After she closed the door behind her, I turned to look at my father again. “You were saying?”
Conrad rubbed his cheek, making a show of heaving a sigh. “Look, what was I supposed to do? You are my precious baby. No one wants to get caught with their pants down in front of their loved ones.”
“So you lied,” I said flatly.
“Yes and no. I’ve had affairs. Many affairs. I’m not proud of my infidelity. But I didn’t harass anyone.”
“Your dick pic tells a different story.” Even if in not so many words.
He shifted uncomfortably. “This was reciprocated, and a dark time in my life. I’m not a monster.”
“This is for the court to determine, not me.” I crossed one leg over the other, cupping my knee with my hands. “And until I know the answer to that, I cannot, in good conscience, link my company to your name. Especially as you dropped us without even giving me the heads-up shortly before the trial started.”
“I did it to protect you!” Conrad slammed his palm against the desk between us, making the whole thing rattle.
I shook my head. “You did it because you wanted to hire someone bigger, with more street cred. But no one would take you on, right? No one wanted to get their hands dirty.”
He leaned over the desk between us, inching closer to me, a vein throbbing in his temple. “You think this is a game? I could lose every penny I have, Arya, robbing you of your inheritance. You could be poor.”
The last word was uttered with complete disdain.
“I’ll never be poor, because I provide for myself. But if I lose my inheritance—whose fault would that be?”
“Theirs!” My father jumped up from his seat, tossing his arms in the air in frustration. “Of course it’s their fault. Why do you think it took them so long to come forward? They piggybacked on Amanda Gispen’s complaint!”
“They were scared you were going to ruin their lives.” I rose from my chair, too, baring my teeth. “Like you did to Ruslana and Nicky. What happened to them? Tell me.”
My father stared at me with contempt. I’d never thought I’d see that look on his face. Of sheer hatred. I wondered where the man who’d kissed my boo-boos and read me good-night stories had gone. How I could bring him back. And most importantly—if he’d ever really existed.
“Do you think a settlement is still on the table?” He changed the topic.
“How should I know?”
“This Christian guy seems to be taken with you.”
“He does?” I asked, buying time. My heart jackrabbited in my chest at the mention of his name.
“I see the way he chases after you like a puppy. He’s doing a bad job at hiding it. Dig around for me.”
It took everything in me not to hurl something against the wall. “He is not going to be swayed. He wants your ass on a silver platter.”
“He wants in your bed more.”
He looked at me then, his eyes asking something his mouth didn’t dare utter aloud. Internally, I keeled over and threw up. All the love I had left for him. The good memories, and the bad ones too. And the sliver of loyalty running between us. Because a man who could ask something like that of his daughter was capable of doing much worse. He’d just given himself away.
“Wow. Okay. This is my cue to leave.”
“If you don’t help me,” he hissed, shooting out a hand to stop me but pulling it back before I could smack it away, “you are dead to me, Arya. This is your chance—your only chance—to pay me back for giving a damn when your mother didn’t. I need to know, are you in or are you out?”
We were both standing now. I didn’t know when that had happened. I closed my eyes. Took a deep breath. Opened my mouth.
“Be honest with me first. Did you hurt them?” I asked. He knew what I meant. “Did you?”
There was a pause. The truth was hanging in the air between us, dangling over our heads. It had a taste and a smell and a pulse. I knew it before I heard it. Which was why he knew lying would be pointless.
“Yes.”
The word rang in my ears. I opened my mouth, refusing to let the tears fall. I turned around and fled. Rushed out of the penthouse. My mother followed me. She’d been waiting outside, in the hallway, eavesdropping, I suspected.
“Arya! Arya, wait!”
But I didn’t. I took two flights of stairs down before punching the elevator’s button, just to make sure they weren’t following me. In the elevator, I realized I’d stopped referring to him as Dad, even in my head. He was Conrad Roth now, the man who’d fallen from grace, dragging his family down with him.
When the elevator opened, my instinct was to cross the street and go to the cemetery. To visit Aaron. I needed to talk to someone. To unload.
But I didn’t want to talk to Aaron.
For the first time in a long time, I wanted to talk to someone who could answer back.
“Sorry, buddy.” I ran past the cemetery, then caught a yellow cab.
I checked my watch.
Maybe I could make it after all.
I spotted Christian through the restaurant’s window, sitting in one of the upholstered red booths. An entire meal sat in front of him, untouched. He was working on his laptop. He sat up straight, his face stoic, ignoring the curious glances of people around him. My heart beat a little faster. I wiped the tears I’d shed on my way here from my face and handed the driver my credit card.
“How do I look?” I asked the middle-aged woman behind the wheel.
She peered at me through the rearview mirror. “You want honesty?”
Generally yes, although now I’m not so sure.
“You look like a wreck. No offense.”
“None taken.”
“But you got good bones and a nice rack, so go knock him dead, sweetheart.”
With those powerful words of encouragement, I shot out the back door of the cab.