Denial (n.):
A statement in the defendant’s answer to a complaint in a lawsuit that an allegation (claim of fact) is not true.
A few days later…
Andrew
I was officially out of my damn mind.
I was in my bathtub, and Aubrey was sitting on top of me—panting as she came down from another orgasm.
She was spending the night at my condo for the third time this week, and it was pointless to even pretend like I minded.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was happening, but she’d definitely gotten to me. She was infiltrating my every thought, and no matter what I did to try and come back to my senses—to remind myself that this could only be temporary, she slipped deeper into my life.
“Why are you so quiet tonight?” she asked.
“I’m not allowed to think?”
“Not when a naked woman is in your lap.”
“I was giving her a chance to relax.” I slid my hands underneath her thighs. “What unnecessary bullshit do you want to talk about today?”
“It’s not unnecessary,” she said. “It’s about your family.”
“What about my family?”
“Are they still in New York?”
I prevented myself from clenching my jaw. “I don’t know.”
“You don’t know?” She raised her eyebrow. “What do you mean you don’t know? Are you estranged from them?”
“No…” I sighed. “I just don’t have any parents.”
She tilted her head to the side. “Then why do I remember you telling me a story about your mom the first month that we met?”
“What story?”
“The story about Central Park and ice cream.” She looked into my eyes, as if she were expecting me to say something. “You said she took you to some children’s fair, I think? It was something that happened every Saturday. But the one you remembered most happened when it was raining and she still took you, and you stood in line for an hour just to get a scoop of vanilla.”
I blinked.
“Is that story not right? Am I mixing it up with something else?”
“No,” I said. “That’s right…But I haven’t seen her since.”
“Oh…” She looked down. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I trailed a finger across her lips. “I turned out just fine.”
“Can I ask you a few more things?”
“You have a daily question quota starting today.”
She rolled her eyes. “What do all the “E” and “H” pictures in your hallway stand for?”
I felt a sudden ache in my chest. “Nothing.”
“If you hate New York so much and you don’t like talking about your past or what you lost six years ago, why do you have so many mementos hanging on your walls?”
“Aubrey…”
“Okay, forget that question. And the Latin quote across your heart? What does it mean?”
“Lie about one thing, lie about it all.” I kissed her lips before she could ask me anything else. I was starting to wonder why she hadn’t wanted to be a damn journalist instead of a ballerina.
“It’s your turn,” she said softly. “You can ask me questions now.”
“I’d rather f**k you again.” I lifted her with me as I stood up and helped her out of the bath tub.
We both dried off and went into my bedroom. Just as I was pulling her against me, my doorbell rang.
I sighed. “Dinner’s early.” I slipped into a pair of lounge pants and a T-shirt and headed to the door with my credit card.
The second I opened it, I was confronted with the sight of the last person on earth I wanted to see. Ava.
“Don’t you dare f**king slam it on me this time,” she hissed. “We need to talk.”
“We don’t need to talk about shit.” I stepped outside and shut the door behind me. “How many times do I have to tell you that you’re not wanted here?’
“As many times as it’ll take you to actually believe it, which you don’t.” She scoffed. “Ask me why I came to Durham to see you, Mr. Hamilton. Appease me and I’ll finally go the hell away.”
“You’re going the hell away regardless,” I said flatly. “I really don’t give a f**k why you came here.”
“Not even if it’s to sign the divorce papers?”
“You could’ve sent that shit in the mail.” I gritted my teeth. “And since I’m sure you’re running out of loopholes for contesting it, I’m willing to wait until all your options run out. I’m sure your lawyers will drop you as soon as they find out what type of client you are.”
“All I’m asking for is ten thousand a month.”
“Go ask the man who was f**king you in our bedroom while I was at work.” I glared at her, livid. “Or better yet, ask the judge you only “fucked for a favor,” or hey, if you’re up to it, f**k my former best friend. Sleeping with him always seemed to make you feel better, right?”
“You weren’t Mr. Perfect either.”
“I never f**king cheated on you, and I never lied to you.”
Silence.
“Five thousand a month,” she said.
“Go f**k yourself, Ava.”
“You know I never give up,” she said, her eyes widened as I stepped back inside my apartment. “I always get what I want.”
“So do I.” I slammed the door in her face, feeling my heart palpitating, feeling the onset of ugly memories all over again.
Rain. New York. Heartbreak.
Complete and utter heartbreak.
Seeing Ava in person again—hearing her manipulative voice and feeling those familiar pangs in my chest, immediately made me realize that I couldn’t make the same mistake again.
Aubrey was already asking questions, trying to dig her way into my life as much as she could—thinking that if she stayed around long enough that we would work out together. But I knew that would never happen, not after seeing Ava and knowing just how far she would go to ruin me all over again.
