by T. K. Leigh
I clench my teeth, my jaw tensing. Yet I still smile. It’s my last line of defense to act as if I don’t care what my father thinks. That his statements have no effect on me.
“What can I say? I’ve never been one to stick to the rules.”
“Rules are there for a reason, which I’m sure you’re learning from Lincoln… Professor Moore here,” he corrects quickly.
I look at Lincoln, a hint of sympathy in his gaze as he witnesses this strange dynamic, observing the exact reason I begged him to keep our past a secret.
“He’s only thirty-five, yet he’s accomplished so much. Graduated at the top of his class at Tufts, then went onto Yale Law. Worked for an advocacy group in the city before I stole him away. He’s one of the top constitutional scholars in the country, a remarkable feat for someone so young. And you know why he’s already achieved everything he has?”
“Because he’s a white man?” I quip, partly joking, partly serious.
He rolls his eyes. It’s something my protest-happy, political strategist mother would say.
“Because he knows about dedication. About having a strong work ethic. About putting in the time and effort to achieve goals, even if the path might be hard.”
I inhale a deep breath through my nose, my lips pinching together as I do everything to maintain my composure and not completely lose it.
“Actually, Chloe is a wonderful student. The faculty speaks very highly of her, particularly her advisor, Lara Stone.”
I whip my eyes to Lincoln.
“Lara Stone isn’t exactly a pioneer of hard-hitting journalism,” my father scoffs. “But I suppose I can understand why she’d say that, considering she ended her career at a daytime talk show. That kind of thing is right up Chloe’s alley, not real journalism. Simply reporting on celebrity gossip. No wonder they get along so well.”
“We all have to start somewhere.” Lincoln’s tone is polite, despite my father’s clear displeasure over the idea of anyone standing up for me. “At least she’s working in the industry and learning how a magazine runs.”
He gives me a reassuring smile before looking back at my father. A part of me wants to stop this, to tell Lincoln I don’t need him to stand up for me. I stopped standing up for myself in this man’s presence ages ago. But that’s at odds with this small part that wants him to keep going. To hear the kindness and compassion in his tone.
“Not everyone is fortunate enough to land a desk at the Times right out of undergrad,” he continues, referring to my father’s dumb luck. “But Chloe’s been in my class for six weeks now. In those six weeks, she’s demonstrated an incredible understanding of the First Amendment that would rival that of any law student. In fact…” He glimpses at me. “She’d make one hell of a lawyer.”
My father peers at him with curiosity. Can he sense there’s a history between us? Don’t fathers have this kind of sixth sense about men who’ve been intimate with their daughters?
“Chloe in law school?” He bursts out laughing, the gritting sound making the hair on my nape stand on end. “That’s rich. It took her ten years to finish her bachelors. Could you imagine how long it would take her to graduate law school?” He wipes at his eyes. “Come on. Let’s get to work.”
Jovially slapping Lincoln on the back, he forces him away from me. He probably thinks the longer he stays in my presence, the greater the chance of my inferiority rubbing off on the man who’s obviously his star attorney. I remain frozen in place, summoning all my strength to pretend my father’s comments have no bearing on me.
As they’re about to disappear into my father’s office, Lincoln glances over his shoulder, his eyes locking with mine. Then he mouths, I’m sorry.
That could have so many meanings. Is he sorry for what my father said? For not standing up for me more? Or is he sorry for us?
Chapter Twenty-One
I make a beeline for Izzy, ignoring the curious eyes from the house vultures, and snatch the martini from her. Shakily raising it to my lips, I gulp down a large swallow, the liquor burning my throat.
“Come on.” She loops her arm through mine, pulling me out of the room. “Let’s see what kind of food’s left over. I saw a few of my mother’s famous tamales.” Her voice is bright, a stark contrast to the warring emotions filling me at not only seeing Lincoln unexpectedly but hearing him stand up for me.
