Chapter 3
CHAPTER 3
ARRIANA
N ico is… well, he’s handsome. Drop-dead gorgeous. That’s terrible to think, but it’s just the truth. If I acknowledge that to myself up front, I can bury it in the back of my mind and never have to think about it again.
He’s wearing a sleek suit. The same shade of silver as his hair, except his hair has a few flecks of pepper, hinting at the full black it must’ve been once. He’s fit and tall. He has an easy smirk, but it doesn’t seem to reach his sharp, forest-green eyes. For a crazy second, when I walked in here, I thought my uncle was staring at me as if he wanted me. It was nuts. And the look is gone now.
As I walk him through what happened at the club—starting with getting the drinks and ending with snatching my license back, then shoving Enzo in the chest—he watches me closely. He nods with encouragement, but his eyes don’t get any warmer.
“Surely, that’s self-defense,” I say, then sip my coffee.
“You must’ve felt threatened.”
“I did. Worse, I feared for my friend. I didn’t know what that creep was going to do to her. Whatever it was, it would not be good. He tried to force her to take drugs and then made a big show of getting our names and addresses. He said he wouldn’t let us leave, too. There’s no way he can sue me for assault. No way .”
“Just try to relax, Arria,” he says.
I smile without even meaning to. “Only my friends call me Arria.”
“Sorry, Arriana.”
“No, it’s fine. You don’t have to say sorry. We’re family, right?”
He looks angry for a second, as if he doesn’t want to think of us as family. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. I never crush, pine, or obsess. But for that second, when his expression changed, it’s like I wanted him to be annoyed. I want… what, my aunt’s husband to be attracted to me ? This is the last time I think anything like that. That’s it. Game over. No more. I promise.
“My first point of contact will be to speak directly with Enzo Caruso,” he says. “He’s well known in the city and a big business owner. He’s also known to be extremely prideful. My instinct is that an apology will go a long way with him.”
“What?” I snap. “ He should be apologizing to us .”
“That isn’t the way the world works.”
“You don’t have to use a patronizing tone… why are you smiling?” His smirk falters. I continue, aware I should probably calm down, and that my reaction might have something to do with the inappropriate thoughts bouncing around my head. “I’ve heard they call you the ‘The Savior.’ My mom told me last night. She was laughing like it was a joke. But I took it seriously.”
“I never asked for that nickname,” he says sternly. “I help kids—and some of those kids don’t have parents. It was a small news article in the press that got blown out of proportion.”
“I took it to mean that you’re protective of your clients.”
“I am,” he snaps. “If that stupid name ‘The Savior’ means a damn thing, it’s exactly that. That’s why I’m telling you, Arria, that you may need to prepare mentally to do something you don’t want to do. Enzo is a rich, powerful man. He could make your life very uncomfortable.”
“I’m not going to let him intimidate me.”
Nico massages the bridge of his nose. There’s something weirdly appealing about his introspective, pissed-off look. There I go again, ruining the promise I just made. “I’m your lawyer,” he says.
“Not yet. I haven’t agreed to hire you.”
“Do you have the money to hire a lawyer familiar with this city?”
He stares at me with those mossy green eyes. They’ve got a ‘don’t-look-away’ quality about them, like he’s drawing me in, making it impossible for me to feel unseen. This is the artsy-fartsy part of me coming out, the photographer, shading life with my perceptions.
“Well?” he says huskily.
“My dad said it’s you or nobody else,” I admit. “I’ve got some money saved. I was working on the West Coast as a customer service rep. But I want to travel the world, take photos…” I’m not sure why I’m over-sharing. “So, yeah, well done. I need you to be my lawyer. Plus, Mom said you know this city better than anybody.”
“Don’t you think it’d be a good idea to listen to me, then?” I say with a raised eyebrow.
“You don’t have to use such a patronizing tone,” she huffs.
“You don’t have to act like a brat either, Arria.”
“Did you just call me a brat ?”
He leans forward, glaring. “They call me ‘The Savior,’ yes but that doesn’t mean pushover. I gotta give some tough love from time to time.” There goes that eyebrow again.
“It doesn’t feel like love, just tough.”
“You need to understand,” he says pointedly. “Enzo is not a good man. He has more money than ninety percent of the people in this city combined. I need you to know that. When I meet with him and offer your apology, are you going to back it up?”
“I can’t believe we’re even discussing this,” I mutter, the word brat bouncing around my head. Is it weird that I liked it when he put me in my place? People rarely do that.
“Trust me. Your main concern should be making sure that Enzo forgets you exist. You don’t want him on your case. You need to put your pride aside.”
“Or my brattiness?” I grit out.
He smirks. This time, it reaches his eyes, but only for a moment. That’s exactly the sort of thing I shouldn’t notice or care about. “You can call it whatever you want. I’m doing what’s best for you here. I’ve got some documents for you to sign.”
“I don’t want to do this,” I snap.
“Do it for your friend. Do you want Enzo sending men to her place, intimidating her?”
“Wouldn’t he be risking his business if he did some crap like that? He can’t just stalk her.”
He looks at me as if I’m much younger than I am. It’s condescending, as if he thinks I’m the most na?ve person he’s ever met. It makes me want to slap him. I don’t want him to think of me as a little kid. “In this city, money can buy more than just luxury, Arria. Now, sign the documents.”
I bristle at his tone as he retrieves the paperwork from his briefcase. As he leans down, I see his top two buttons are undone, revealing a sliver of his hard, muscled chest. Yes, my uncle’s chest because that’s what I should be thinking about—not his solid pecs and how they’d feel if I pressed my fingernails against them.
He slides a stack of paper across the table. “I’m going to get another coffee. Do you want anything?”
I shake my head.
When he stands up, I notice two women across from me. They look like supermodels. Or maybe that’s just the self-doubting part of me that categorizes everyone who’s not my size as a supermodel. Still, they’re attractive, no doubt about it, and they’re gaping at Nico like he’s meat. In fact, most of the women here are sneaking looks at him.
They don’t even seem to care about the wedding band on his ring finger.