I was officially done with this monogamous game we’d been playing for the past couple weeks. It was quite fun—different, but since Aubrey could never be mine and I could never be hers, it was quite f**king pointless, too.
I headed back into my bedroom and saw Aubrey smiling as she settled into the bed.
“Where’s the dinner?” she asked tilting her head to the side. “Did you leave it at the door?”
“No.” I shook my head and started packing up her things, stuffing them all into her purse.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
“You can’t stay the night.”
“Okay…” She stood up. “Did something just happen? Do you want to talk about—”
“I don’t want to talk about anything else with you.” I hissed. “I just want to take you the hell home.”
“What?” She looked confused. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you—”
“Make sure you get all of your shit out of my bathroom. You won’t be coming back here again.”
“Why not?”
“Because I need to start f**king someone else.” I picked up her headband. “I think I’ve spent more than enough time with you, don’t you think?”
“Andrew…” Her face fell. “Where is all of this coming from?”
“The same place it was always coming from. You lied to me once, you’ll lie again.”
“I thought we were over that.”
“Maybe you were, but I wasn’t.”
“What are you saying?”
“I’m saying that you need to get all of your things so I can take you home, and from here on out, you are my intern and I am your boss. You will forever be Miss Everhart to me, and to you I’ll be Mr. Hamilton.”
“Andrew…”
“Mr. Fucking. Hamilton.”
She rushed over to me and snatched her things, letting a few tears escape her eyes. “Fuck you. FUCK. YOU. This is the last time you’ll ever pull this hot and cold shit on me.” She stormed out of my apartment, slamming the door behind her.
I sighed and felt an immediate pang of guilt in my chest, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It was either cut this bullshit off now, or be responsible for breaking her heart later.
I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigar—looking up at the moonless sky. Even though I felt bad for ending things so abruptly, for putting her out with no explanation, I needed to get back to who the hell I was and fast before I f**ked up and put my heart on the line again…
For my BFF/ultimate beta-reader/amazing assistant/shoulder to cry on whenever I’m acting crazy/ “person” like they say on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’… Tamisha Draper. ( My books would suck without you…)
To Tiffany Neal. Thank you for being the balance. You’ll always be the perfect balance…
To Natasha Gentile…How did you become my friend? LOL
And for the F.L.Y. crew: I f**king love you more than you’ll ever know…
Prologue
Several months ago…
Andrew
It was all there in black and white, front and center, no filler.
Although the facts were skewed and The New York Times had once again neglected to post my photo, the damage to my firm—Henderson & Hart, was now done. And I knew exactly what was about to occur, step by step.
I’d seen it happen in this city too many times before.
First, the top clients who’d sworn to always stay by my side would call and say that they “suddenly” found new representation. Then the employees would file letters of resignation—knowing that having a tainted firm on their resumes would hinder their careers. Next, the investors would call—pretending to sympathize as they publicly denounced me in the media and promptly pulled all funding.
Last, and most unfortunately, I was sure to become another hotshot lawyer who ruined his career before it could even begin.
“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to get away with stalking Emma?” The private investigator I hired stepped beside me.
“She’s my f**king daughter. I’m not stalking her.”
“Five hundred feet.” He lit a cigarette. “That’s how far you’re supposed to be.”
“Are they treating her right during the week?”
He sighed and handed me a stack of photos. “Private preschool, early tap-dance lessons, and weekends at the park as you can clearly see. She’s fine.”
“Does she still cry at night?”
“Sometimes.”
“Does she still beg to see me? Does she—”
I stopped talking once Emma’s blue eyes met mine from the swings. Squealing, she jumped off her seat and ran towards me.
“Daddyyyy! Dadddyyy!” She shouted, but she was picked up before she made it any closer. She was taken away and put inside a car just as she started to cry.
Fuck…
I immediately sat up in bed, realizing that I wasn’t in New York City’s Central Park. I was in Durham, North Carolina, and I was having another nightmare.
Glancing at the clock on my wall, I saw that it was just past one o’clock. The calendar hanging directly above it only confirmed that I’d been living here for far too long.
All the research I’d done six years ago—weighing the pros and cons, checking the records of all the top firms, and scouring the make-up of women on Date-Match, was now seemingly invalid: The condo I purchased was a mere remnant of what had been advertised, there was only one firm worthy of my time, and the pool of f**k-worthy women was dwindling by the day.
Just hours ago, I’d gone on a date with a woman who told me she was a kindergarten teacher with a penchant for the color red and history books. In reality, she was twice my age, color blind, and she just wanted to “remember what some good c**k felt like.”