Izzy doesn’t release her hold on me until we’re out of earshot and in the large eat-in kitchen. At least she didn’t lie about her mother’s tamales. As expected, they were barely touched, most likely because it’s “ethnic food”, as I’m sure Tiffany referred to it. At this point, Izzy’s mother probably sends it to piss her off, considering my father loves her tamales.
I grab a plate and pile on one pork and one chicken tamale, peeling back the corn husk before slicing into it. Once I’ve taken a bite, I look at Izzy, my muscles relaxing. We stare at each other for a few seconds before simultaneously breaking out in laughter at the ridiculousness of the situation.
“The only thing that would make this even more awkward is if Asher shows up.” I shove another heaping forkful of “ethnic food” into my mouth, moaning at how delicious it is.
“Considering I haven’t spoken to him since we left Vegas, there’s a greater chance of this house being struck by lightning.” She grabs a plate, assessing the options, settling on a few tamales, as well. “What are the chances Lincoln would be here?”
“He does work for my father. I guarantee Dad tried to go into the office today, but Tiffany undoubtedly threw a fit of epic proportion. So work coming to him was probably the compromise.”
“What did your father say?” She leans closer, her voice barely audible. “Did he pick up on anything?”
“No. As usual, our conversation revolved around the fact I’m a complete failure who doesn’t follow through on anything. All jokingly of course.”
She rolls her eyes. “God, I hate that. I don’t know why you put up with it. If it were anyone else, you’d give them a piece of your mind, then knee them in the junk to make them think twice about speaking that way to anyone else again.”
Shrugging dismissively, I glance at the refrigerator, the surface devoid of anything personal. No birth announcements. None of Midge’s artwork. Not even her latest spelling test because it wasn’t good enough, even though she’d received a high mark.
“I’ve learned to pick and choose my battles. It’s like he wants to piss me off. Wants me to lose my temper with him. Why give him the satisfaction? It’s best to suck it up for the ten minutes a year we actually do speak to each other, then go back to my normal life he no longer has any say over.”
It’s silent for a moment as she assesses my statement. “And what did Lincoln have to say?”
My cheeks warm as his deep voice complimenting me echoes in my mind. I smooth a strand of hair behind my ear. “He told my father I was one of the smartest students he’s ever had. That my understanding of the material would rival that of a law student. Of course, my father nearly dropped dead from a heart attack at the suggestion of me going to law school.”
“So Lincoln stood up for you.”
“I suppose,” I answer nonchalantly.
“That’s sweet.”
I shoot my eyes to hers. “What? No, it’s not. It’s demeaning and chauvinistic. I don’t need Lincoln to protect me from my asshole father. I’ve done just fine handling him for the past almost twenty-nine years of my life. And I’ll do just fine the next twenty-nine years.” I shove more tamale into my mouth, barely chewing before swallowing and inhaling deeply, using the food as a distraction from the conversation.
“He could have simply said you were doing well in class. He didn’t have to go the extra mile and say you’re exceptional, yet he did.” She narrows her eyes, pinching her lips together. “I think he’s struggling with this as much as you are.”
“What?” I practically choke on my food. “I’m not struggling with this.”
Izzy bursts ou
t laughing. “Nice try, Chloe. You wouldn’t be eating your emotions right now if you didn’t still have feelings for him.”
I pause with my mouth wide open, about to shovel in even more food. “I’m not eating my emotions.” I put down the fork, pushing the plate away. “I’m just hungry.”
“Whatever you say.”
“Like I said, we’ve agreed to pretend that Vegas never happened, or the few days that followed. It’s for the best.”
“Do you really believe that?”
“Of course I do!” I retort loudly before lowering my voice. “Even if I didn’t, it doesn’t matter,” I remind her.
“I get that. I just…” She trails off, blowing out a long breath.
“Do you remember what you said while we waited for our flight out of Vegas before it was canceled? When I told you about the man I kept running into whose name I didn’t even know?”
