Ruthless In A Suit (Book Three)

by Ivy Carter

  “Hey, what do you guys think of using my place for offices,” I say.

  “The Back Bay house? For real?” Logan raises an eyebrow.

  “Yeah. I mean, I can do some retrofitting to turn the top two floors into an apartment for me, and we can use the bottom two for the firm. It won’t take much construction,” I say, and though I don’t add it, it will give me a lot of joy to use my father’s inheritance to start up a new firm. A firm whose mission is to support the people, not corporate titans. He’d hate it.

  I love it.

  I dive into the beef stew, the first meal I’ve actually enjoyed since my father died. It feels like the first meal I’ve eaten in weeks. And the energy that fills me, whether it be from the food or the plans for a new future, makes me practically skip out of the apartment when we’re done.

  “We’ll talk more tomorrow,” I say, hugging Logan with a firm pat on the pack, then giving Julia a kiss on the cheek.

  “You’re a good guy, Levi,” Julia says, pulling me in for a hug. “She’ll see it. I don’t know when, but I know she will.”

  I pull away and try not to show the pain in my eyes, but I’m sure Julia can spot it a mile away. “We’ll see,” I say.

  Walking out of the apartment, I pass the local dog park. Beneath a blue pop-up canopy just outside the gate is a card table and several pens. An animal rescue group is busking for cash.

  “We’re taking donations to help stray animals,” a heavy-set woman in jeans and a zip-hoodie calls. She shakes a gallon jug with a hole cut out of the top, which is about half-full of coins. The money makes a satisfyingly substantial rattle. “Do you have any change to spare?”

  I pause, then cross towards her. Normally I’d hustle by, maybe dropping in a few coins if I had them in my pocket. It’s not as if I’m not charitable, I just rarely have the time for such things. I’m always rushing to the office or a meeting. I can never afford a moment to spare. But now?

  “Do you take checks?” I ask.

  She blinks at me, clearly surprised by my response. “Yes sir,” she says, finally pulling herself together. “You can make them out to the Boston Area Animal Rescue Fund.”

  I pull my checkbook out of my leather work bag and quickly scrawl in an amount, signing it with a flourish. I tear it from the pad and pass it to her.

  She smiles and thanks me before looking at the amount, but when her eyes land on it, they grow wide as dinner plates.

  “Are you sure about this?” she says, breathless. Then her eyes narrow. “Is this for real?”

  “Yes ma’am,” I say. “I’ve recently come into some money, and I’d like to see it do some good in the world. So please, use this money to help the animals.”

  And then I hear a little bark, followed by a growl. Sitting next to her, ears up and at attention, is a yellow lab. He’s trying his hardest to appear vicious, but the thumping tail on the ground gives him away.

  “Forgive Oliver,” she says, waving at him to hush the growl. “That’s just how he talks.”

  I don’t know what makes me do it, but I drop down to my knee and offer my hand. The pup, maybe a year old and still a little spindly-legged from puppyhood, sniffs at it. After a pause, he leans forward gives my entire hand an enormous lick before leaping into my arms and smothering my cheeks.

  “He likes you,” the woman observes.

  His entire body becomes one giant tail wag as he wiggles in my lap, despite being about two times too big to be a lap dog.

  “He’s cute, no doubt about it,” I say, as he looks up at me with his giant brown eyes.

  “He’s up for adoption,” she says. “He was found wandering around Southie as a puppy. Never claimed, so we took him in, got him fixed, and have been fostering him for the last six months. I honestly can’t believe no one’s adopted him. He’s a dream dog. Do you run?”

  “Yeah,” I say, finally figuring out that if I wrap Oliver in a bear hug, it both immobilizes him and soothes him. He eventually rests his head on my shoulder and sighs.

  “He’s a great running buddy,” she says, her smile growing pointed. She nods at him, now nearly drifting off in my lap. “I think he’s picked his person.”

