Corrupting Cinderella (31 page)

“Yeah. You told me about the war with your rival and cutting ties with me. I get that part. I didn’t realize you were responsible for tanking the deal, though. I didn’t realize the whole damn situation was a set up. I still doubt myself all the time because of that. Shit.” She focuses her eyes on me, and they’re so full of pain I caused, I can’t stand it.

“Hope. I asked him to help. Originally, I’d asked him to dismiss the whole thing so it would look good for you and give your practice a little boost.”

That was perhaps the very worst thing I could have said, because she goes nuclear. “Do you think my career is some sort of fucking game? Who the fuck do you think you are?”

I thought I’d seen every side of Hope by now. I thought I’d seen her angry before. I was dead wrong.

“My God, all this time, I thought I did something wrong. Missed something big. On top of that, I had all that fucking guilt and shame because of my feelings for you. But it was nothing more than some elaborate game of chess for you and Tony. Holy shit, am I stupid. Did you guys have a good laugh when you were done?”

“Hope, it wasn’t like that at all. I hated doing that to you. I—”

“Get out.”

“Hope—”

“Get. The. Fuck. Out. I can’t even look at you, let alone listen to any more of the bullshit that comes out of your mouth, Rock. Get out.”

I hold my hands up in surrender. The last thing I want to do is leave, but she’s only getting more enraged and not willing to listen to reason.

“Okay, we’ll talk later.”

“No. We won’t.”

She slams the door behind me hard enough to rattle the glass.

Fuck.

I’m shaking so hard after I finally get Rock to leave that I stumble. Kicking off my heels and hurling them down the hallway doesn’t make me feel any better. I manage to stagger into my office before I dissolve into a puddle of tears. Deep, ragged sobs tear out of my chest. I’m so damn hurt and confused. I sink onto the floor and replay that day in my head. The bits I haven’t blocked out. Rock giving me shit the day before about the one year of probation. Tony giving me that long lecture about Rock’s motorcycle gang.

All of it gimmicks and lies.

I snort at the irony of Tony Cain being just as much of a crook as Rock. I gotta admit, my faith in the criminal justice system and my entire profession has taken a huge hit today.

Give my practice a boost.
More like some scheme to get in my pants. Damn, I’m an idiot.

Christ, were those charges even real to begin with? Or was it more manipulation to “help” my career? I remember the day outside of family court when Winter’s ex assaulted me. One of the cops knew Rock pretty damn well.

Rock has friends everywhere.

After the tears stop, I realize what’s driving my anger is how humiliated and stupid I feel.

That’s going to take some time to get over.

It seems like forever before I finally pick myself up off the floor. A quick step in the hallway and I retrieve my shoes. I sit behind my desk and enter in my CLE credits so I don’t forget about them when the time comes to renew my license. The sound of the front door opening startles me.

I swear to God if it’s fucking Rock, I’m going to choke him out.

Why didn’t I remember to lock the damn door?

I was too busy having my pride stomped on by a pair of size thirteen steel-toed boots, that’s why.

Since I’m ninety-nine percent sure it’s Rock, I don’t bother slipping my shoes back on. Instead, I tear ass into the hallway.

“Rock, I can’t deal with this now. You need—”

It’s Mr. Greybell.

“Oh my gosh! I’m so sorry, Mr. Greybell. I thought you were someone else.”

He cocks his head, and his eyes roam over me in a distinctly creepy manner I don’t care for. He stops at my bare feet. The intensity of his gaze makes me wiggle my toes into the flat, industrial carpet.

“Uh, Adam isn’t here right now.”

His eyes finally leave my feet, but travel back up my legs before answering.

“That’s okay. I came to see you.”

“Me?”

“I wanted to ask you to have dinner with me.”

I bite down on the tip of my tongue to stop the “hell fucking no” from escaping. The guy creeps me out something fierce, but I don’t want to be rude. “Oh, Mr. Greybell, that’s very nice of you to ask, but I think I mentioned I have a boyfriend.”

A boyfriend I am dearly wishing I hadn’t chased away at the moment. Where is his overbearing, caveman ass when I need it?

Hope’s screams of “get the fuck out” keep echoing in my head, yet here I am, still sitting out in the parking lot. Waiting for her. I tell myself it’s only to make sure she gets home okay since she’s so upset. Hell, maybe that’s even the reason. Who knows?

I
do
know that the flimsy building did a lousy job of concealing the sounds of her crying after I left. Her gut-wrenching sobs nearly tore me apart as I stood with my back against the wall of the building and listened. Everything in me said to go comfort her, but the small part of my brain that actually functions knew it was a bad idea.

