Page 56 of Everything We Give

“I don’t believe you.”

The corner of his mouth quirks. He shrugs his shoulders. “Of course you don’t.”

I shake a finger at him. “You’ll screw her over like everyone else. Find another architect.”

Thomas’s face darkens. He spreads his fingers on the desk and leans forward, his fingertips supporting his weight. “I can work with anyone I please. You have no authority to come in here and decide who I work with and how I run my affairs.”

“This is Nadia we’re talking about. You know she’s my best friend.”

“You think I’m working with her to get to you? News flash, Aimee. My devious plans don’t revolve around you.”

His sarcasm rankles. “Don’t mock me.”

He slides his hands into his side pant pockets. His expression softens. “I’m not a monster.”

“Just a man with a plan who could care less about ruining lives. As long as you get what you want.”

Thomas purses his lips and roughly exhales through his nose. “Can I offer you a drink?” He moves from behind his desk to a dry bar off to the side.

“It’s ten in the morning.” I toss my purse on the leather chair beside me.

“It’s turning out to be a rough morning.” He pours himself a finger of scotch and tosses it back.

As he refills his drink, I take the opportunity to collect my thoughts since they veered off track the second I crossed his office threshold. Thomas works in a large space done in muted tones, glass, and steel. Darker and colder than the warm textures of the furniture he imports and exports. The office is a perfect reflection of the man he’s become.

Thomas sits in the center of the couch and gestures for me to join him.

“I’ll stand, thanks.”

He lifts a shoulder. “Suit yourself.”

I do, walking a circle around the office, restless, unsure how to begin. I feel Thomas watching me. His gaze tracks my progress. I catch a photo on the shelf behind Thomas’s desk. A picture of him and James. They’re younger than when I first met them. I’d been eight, James eleven, and Thomas thirteen. Long before life for James became difficult at home. Rather, it had already been difficult. It just got worse.

I don’t know the full story of what happened between Thomas and James, or entirely what life was like for them living with their parents since he apparently kept much of their dynamic hidden from me. It’s James’s story to tell should he be inclined to share.

I return to the center of the room and stand behind a leather chair, across from Thomas. “What’s Nadia working on for you?”

“She didn’t tell you? Good.”

“She knew it would upset me, the two of you working together.”

“And here you are,” Thomas murmurs in his glass before taking a drink. “She didn’t tell you because she signed an NDA. It’s also not your concern.”

“It’s not, but you’ll tell me, anyway.” I sense Thomas wants to talk. He cleared an hour for me. I’m not wasting this opportunity.

“I bought a house in Carmel.”

“You’re moving?” I come around and sink into the chair. I’ll never have to see Thomas walk by my café again, wondering if this time, this morning, he’ll come inside. The restraining order expired a few years ago and I didn’t have a cause to renew it. True to his word, Thomas left me alone, except the one instance he’d asked through Nadia for James’s photos and contacts to download to a new iPhone. He planned to ship it to Carlos, the man James had been while in his fugue state.

“In a year or two,” Thomas answers, glancing at the door. He leans forward, elbows on knees, glass balanced between his hands. “I’m tired of this city. I’m tired of running this company. I’m just”—he rubs the inner corners of his eyes with his thumb and index finger—“tired.”

He’s more than tired. He seems defeated.

Interesting.

“Are you selling Donato?”

“Getting ready to, yes.” He arches a brow. “Do I need you to sign an NDA before you leave or can I trust you not to speak a word of this outside those doors?” He tilts his head in that direction. “My employees don’t know.”

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