  “I’m taking Oliver for walk,” I say to Logan, who’s on the phone. He just nods at me before returning to his conversation with someone at the city clerk’s office, trying to wrangle over some court papers that were supposed to have been filed on behalf of a client by his previous council.

  “Yes, Mr. Diaz, if you could just send over the documentation you provided to that other lawyer – if you could call him that – then we’ll get started on your case.” He hangs up and runs his hands through his hair in frustration. “Every time I get one of these, where the ‘immigration lawyer’ sets them up on a payment plan and then does nothing, I just want to punch the wall.”

  “How about you put that energy into the work instead of damaging the property,” I say. I take Oliver’s leather leash from the hook on the wall, and he comes skidding up next to me, his tail wagging. “I’ll be back in a few.”

  It’s been four months since that fateful lunch with Logan and Julia. Four months since I adopted Oliver and we agreed to start the firm.

  We completed the construction on the Back Bay mansion in just a few weeks. Now the stairs leading to the third floor ended in an apartment door, with the bottom two floors now offices, a file room, and a conference room.

  We’ve taken on several clients, mostly local or state-wide nonprofits, along with a slew of smaller cases. I’ve been working insane hours, which is okay, because a) I literally live at the office and b) I have nothing else to do other than take my daily runs and walks with Oliver.

  The distraction of the work suits me just fine.

  I sold all the properties save for this one, and took the profits – along with the rest of the inheritance – and put it into a trust to support the new firm.

  I also cashed out my stocks in Maxon law and used the profits to create a scholarship for underrepresented students to attend law school. I’d left myself only enough to live off of, which isn’t much relative to what I had in the past.

  For the first time in my life I have nothing and want for nothing – except for her.

  I’d hoped that perhaps, after a little while, the pain of losing Cadence would dissipate. That I wouldn’t be reminded of her almost hourly.

  Wouldn’t constantly find myself remembering when she was still in my life. When I had everything.

  But time has not healed all wounds.

  I’m still constantly reminded of what a fucking asshole I’ve been, and how it was one hundred percent my fault that she left and never wanted to see or hear from me again.

  At my side, Oliver lets out a little yelp, and I know he won’t wait much longer before he starts tugging at the leash.

  “Take that beast out, would ya?” Julia says, dropping down to ruffle his ears and let him plant a million kisses on her cheek.

  “Yeah, yeah, we’re going,” I reply. I give the leash a little tug. “C’mon, buddy.”

  The October evening is cool, but not yet cold.

  The sidewalks are covered in orange and yellow and red leaves, and pumpkins have begun appearing on stoops around the neighborhood. Halloween will be here before we know it, and then it’s on to the downward slide into the holidays.

  Something about ordering pizza and watching movies on the couch with Oliver while everyone else celebrates with their loved ones feels like an appropriate way to spend the holidays this year.

  Oliver and I set off down Commonwealth Avenue, headed for Boston Common. I’ve got him trained well enough that I can let him off-leash to chase squirrels if there aren’t any police officers around.

  As we get to the gates of the Public Garden, he realizes our destination and begins to practically prance down the path, his front paws high-stepping, his tail wagging. And despite myself, I smile at his display of exuberance and joy.

  We’re just passing the swan boat
pond when I see her.

  She’s sitting on one of the benches, shaded by a tree with blazing red leaves. She’s wearing a gray pea coat, her blond wavy hair cascading around her shoulders from beneath a red wooly hat. She has a book open on her lap. Her cheeks are rosy from the cool breeze, and she looks just as lovely as I remember her.

  My body floods with warmth at the sight of her, then immediately goes cold. Because I know that she absolutely does not want to see me.

  She’s made that clear.

  But I also want to see her, and so I pause in the path, knowing I have a few moments to imprint this memory before I have to start walking in the other direction. And as I watch her read in the autumn afternoon, pretty as one of her paintings, I curse myself for the millionth time for hurting her.

  It’s the first time I’ve seen her since I walked out of the house to go to the hospital after my father’s death, and the sight of her takes my breath away.

