Lu rolls it down, smiling. She keeps her focus ahead, even as she takes a sip from her bottled water. “So, her father showed,” she says.

“That he did,” I answer. I swipe my mouth. “The interior’s all clear.”

“So is the exterior.” Her shit-eatin’ grin widens. “I did a sweep about fifteen minutes ago.”

I don’t know what she thinks is so funny until she finally glances up. “By the way, excellent technique there by the window, O’Brien. You and the princess gave me some new moves to try with the old man.”

Chapter 16

Tess

“What happened to you last night?” Father demands.

His expression tightens to that look of loathing he’s often given me. The one that tells me I far exceeded his lowest expectations. I gather my robe around me and make my way into the kitchen.

He didn’t recognize Curran, but I’m not surprised. To him, Curran was an insignificant boy, one who defiled his daughter and was soon forgotten after the incident was taken care of.

I wash my hands at the sink, realizing that if Curran came from a prestigious line of well-bred tyrants, Father would have overlooked our encounter instead of strong-arming me into attending an all-women’s college the following year.

“I asked you a question, Contessa.”

I shut off the water and reach for a hand towel. “I had to leave. I wasn’t feeling well.”

“Unless you were soaked with your own blood or vomiting as you once so enjoyed, you should have stayed!”

His words strike me like a slap. “How dare you,” I snap. “I never ‘enjoyed’ what I did.” My eating disorder was my one attempt at control during my high school years and partway through college. Father manipulated everything in my world. I was certain my weight would be the one thing he couldn’t touch.

I learned the hard way that he could when my stepmother realized how much weight I’d lost following the incident with Curran. I spent my summer break at an eating disorder clinic, only for him to now restrict my calories and tell me that I’m getting fat.

“This was Spencer Woodworth—Philadelphia’s next mayor!”

It’s as if I didn’t even speak. “I don’t care who he is. He’s nothing more than a perverse bastard who fondled me despite my telling him to stop. Does that mean nothing to you?”

Father’s eyes widen, but it’s not because of Spencer’s wandering hands. It’s because of my tone. “You should have stayed and played the role of the lady I raised you to be,” he responds, gritting his teeth.

There’s no reasoning with a man this cold and heartless. No thread of kindness to work with or touch to give me comfort. So instead of wasting energy I don’t have, and breaths I desperately need, I revert to lies, just as I have all my life. “I told you. I wasn’t well.”

He regards me then. “Well, you look dreadful.”

Curran didn’t think so.

I move to the dining room table, arranging my law books and scribbled notes so he’ll take the hint that I have more important things to do than be insulted.

“Is it true, what that simpleton of a police officer said?”

It’s all I can do not to fling one of my texts at his face. Five more months, I remind myself, taking a full breath. “Yes. You probably passed the officer he was replacing.”

“I meant about you assisting with an important case.”

Okay. Now I see where he’s going. “Yes. But it’s a case I can’t discuss.”

“Even with me?” he challenges, his seedy grin firmly in place.

That may work on his flunkies, but following his obnoxious remark about Curran, I’m done playing nice. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the dealings within the DA’s office.”

He expected me to tell him, and is now pissed I denied him. “At least tell me who you’re working under.”

“Declan O’Brien,” I answer, thinking I’m tossing him a meaningless bone. But when his eyes widen, I realize I made a huge mistake.

“Assistant District Attorney Declan O’Brien?” he repeats.

I close my eyes, realizing what I did, and what he’ll expect. “Yes,” I bite out.

“He’s rapidly making his way up the political and professional ladder, a rare feat considering the amount of intellect and talent under Miles Fenske’s watch.”

His voice seems to fade. My father is no longer there, too caught up in another opportunity for gain and prestige. “There’s been talk that Fenske is grooming him to take over his position when he steps down. Others insist that with his charm and astuteness, he’ll have no problem gaining momentum in the political arena.” He laughs without humor. “That is if one of the more renowned firms doesn’t acquire him first. The possibilities are endless,” he mutters.

I can see the wheels turning, and it makes me sick.

He glances up, appearing almost surprised I’m still there. But then something shifts in his gaze and he edges closer. “How well do you know him?”

“Not well,” I lie. “I’m only helping him with research—”

“Then get to know him, Contessa,” he hisses. “Are you that blind? This is a golden opportunity—being shoved directly in your face. Use it to become something of worth for once.”

I shove my hands deep into my pockets when I realize how badly they’re trembling. “I’m trying, Father. Don’t you think I know that this can lead to job opportunities I’ve only dreamed of—”

“Job opportunities?” he scoffs, eyeing me with enough scorn to force me back. “Don’t think you’re better than what you’re intended to be.”

A strange chill encircles me like a ribbon, making its way up my throat. “Which is what?”

My whip-sharp tone does nothing to ease the escalating strain between us. If there weren’t a counter separating us then, I think he would have lunged at me. “Stupidity isn’t an attractive quality on you, Contessa,” he says, dripping venom into each word. “Not if you ever stand a chance at becoming a governor’s wife.”

Curran

My phone buzzes an hour after Newart leaves. It’s a text from Tess.

I’m not going to be able to see you tonight.

I stare at the message for a beat. This time, I’m not backing down or letting her off easy. I text back, Why?

There’s a pause as she works through the numbers of the old cellphone.

I have a lot of work to do. I have three exams this week and still have some research pending on the Montenegro case.

I groan before responding. So do it now while I’m out here freezing my ass off. That way, when I’m off, we can grab a bite to eat.

It’s not a good idea, she writes back.

You thought it was a good idea this morning, I point out.

Her next response takes longer than it should, considering how short it is.

I’m sorry, but I’m too busy.

I start to get mad, real mad. But I do my best to keep my head. So you don’t eat when you’re working? I fire back.

When she doesn’t answer, I send her another text. We’ll get something to eat like we planned, and then I’ll bring you back to your place afterward. I don’t have to spend the night.

I think I’ll leave it at that, but then I remind myself that I’m not letting her off easy: Besides, I’m tired. I didn’t sleep last night because of all the wild gorilla and banana-eating baboon sex we had. By the way, ballerina school paid off. You’re amazingly flexible.