Press. That was the one thing Arya and I had agreed not to involve. We didn’t want to be seen or caught.
My eyes glided up from my phone. I could feel my gaze turning hard, callous, as I watched Claire’s face. “What have you done?”
“I . . . I . . .” She tried to take a step back, but she was pressed against the wall, with nowhere to go. I’d never thought of myself as someone who could hurt a woman, but in that moment, I knew I could hurt Claire. Not physically, no. But I could fire her. Banish her. Make her a persona non grata in Manhattan’s legal circle.
“Speak.”
Claire dropped her head, shaking it as she covered her face with her hands. “I’m sorry. I just told a friend of mine who works at the Manhattan Times. That’s it. It slipped.” She cringed. But she wasn’t fooling anyone, and she knew it. I took a step back, knowing full well I wasn’t in control of myself. Arya must be thinking the worst of me right now.
“Leave.” I breathed through my nose, digging my thumb and index finger into my eye sockets.
“To . . . my office?”
“To . . . the fucking hellhole where you came from.” I mimicked her tone derisively, opening my eyes again. “And don’t come back. Ever.”
“We just won a case.”
“You lost all credibility with me the minute you leaked a story about me to a journalist.”
“You can’t do that!” Claire flung her arms in the air. “You can’t make a decision like that without consulting Traurig and Cromwell. You’ve been a partner for all of five minutes.”
“All right.” I smiled cordially. “Let’s go to Cromwell’s office right now and tell him what you did. See how it’s going to fare for you.”
Her face whitened. What the hell had she thought? That I wasn’t going to find out? Claire hugged her arms, looking down at the floor.
“What did you think?” I spit out, curious about the rationale behind this atrocity.
“I thought after the trial was over you were going to dump her. But I wasn’t sure and didn’t want to take any chances. And I certainly didn’t think you’d care all that much. Not to mention . . .” She blew out air, her eyes glittering with unshed tears. “I simply didn’t think. That’s the thing. That’s what happens when you’re in love. Have you ever been in love, Christian?”
I was about to say no, I hadn’t, and that fact had nothing to do with anything, when I realized . . . I couldn’t say that for sure.
“Good luck seeing yourself out, Miss Lesavoy.”
I brushed past Claire’s shoulder, heading out of the office. I didn’t tell a soul. My PA jumped up, asking where I was heading. She was met with no reply. My first stop was Arya’s office. I buzzed the building’s intercom, getting through to Whitney or Whitley or whatever her name was. The receptionist didn’t answer me verbally. She did push her upper body through the window of her office and pour her lukewarm coffee atop my head before finishing the gesture by slamming her glass window shut.
Though aware that I had become public enemy number one in Arya’s camp, I still thought I could salvage it. If she gave me the time to explain and I told her all about Claire, she’d understand. Arya was a highly pragmatic person with a terrific bullshit meter. She’d know I was telling the truth.
My next stop was her apartment. This time, I got a little farther than the buzzer. All the way to her apartment’s door, in fact. I knocked frantically. Jillian threw the door open, leaning a hip against the frame, her face slathered in a green mask of some sort. “Yes?”
“I’m here to see Arya.”
“Ambitious.” She made a show of checking out her fingernails. “You know, considering the circumstances.”
“Is she not here?” I narrowed my eyes. I couldn’t imagine her anywhere but home on a day like this. Maybe her mother’s apartment. But unlikely.
“Oh, she is here. But she can’t see you.”
“Why?”
“Because you’re dead to her.”
My teeth ground together. “I can explain.”
“I’m sure you can, Nicholai. Feel free to do it to the door while I call the police. Which is exactly what I’m about to do if you don’t evacuate the premises in the next three seconds.”
With that, she slammed the door in my face.
Nicholai.
Nicholai.
Nicholai.
Jillian had called me Nicholai. As I made my way home in a taxi, I tried to gauge what, exactly, I was facing. It seemed like whatever Arya knew was a lot worse than the fact that a few of our sloppy kisses had been plastered on some news websites.
It seemed like she knew the truth.
And the truth was unbearable, to both of us.
When I got to my apartment, there was no room for doubt. Arya had raided the place while I was gone, most likely sometime after I hadn’t taken her calls and she’d realized we’d been outed by the media. The place was a dumpster fire, sans the pretty flame. The tragic part was I knew she hadn’t looked for the truth. She’d looked for her book. Searched for it everywhere. The garbage can included. Or maybe her flipping it over had just been the final, screw-you touch. Like an exotic flower on a pretty dessert at a restaurant.
Either way, what she’d wanted was clear—to take away the piece of her that had temporarily belonged to me and make sure that I’d never have access to it again.
I headed toward my bedroom, my soul in my throat. Even before I walked in, I knew what I was going to find. The manila envelope I’d kept a secret for all those years was open, the documents scattered everywhere. I didn’t have to crouch down and look for the book to know that it was gone. Atonement was no longer mine.
I’m sure you can, Nicholai.
Arya knew.
She’d told Jillian.
There was no reason to think Arya hadn’t told her parents too. Her father’s lawyers. But somehow, I couldn’t bring myself to give much of a damn about that part. My ungraceful second fall.
All I cared about was that she’d found out and not in the way I had wanted her to.
There was no point calling her. She wasn’t going to pick up. Whatever I could salvage of our relationship—of my life—had to wait until tomorrow.