  And that’s when, in his excitement over our destination, Oliver suddenly pulls free from the leash and takes off.

  “Oliver! No!” I shout as he bounds down the path.

  At the sound of my voice – or maybe not my voice, but a voice – she looks up from her book. My attention darts from her to my dog, who I’m worried is going to run straight through the Garden and into the traffic whizzing down Charles Street.

  But her attention on me must distract him, or maybe it’s just my shouting, because he slows, and then begins to veer straight for her.

  “Oliver!” I shout again, but it’s too late. He attempts to skid to a stop in front of her, but the wet leaves send him sliding right into her knees. At the last second he leaps up, his front paws landing firmly on her lap (and her book).

  “Oh!” she cries, and quickly grabs Oliver by the collar. She turns to me, a triumphant smile on her face. “Got him!”

  The sight of that smile tears my heart in two. It was only hanging on by a thread anyway, but now it’s officially ripped in half.

  I move towards her, trying, yet again, not to show the pain I’m feeling inside. “Thanks for catching my escaped convict. I need to get him back to the big house, pronto.” I bend down and pick up Oliver’s leash, winding it around the palm of my hand and gripping it tightly so he can’t escape again. He looks up at me, his paws still resting comfortably in Cadence’s lap, grinning up at me with his tongue lolling.

  When I look up at her again, her smile has waned a little, and she’s shifting uncomfortably on the bench, as if the reality of this moment is just hitting her. I give the leash a tug and pull Oliver out of her lap. “Excuse Oliver’s manners. He’s a bit of a social butterfly.”

  “It’s ok.” She gives Oliver a good double scratch behind his ears, seeming to focus all her attention on him so she won’t have to actually pay any attention to me. “You got a dog?”

  “Yeah. A few months ago,” I say, purposefully vague so she doesn’t make the connection between her leaving and Oliver coming into my life. Lord knows Julia harangued me for it from here to Providence and back again. You can’t just replace someone with an animal, Levi. Dogs are a lot of work. They’re not therapy. It’s like adopting a child. You don’t do it on a whim or in a fit of depression. And on and on and on. And she wasn’t wrong, but four months in and Oliver is basically the only thing that’s gotten me out of the bed in the morning.

  That and the new firm.

  I’d say he was more than therapy. He’s become a true friend.

  “I’m surprised you have time for a dog, what with your schedule,” she says, and I’m reminded that she knows my schedule all too well, as she was, for a moment, my assistant on top of everything else.

  “Well, things are a little different these days,” I reply with a shrug. I’m careful not to say too much, in case she’s looking for a quick exit from this conversation. I don’t want to burden her, force her when she wants out.

  “Oh?”

  I pause, wondering if she’s just being polite. “It’s a bit of a long story,” I say finally.

  And then, to my complete and utter shock, she scoots over on the bench, patting the empty spot next to her. “Why don’t you take a seat and tell me about it?”

  CADENCE

  This is not how I expected this moment to go.

  I’ve fantasized about running into Levi a million times over. In most of the fantasies, I dressed him down so thoroughly that he was barely the shell of a man when I was done. Sometimes I broke down crying, which still (at least in my fantasies) broke him. More than once I imagined balling up my fists and clocking him in that gorgeous face of his.

  I certainly never imagined his dog – his dog! – leaping into my lap, and then me inviting him to sit down and catch up. And yet from the moment I first see him, racing after the galumphing yellow lab who’s racing towards me, all thoughts of malice disappear from my mind.

  Levi’s wearing a pair of relaxed khaki pants, a navy sweater, a pair of brown leather hiking boots, and a black coat that hangs open. I can see the way his clothes still hug his body, particularly around his chest and broad shoulders.

  I notice that his hair has grown a little longer and is a little less tamed, the curls falling over his forehead with more ease. I can see the shadow of stubble across his still razor-sharp jaw.

