揘o,?he says heavily, and for a moment he looks his age. I can see who he抣l become over the next decade or two and it almost makes me sad for him. Except my mother will age, too, and she won抰 get to do it here, with a full set of plates, an extra cabinet of glasses, and the man who promised to cherish her for as long as they both lived. 揑抦 asking what it will take to make you forgive me. If you don抰 want to join my firm, fine, though God knows why you抮e so hell bent on remaining in LA. Tell me what it will take for me to ask you a simple question without you jumping down my throat.?
Time travel. Go back in time and don抰 screw my mother over.
It抯 the petty answer of an angry teenage girl, though, and pragmatism wins out: if he抯 willing to strike a bargain, there抯 definitely something I want.
揋ive Mom the money you should have given her in the first place.?
揟he court棓
揂re you seriously going to try to convince me that it was a completely impartial decision??I explode. 揟hat she had a chance against the fleet of sharks you hired to crush her? I do this for a fucking living. It抯 insulting you抎 even try to pretend otherwise with me.?
He抯 completely unperturbed by my outburst. As an attorney, I admire it. As his offspring, it makes me want to kick him in the face.
揟hen tell me, Gemma,?he says, leaning back in his chair, 搘hat you think she was owed.?
揊ive million.?His mouth opens to object and I keep going. 揝he抎 have walked away with more if she抎 had your team in place, and that money would have doubled by now. More than doubled, and I抦 sure it has, only it抯 done so in your accounts.?
揟hat抯 ridiculous,?he begins.
I stand up. 揧ou asked, I answered. Thanks for the drink.?
揧ou want your mother to get that money??he asks from behind me. 揅ome to my firm.?
I still. A part of me can抰 believe he抯 doing this. Can抰 believe he抯 asking me to give up everything I抳e built in LA before he抣l do what he should have done in the first place.
揗om would never accept that.?
He shrugs. 揝he抎 never have to know. I抣l tell her I realized I was wrong. You抣l forgive me and come to the firm. It makes absolute sense.?
My mother won抰 take a penny from me, but she抎 take that money. And he抯 right. She抎 never even have to know. All I抎 be giving up is nearly everything I care about. And God I hate him for asking it of me.
揧ou抮e doing it again,?I tell him, opening the door. 揧ou抮e incapable of giving without getting something in return.?
I walk out. But I抦 already wondering if not considering it makes me every bit as selfish as him.
35
I text Ben the minute I land. I抳e spent the past six hours thinking about what my father said and how that money would change my mother抯 life. I抳e never wanted to turn down an offer more, and I抦 not sure how I can, especially if I don抰 make partner.
Weirdly, it抯 the idea of leaving Ben that bothers me most.
He抯 waiting outside my apartment when I arrive, wearing jeans and deeply in need of a shave. And here I thought he couldn抰 get better looking.
I pull him inside the door. He grabs the suitcase I抳e forgotten in the hallway.
揑 get the feeling you missed me,?he says as I slide to my knees.
揧ou wish.?I slip the belt loose. His lids lower and he runs a hand through my hair.
He抯 hard as steel as I pull him free from his boxers, groaning when I take him in my mouth. 揧ou don抰 have to admit it,?he says. 揃ut I will. I missed you.?
I pretend I haven抰 heard him. One part of me wants him to stop talking and one part wants him to say it all again.
揊uck,?Ben groans. He arches against me, his fingers pressing to my hair, that subtle pressure begging for more. I don抰 give it to him. Instead, I savor him, like he抯 ice cream in a time of famine. Using my hands, my tongue, and the back of my throat on occasion, I don抰 stop until his inhales grow sharp, and come fast.
揧ou抮e killing me,?he rasps. He sinks to the floor and has me flat on my back in seconds. 揑 need to be inside you.?
I missed this, I think, as he pulls off my jeans. I suppose I sort of missed him too.
The days between Christmas and New Year抯 Eve are quiet. Most of the staff have taken the week off, and even Ben and I aren抰 working our normal hours. In the morning we take our time, sharing the paper and sipping our coffee, my feet entwined with his beneath the table. We leave work each night at a reasonable hour. The little Christmas tree is still flourishing, which is either a miracle or Ben抯 watering it.
We抮e in bed when he mentions New Year抯 Eve.
揥e should go away this weekend,?he says.
I roll toward him. Suggesting a weekend away seems like a big step for someone who won抰 even invite me to his house.