Page 46 of Double Standards
Somehow the words feel heavier than anything Daniels threw at me today. I don’t answer right away. I set the phone back on the desk face-down, and lean back in my chair. I tell myself he’s just curious. Or maybe he wants an update. Maybe he’s trying to figure out how much damage we avoided today.
But that’s not what it feels like.
It feels like something else.
Eventually, my curiosity gets the best of me and I grab my phone, typing out one word.
Me: Office.
I bite the inside of my cheek as a text bubble dances across my screen.
Then my stomach flips when I read the reply.
Axel Bonanno: Want some company?
No emoji. No warmth. Just a question.
I stare at the message, my heart giving a small, traitorous jolt. I take a breath, composing myself before I type.
But I don’t answer him right away. Instead, I let the question hang there for a moment longer than necessary. Because I’m not sure what he’s really asking. And I’m not sure I want to know. Even if a part of me—some small, traitorous part—wants to see him walk through that office door and tell me to stop pretending. I just can’t expose that part of myself.
So I clear my throat, push the feeling down, and say the one thing I know won’t wreck me.
Chapter Sixteen
Hands clap my back, jolting me out of a daydream I’ve got no business having—specifically, the way Cassie’s ass had me hypnotized in that courtroom today. Every time I try to distract myself, my thoughts stray back to her—those sharp heels clicking against tile, that composed figure wrapped in something tight enough to be lethal, and the way she sliced through Daniels’ weak as fuck evidence with that voice like a velvet blade.
Another clap lands on my shoulder, harder this time. “Earth to Axel,” someone mutters with a laugh. I grunt in response, forcing a smirk, but my eyes flick toward the door like maybe she’ll walk through it.
And just like that, I’m back in my head again. Back to wondering what she’s doing right now. Is she working late? Is she detaching herself from the case? Is she thinking about me?
I need to get a fucking grip.
All five of us are gathered in the office above Hunter’s nightclub on the Lower East Side, whiskey in hand, talk shifting between business and bullshit. It’s familiar territory—easy, loud, and blunt-edged. Exactly what I need. Because ever since thisafternoon, when Cassie made her swift exit, I’ve felt like a fucking love-sick teenager.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Stop pining!” Trigger elbows me, grinning like the devil. “You’re off the hook, man!”
“For now,” I mutter, eyes dropping to my glass.
Sure, the trial’s been delayed. That buys me time, but not peace of mind. And the torment I’m feeling? It’s not just about the courtroom anymore.
Cassie left more than a legal strategy behind—she left a mark. Ever since that damn walk in the park, it’s like she’s cracked something open in me. Something I didn’t know existed. That quiet moment between us, that should have been nothing more than a stroll, rattled me more than any bullet or betrayal ever has. The way she looked at me, not like I was a monster, but like I was something worth saving.
She’s seeped in under my skin, soft and slow, like water finding its way through the smallest fracture. She’s dangerous in her own right, but she doesn’t belong in this world, not really—and maybe that’s why she’s got me spiraling. Cassie’s becoming an addiction, and I haven’t even tasted her yet. That thought alone has me shifting in my seat.
Fuck.
I’m already running through excuses in my head—ways to see her sooner. Honestly, it’s not even hard. And really, I don’t need one. So I shove that shitty nervousness down and adjust the mask I wear for the world, steady and unreadable.
I pick up my phone and type out a message.
Me: Where are you? A.
I look for the little ‘read’ receipt, but it doesn’t come. I give it a few more minutes before I try again, because I fucking hate waiting.
Me: Answer me.