  He looks just as I remembered, and yet somehow even better and more relaxed. I can tell right away that there’s something different about him, and not just that he’s gotten himself a dog.

  I try and rekindle some of my past anger, some of my burning fury that’s kept me away from him for so long. Because looking at him now, I can already feel myself going to putty.

  Don’t fall for it.

  Just because you miss him more than someone dying of thirst in the desert misses water—just because seeing him again is like breathing again after a lifetime of holding your breath--don’t allow yourself to have hope.

  Levi will take that hope and use it against you. He’ll never change. He will only hurt you again.

  But I can’t help it.

  I’m just not that strong, and the way he looks at me, the kindness in his eyes—it feels too good and too real to walk away so quickly.

  Instead, I ask him to sit with me, and tell me this long story of his life over these last few months. He blinks at me for a moment, then quickly drops down next to me.

  It takes only a moment for Oliver to realize that their walk is on hold, and he curls up at our feet instead.

  Meanwhile, I sit in stunned silence listening to Levi tell me about leaving Maxon Law and starting a new firm with Logan and Julia. He tells me about his pro bono work, and how he’s really enjoying taking it to crooked landlords and bosses trying to fleece their undocumented employees.

  He has that same flash in his eyes from his days of high-powered corporate takeovers, the same fierceness, only now there’s more humanity in his voice as he speaks.

  He tells me about locating the new office in his old house, and how he divided the property to accommodate the firm, leaving him with the upstairs rooms as an apartment.

  Levi Maxon, living in an apartment?

  As I watch him, his arm slung casually over the back of the bench, talking about taking immigration cases, I can’t help but feel like he truly is a changed man.

  My heart surges. If only this was the man I’d met in the very beginning.

  Why couldn’t we have started like this? Two people meeting in a park.

  Why did it have to start in such an ugly way between us?

  “And so yeah, I’m still basically working insane hours, but when you literally live at the office, it doesn’t seem so bad,” he says, coming to the end of his tale. He reaches down and gives Oliver a pat on the head, sending the dog’s tail thumping on the pavement in delight. “And I’ve got this guy to keep me company when I’m working late, so that helps.”

  I realize that he’s done and that it’s my turn to speak a beat too late.

  I fear I’ve made it awkwa
rd, or maybe shown my hand. Because over the last few minutes I’ve felt it all creeping back in. I want to keep those feelings at bay – I’ve done such a good job shoving them down and hiding them from view.

  But this is all too much.

  He’s just as I remembered, and yet better. He’s done all that I would have asked him to do, but without me doing the asking. And it’s clear that it wasn’t because of me.

  Because as we sit there in that moment of silence, I feel him start to get uncomfortable, too. He’s getting nervous, awkward, a strange look for Levi Maxon to be wearing. He clearly didn’t expect to ever see me again.

  Little did he know that for the last month that I’ve been temping at a publishing house on Boylston, I’ve been taking my lunches out here in the Public Garden, enjoying the last bit of outdoor time I can before winter descends for a dark, cold four months.

  And I’d be lying if I didn’t wonder if I was lunching right in his path, if there was a possibility I might see him. Sure, I had a book in my lap, but I almost never got through more than a page or two, my eyes always scanning the passing crowds, looking for him.

  And now here he is, sitting next to me, looking as devastatingly handsome as I remember.

  “That sounds amazing, Levi,” I say, finally, when neither of us can take the silence any longer. “You seem happy.”

  He shrugs, and his jaw muscle twitches. “I’m okay.”

  I sigh, knowing I’ve hit on the thing we’re not supposed to be talking about. And now I don’t know what to say. Have I ruined it? Is this where we part, exchanging pleasantries about keeping in touch but both knowing this will be the last time, because it’s all too painful? Have we come to the end?

  “Well, you seem good, Levi,” I muster, my throat dry. I will myself not to allow the tears to fall down my cheeks. Please don’t cry. Not now.

  At least wait a few minutes until he’s gone, I tell myself.