Chapter Eight
ADRIANO
––––––––
S EVEN MISSED CALLS . Twelve text messages. Three days of radio silence.
I stare at my phone, resisting the urge to throw it against the wall.
This isn't me, dammit.
I don't chase women, and I certainly don't obsess over whether they'll call me back.
So why have I been checking my phone every five minutes like some lovesick teenager?
Why the hell can't I stop thinking about her?
Shayla has become even more distant since that night in the boardroom. If she was stiff in my presence before, now she's downright unapproachable, with the way she hides behind her polite smiles and efficiency.
A knock on my office door breaks my train of thought. I should've known better than to hope it would be her—
"Mr. Kontides?"
But it's not. I should've known it wouldn't be her, so why the hell do I keep tormenting myself like some hopeless idiot?
"Today's brief is ready for your review, sir." Willa, one of the junior associates, is the newest one to unwittingly join this stupid game of pass-the-message that Shayla has been playing lately. "Also, Ms. Tolentino asked me to remind you about the charity auction tonight."
"Anything else?"
"She, um, also said to remind you that your tux came back from the cleaners and is hanging in the partners' lounge. That's pretty much it, sir."
Of course, that was it. Did I really think she'd pass a message that isn't work-related?
Enough of this.
I stand abruptly, decision made. If she won't come to me, I'll go to her.
Her desk is empty, her computer screen dark. Where—
"Looking for Shayla?"
What the—
Lissa White stands by the water cooler, designer briefcase in hand.
"Deposition prep, remember?" She clucks her tongue. "You normally don't miss things like this. Is something wrong?"
"You'd like that, won't you?"
"Naturally. But I also enjoy winning fair and square, so...if you're looking for your secretary, she mentioned stepping out for lunch." Lissa checks her watch. "Our meeting is set at one. You still have time to catch up to her. And just scratch that itch — "
"Don't." No one should speak about my secretary like that.
But this makes Lissa's face actually soften. "You took offense. Good."
And no one should look at me like the way Lissa's looking at me right now.
"It's not what you think," I snap.
Because whatever it is she's thinking, she's wrong.
"I haven't said a word."
Why are women so damn good at pointing out something that's completely not the point at all?
"If you want my advice —"
"I don't."
Lissa actually comes forward to give my arm a motherly pat. "Women like Shayla are rare. Treat her as such, and you can't lose. But if you take too much time making up your mind, someone smarter will swoop her off —"
" Don't you mean sweep?"
"That's for wimps," Lissa says scornfully, "and if Shayla had always been the type to be swept off her feet, don't you think someone else would have already stolen her away by now? It has to be someone more cunning, someone who understands when a demonstration of one's power and authority is called for —"
Is she complimenting or insulting me?
"That's the kind of man Shayla is certain to respect, and if you're so fortunate...willingly surrender to."
Well, hell.
Who would have thought the day would come when I'd actually concede in Lissa White having the winning argument?
Her words make uncomfortable sense, and it's more than enough to have me striding out of the building.
Because I know Shayla far better than she gives me credit for, and case in point?
Her absolute shock at finding me suddenly taking a seat in front of her, causing Shayla to drop the sandwich she's holding.
"You could catch a fly with that," I say gently.
Shayla turns red even as she quickly closes her mouth.
"You never ask me to join you for lunch," I murmur.
"How did you know I was here?"
"I've always known."
Her mouth opens and closes.
Good.
It would greatly disappoint me if she were to insist on wasting our time with pointless arguments.
Because Shayla and I?
We've come up with a system of communication over the years. When there's something I want my secretary to know is the absolute truth, I simply look into her eyes, the way I'm looking into her eyes now —
And she gets it. Even if she doesn't want to. She can't deny that she gets it.
"Pretending nothing happened between us won't work."
Just like she can't deny this next truth that I need her to accept.
"Because something did."
She swallows hard.
But something is still holding her back.
And so I decide to keep pushing.