She subtly nods. “That maybe there was a reason you kept running into each other.”
“The same can be said here. Maybe this is the universe’s way of telling me it would have never worked out anyway. That we really are too different to be compatible. You should see the man’s apartment! There wasn’t a speck of dust anywhere. And his closet?”
Izzy smirks, crossing her arms in front of her chest, clearly amused. “Yes?”
“The clothes were actually hung up. On hangers.”
“What?” she shoots back in faux shock, bringing her hands to her cheeks. “You mean they weren’t thrown all over the bed and floor? This isn’t right. It must be some sort of witchcraft.”
“You know what I mean,” I whine.
Her joking expression lightens, and she looks upon me affectionately, placing a hand on my bicep. “I don’t know Lincoln all that well, but there’s something to be said about playing Never Have I Ever with complete strangers. You learn things. I don’t think you two are as opposite as you believe.”
Footsteps sound from the hallway, and I snap my head up, expecting Tiffany to come in and berate me for being antisocial by hiding away in the kitchen and stuffing my face with food.
Instead, Lincoln rounds the corner, coming to an abrupt stop when he sees Izzy and me. He hesitates, forehead wrinkling as he seems to weigh his options.
“Lincoln,” Izzy greets, breaking through the silence. “What a surprise to see you, and here, of all places.”
I pinch her side, an unspoken warning.
He pulls his lips between his teeth, and I sense him mulling over his words. Then he recovers his composure, posture straight, eyes distant.
“David said there’s coffee?”
Pushing away from the counter, she passes him a sly smile. “Chloe can show you while I use the little girl’s room.”
I dart my wide gaze toward her. But even with the death stare I give her, she doesn’t change course, floating out of the kitchen without a single look back as she sings, “Good to see you again, Lincoln.”
He remains silent, not acknowledging her. Once we’re alone, he brings his eyes back to mine. But I can’t bear to look into their depths, spinning from him, my purposeful strides taking me toward the coffee bar in the corner of the kitchen.
“I can do it.”
“It’s fine,” I practically bark out, grabbing a pod and placing it into the one-cup brewer. I groan, realizing someone turned it off so now it needs to warm up and heat the water, drawing out Lincoln’s presence even longer. I press the power button, staring at the machine as it hums to life.
“I’m sorry about what your father said before,” he offers after several moments of strained silence.
“Don’t.” I whirl around, my hardened stare cautioning.
“I just—” He steps toward me, but I hold up my hand, preventing him from coming any closer.
“I don’t need your help,” I seethe, my nostrils flaring. “I’ve been dealing with that man fine my entire life. Got it?”
He stares at me for several intense moments, then nods, his shoulders falling. “Got it.”
“Good.” I spin around, staring at the screen on the brewer, willing it to stop preheating.
“Has he always been that way?” he asks after a pregnant pause.
I shrug.
“You mentioned he’s why you didn’t want…” He trails off. “I guess a part of me thought you were over-exaggerating. I didn’t realize how…”
“What?” I face him once more. “How much of an asshole your boss is?”
He shoves his hands into his pockets. “I knew he was a hard-ass. He has a reputation for being one, but that’s what makes him a great lawyer. He doesn’t stop pushing, even when facing adversity. But…”
“You assumed he’d leave the job at the office?”
He brings his bottom lip between his teeth. I look away, the memory of how those lips felt against mine only making this more difficult. It’s one thing to have to watch him during class, but at least there’s distance between us. Now that distance seems to evaporate with every beat of my heart.
“Yes, I did.” He takes another step toward me. My brain tries to tell my body to retreat, but I’m still drawn to him, the magnetism I felt that first meeting ever present. “That’s why you’re here, isn’t it?”
“You think I come here so he can use me as a verbal punching bag? Hell, I’m only here because I assumed he’d be working. Like he always is. If I had known he’d be here, I never would have made the trek out of the city.”
He peers at me thoughtfully, peeling away layer after layer. “I don’t think that’s true. You do this for her.”
