promise you, I’m a self-made woman, and I am where I am thanks to my hard work and skill.”I don't intend to sound as heated as I do, but I'm sick and tired of the same old misconceptions about me.

“If I have learned anything, it's the ones that loudly proclaim something are usually the ones that are lying.” He says the words with a hint of humor in his voice, and I wonder if he would really think it tactful to be joking about something so disgusting and serious.

I want to fire back with some comment about how at least his father has someone in his life that doesn't let him down, but instead of letting that anger take over, I inhale a deep breath and slowly let it escape while going through my internal calming process.

I can stop, take a deep breath, and relax. My emotions don’t control me. I am in control.

“I don't understand you. You have everything. Money, fame, intelligence, looks, great schooling. You could be an incredible lawyer or anything you want to be.” I glance over again, watching the city fly by out the window behind him.

An almost charming grin crosses his lips. “You think I'm good looking.” The words aren't a question, and I sigh because he's only taking one piece of what I said out of context to stroke his ego.

“I think it looks like you don’t have any goals or ambitions, any respect for yourself or others. You're a spoiled brat.” If the only thing he wants to get out of what I'm saying is that he has good looks, that's pretty sad.

“What do you know about my goals, ambitions, and respect, or lack thereof? I'm guessing my father told you something?” Bitterness has seeped back into his voice.

He might be good looking, but I don’t like the man child at all.

And this is one of those moments where I hate my job, even though I'm proud of myself. Becoming a lawyer didn't come easy, and making it as his father's right-hand woman was even harder. I earned his dad’s trust, and he can’t even earn a word from the man.

Still, I know that I can't take this conversation any further. I’m his lawyer and I have to deal with him. That means bailing him out of trouble, defending him in court, and trying to make him see reason without pushing him over the edge. I hate that I have to pretend I care about him and that I’m on his side, when more often than not, I strongly disagree with him.

“Your father doesn't really talk about you other than to check in and see what kind of trouble you're in now or what he needs to do for you.” I don't intend the words to be cruel, just matter of fact. I meant it when I asked what else he expects from his dad. He’s been disappointing and has shown no will or want to change. He makes his father’s life harder and creates shockwaves of trouble everywhere he goes. He’s a child in a man’s body, and that would take a toll on anyone.

He lets out a slight hissing noise, and I wonder what his father is going to say to him this time. So far he's tried everything. Yelling at him, scolding him, threatening him. He's also tried to reason with him, plead with him, beg him to do better.

I can't help but think that his dad might be done giving him chances, so may cut him off for real this time. Still, the only reason I care is because I worry about his father. Even though I'm his lawyer, Clifton is not my problem outside my duty to defend him.

What his dad decides is just punishment is Clifton’s problem, not mine.

As that uncomfortable silence settles in, I reach out and turn on the radio. Some upbeat catchy pop song comes on and I hum along, tapping my fingers on the steering wheel. I don't need to hold on, but I still prefer to. Something about old habits being impossible to break.

And instead of letting the man next to me dominate my thoughts, I steer my thinking toward something positive. I have a new business venture coming up. I ordered a new floral arrangement, and I’m ready to get home for the day because I’m exhausted mentally and physically.

I’ve put myself under too much pressure and I’m reaching my breaking point. But all that pressure has made me into a diamond. I bought my own home, my own car, I’ve made my life into one I want to live.

And yes, it aches to think of my ex-fiancé and how he’d tried to break me down and take over my life, but he’s not around anymore. I mean, I’m legally obligated to say he’s not dead. No, I booted him out of my life.

I’ve come so far and achieved so much. And I’m proud of myself.

I wonder if Clifton could be turned around with some sense of accomplishment. Maybe it’s a lack of power and control in his life that makes him act out. There’s always a reason - I’ve learned that in my line of work. I might not always understand or agree with the reason, but there is a reason for everything people do.

My ex’s face nags behind my eyes. Internally, I hear his voice chiding me. Telling me I haven’t earned everything I have. That I’m worthless and stupid, and I’ll never amount to anything. I think about how, in the breakup, my family chose him. He’d managed to convince everyone - throughout our whole relationship - that I was the abusive and cruel one, and I lost them when I kicked him out of my life.

Yes, it hurts. But if they were so easily turned against me, then clearly they don’t love me like I thought they did.

“Can you stop thinking so loud?”

“Oh, ha ha,” I say with a mock smile and turn up the radio. The song has shifted to something a bit more sad but still upbeat. I know he can’t actually read my thoughts, but I also know he wants to get to me.

I rebuilt myself from the ground up. It’s going to take a lot more than someone like Clifton to change that.

However, I don’t think I’ve learned to trust again. But I'm stronger now. I’m over my ex. I’m happy to live in the moment without dwelling on the past. “Everyone has bad things happen in their lives,” I say, reaching out to turn the radio down.

He turns the volume back up, louder than before in an obvious attempt to drown me out. I turn the radio off, annoyed at his behavior. He sighs and slumps back in his seat, his thumb coming back up to his lip as he stares out the window again. “I had bad things happen, but I don't let them hold me back or allow me an excuse to behave poorly.”

“Congratulations.” The word sounds genuine, but I don’t doubt he’s still brushing off what I’m saying.

“Your dad wants to talk to you when we get back, so I hope you have something to say.” Might as well give him a head’s up.

“Is it too late for you to take me home instead? Or just stop, I’ll call an Uber.” He reaches for the door handle and I reach over and pull his arm away from the door.

“Don’t be ridiculous. You owe him an explanation after everything he’s done for you.”

“I don’t owe anyone anything,” he says, rubbing both hands on his jeans as if to dry them off. Good, maybe if he’s nervous, his dad can actually get through to him.

He has the power to make his life what he wants it to be, just like everyone else. He just has to put in some effort. He needs to stop acting like a kid and take something seriously for once in his life.

Maybe I’ve got him all wrong.

But I don’t think I do. He needs to grow up and be accountable for his actions and how they hurt others - namely, his father.

“Look, I know you see him with rose-colored glasses, but he’s not your friend. He’s not anyone’s friend.” Clifton glances at me, his green eyes filled with an emotion I can’t place as we pull into the firm’s parking garage. I park the car and kill the engine before turning to face him once more.

“I know he’s not my friend. He’s my boss.” I lift a shoulder as Clifton’s dark, slashing eyebrows creep up his forehead. “And when he’s upset, my life is harder. When he’s happy, everything is smoother. So you directly affect my work life. Do better.”

With those words spit like poison, I open the door and stand up, making my way to the elevator without looking back.