So, I wait. She quieted down after a while, and I went and sat on my bike next to her car. The spot gives me a prime view of the back entrance to the building, so I can spot her as soon as she comes out. Maybe we’ll talk when she leaves. Maybe she’ll yell at me some more. Maybe I’ll just end up following her home to make sure she gets there okay. I don’t know.

I should have seen this coming. She’s told me plainly that she wants to hear the truth from me. Many times. There’s a lot of fucking truths I
can’t
give her. I could have given her this one.

Honestly, it never occurred to me.

Tony and I grew up together, sure. We keep in touch. We have a precise sort of give-and-take relationship. Sometimes we reminisce about the old days. Although we’ve got history, we’re polite, distant friends. He’s not someone I’d ever call “brother.” That title is reserved for my fellow Kings. When I need to call in a favor with Tony, it definitely costs me.

I don’t trust him with my life.

The fact that Hope still wrestles with that day burns me. I had no damn clue. That she’s still suffering some guilt and grief about our relationship and her husband’s death doesn’t surprise me. That she connects all of it together does.

My explanations for my behavior apparently only went so far. I’m really not sure how to fix this.

A short, sharp scream interrupts my thoughts, and my head snaps up. My eyes focus on the building, as if that’s going to help me hear what’s going on inside any better. A crash and another short scream. Definitely Hope.

The fuck?

I tear ass to the front of the building, where there’s a sedan parked right in front, blocking the entire driveway. No fucking way for me to see it from where I’d been waiting. Rushing down the stairs, I muscle through the door, then pause.

“Mr. Greybell? Did you hear me? I appreciate your invitation, but I have a boyfriend. I actually need to meet him in a few minutes.” Somehow my fear makes that lie come out very smooth.

Greybell is freaking me out with his blank stare and stiff posture. He seems to be contemplating something. I’m not sure what. Most likely I’d rather not know. Without tipping him off, I glance at my desk, trying to spot my cell phone. Not there. Did I leave it in my briefcase? I don’t have a phone at my desk, and I can’t easily make it into Adam’s office.

After staring at me for much too long, he slips his hand in his pocket, withdrawing a folded up piece of paper.

“I wanted to give you this,” he says with a slightly unhinged laugh.

“What is it?”

He holds it out to me, but I don’t really want to get any closer to him. Instead, I edge back into my office. My briefcase is on the floor, propped up against the side of my desk. I’m almost positive that’s where my phone is.

Holding up one finger, I say, “Give me one second, David.”

I dash into my office, plunging my hand into the outside pocket of my briefcase. Just as my fingers curl around my phone, David wraps his hand around my arm, yanking me to my feet.

“Ow! Get off me!” I screech at the top of my lungs. For once, I’m grateful for the shitty soundproofing in this old building. Someone upstairs should be able to hear me screaming.

“Shh. Shh. I just want to talk to you. I wrote this for you.”

Why did I have to be so damn nice to this asshole? I should have thrown him out.

For a slender guy, he’s got an iron grip on my arm. He yanks me and then slams me into my desk. The front of my thighs dig painfully into the lip of my desk. My breasts and face are mashed into the hard wooden surface. I wish I kept my desk neater. There is definitely a ballpoint pen poking into my boob. I just know it’s going to leave a mark, ruining my shirt.

What the hell is wrong with me?

Greybell slides a piece of paper next to my face. My cheek is pressed so tight against the desk it’s hard to form words.

“It’s kind of hard to read from this position, Mr. Greybell.”

He doesn’t seem bothered by my sarcasm.

“It’s a poem I wrote for you.”

Oh geezus.

I’m not sure what he plans to do with me. I’m not even sure if he
has
a plan. Despite the obscene position he’s forced me into, he hasn’t touched me inappropriately.

Who am I kidding? Appropriate left the building a couple minutes ago.

This guy needs psychiatric help. Like, locked up away from society kind of help. Locked up far away from
me
type of help.

Harmless my ass. I’m going to kill Adam when I see him.

I realize I’m making a whining noise. “Please stop, you’re hurting me.” The begging quality to my voice really ticks me off.

He bends over me, pressing me even more painfully into the desk. I don’t even want to contemplate what is prodding my ass. If I ignore it, maybe it will go away.

God dammit. Haven’t I been bitching to Rock repeatedly that I can take care of myself? Why am I letting this skinny little wacko do this to me? He doesn’t seem to have a weapon. Didn’t I take a self defense class once upon a time? The memory of which body parts to hit is fuzzy. Maybe that’s lack of oxygen.