“Who?”
He floats his eyes to my wrist where the beaded bracelet Midge made me sits. She put so much effort into it, telling me how she learned to spell “sisters” so she could make it. It’s the most thoughtful gift I’ve ever received. But it allows Lincoln a peek into who I am, even more so than he’s already had.
“Your sister.”
I quickly cover the bracelet with my free hand, shifting my feet.
“Midge, right?”
I nod, the movement borderline imperceptible.
“You come here for her, don’t you?”
“It is her birthday party.” My tone is sarcastic as I try to shrug off his insinuations. “Everyone is here for Midge.”
Slowly shaking his head, his eyes rake over my face. “That’s not what I’m talking about. You leave the city and come to suburbia, which probably stands for everything you despise, just so Midge feels loved. You’ll do whatever you can to make her realize she’s perfect, that everything she does is perfect.” He smiles, laughing slightly. “Even if she misspelled sisters and mixed up two of the colors in the bead pattern, you’d never point it out to her. You probably told her how much you loved it, how you’d always treasure it, more so than some ridiculously expensive piece of jewelry from Cartier or Tiffany’s some guy bought you just to have a shot with you. Isn’t that right?”
Bewildered, I stare at him, his words so accurate it’s frightening. “Maybe.”
He forms his mouth into a tight line, squinting, as he continues to analyze me, the space between us decreasing. “You’re quite the conundrum, Chloe Davenport.”
“What makes you say that?” My voice is low, wanton, husky, his nearness casting a spell over me.
“That morning in Vegas, you made it sound like you were incapable of being loved. That you were incapable of loving anyone. You may not have come right out and said it, but I’ve been practicing law long enough to know how to read between the lines, to make educated assumptions.”
“And what assumptions did you make?”
“That you wanted to take a risk but were scared of the potential ramifications. Worse, that you were scared people would think you aren’t as strong as you want them to believe because of your feelings. But you can love someone and still be strong.”
“I don’t see how,” I manage to croak out. “Love makes you weak.”
“No. It makes you human.” His breathi
ng increases as his lips hover even closer, barely a whisper away. “Don’t you want to feel human again? Don’t you want to feel again?”
I close my eyes, convinced this is a dream. There’s no other explanation for this conversation, for this moment. Not after he insisted we keep our distance, that we forget each other, that we pretend we don’t know each other. But if it were a dream, I wouldn’t feel the heat of his breath ghosting against my lips. I wouldn’t feel the tingle of what’s to come overtaking me. I wouldn’t feel my knees growing weak in anticipation.
I lift my chin, my heart drumming violently in my chest as we flirt with the devil. The fact that touching Lincoln is forbidden only makes me want him more. Makes me want him in ways I’ve never craved another man.
“I do want to feel,” I whimper, the past several weeks of not tasting his lips pushing me past my breaking point.
“Then feel me.” His voice is a low growl as he erases the final distance between us. Suddenly, footsteps echo, growing closer, cutting through our trance.
My eyes widen, breath catching, at the same time Lincoln jumps back, the tenderness mixed with yearning that covered his expression replaced with fear…and regret.
“There you are,” my father’s familiar voice bellows. He comes to a stop when he sees me. “Oh, I apologize. Was Chloe bothering you? She should know better than to try to butter you up just because she’s realized you work for me.”
I turn around, taking a moment to settle my flushed complexion as I finish preparing the coffee. “I wasn’t buttering him up. I offered to make him a coffee since he’s a guest in this house.” I whirl around, gritting a smile. “Then again, I suppose I am now, too. Here you go.” I hold the mug out toward Lincoln. “I prepared it how—”
His sharp intake of breath, coupled with his frantic expression, cuts my statement short. I snap my mouth shut, horrified at what I was about to say. The last thing I need to mention is that I know how Lincoln likes his coffee. That’s not exactly something a professor includes on the class syllabus.