"I can't stop thinking about that night, Shayla. And the dark circles under your eyes tell me it's been the same for you —"
She opens her mouth, clearly intending to deny this, but when she sees the way I'm looking at her, challenging her to win an argument without playing dumb —
"I need space, okay?"
Good girl.
It's not the answer I hoped for, but at least we're getting somewhere.
"How long?"
"I don't know."
And when she looks at me —
It's the same way she's always looked at me...when she wants to know she's saying the absolute truth.
****
I T'S ANOTHER DAY AT the office.
Another day where frustration gnaws at me.
But this time, I've decided to try another approach.
Because she's not the only one who can play this game she's playing.
A mutinous expression flashes over my secretary's face when I tell her about today's charity auction, and why I need her there.
"If you insist, sir."
"Yes, I do insist."
Shayla glares at me when she realizes her attempt to piss me off fails.
Good.
Let the games begin.
Milos drives her to the museum, and I finish up with work before heading over myself. I find my secretary right away, and my jaw clenches.
You messed up, Kontides.
I should've told her not to change. Should've remembered the last time she showed up at a party with her hair down, both literally and figuratively. But now it's too late. She's in another one of those strapless little things that she loves, and I'm obsessed with getting rid of.
Unfortunately, it's also one of those strapless little things that anyone taller than her can find joy, and the prosecutor she's talking to clearly isn't any exception. To be fair, all I've heard are good things about him. But I don't give a damn.
Even from here, it's clear to see that Prosecutor Schitt is infatuated with my Shayla.
So yeah.
I hate him, of course.
But someone blocks my path before I can even take a step towards them.
"Adriano!"
Therese air-kisses my cheeks, and I let her. We've known each other our whole lives and even attended the same law school. She's also the reason I wanted Shayla to come.
"It's been a while, right?" But the moment she places a hand over my arm, I suddenly start to wonder if I've made a mistake. My plan here is to make Shayla jealous. Enough to make her realize that she'd rather stake a claim on me before anyone else does.
But when Therese moves close enough to have her breasts brush against the side of my arm —
What the hell's wrong with me?
This is nothing new, so why the hell is my skin suddenly crawling at having another woman this close to me? Why do I suddenly feel so hollow, knowing that Therese wouldn't have done this if she didn't think I was willing to consider what's being offered?
Men aren't the only ones who exchanged favors for sex. Women like Therese have no problem doing the same thing, and while it's something I've never cared to get involved in —
I realize now that I'm still playing their game. Because when Therese smiles up at me, my own lips curve in a smile, and I can't remember hating myself more than I did at that moment. Whenever women like Therese come on to me, I simply let them think what they want without actually taking the bait. It's strategic, and that's how I've always thought of it. You never know whose favor you'll someday need, so I've always played it safe. It's never been my style to pick unnecessary fights.
But when I turn to Shayla, just to make sure she's still within my line of sight, and my gaze unexpectedly collides with hers —
No .
Pain flashes over her features as she sees Therese holding my arm like I'm already hers, and I suddenly find myself wondering how far I'm willing to be strategic —
"The Olivarez case," Therese says. "I think I've come across something that you could find helpful. Should we talk about it in private?"
— if it means hurting the woman I... want .
I look back at Therese, and she holds my gaze without hesitation, letting me know without words that her offer comes with certain expectations.
"I'm not an idiot, Therese. There's always something more to your offer."
A moment passes before she completely relaxes with a laugh. It's exactly what I'm hoping for...since rejecting her outright would have gained me an enemy for life.
"Weigh your options then..." Therese's fingers slowly trail up my chest as she speaks, and it's a struggle not to shove her away. "And call me once you've made up your mind."
She walks away, and I watch her doing so because I know it will hurt her pride if I do anything else.
Shame eats me alive when I realize how low I've sunk, and how I've ended up playing the same dirty game as everyone else here. I may not have yet reached a point of selling myself, but wasn't that only a matter of time, with how I've been making compromises left and right?
And all for what, dammit?
To maintain my reputation as one of East Coast's most successful lawyers? To prove to everyone that I don't need my father's billions to make a name for myself? Is gaining another meaningless milestone in my career worth losing sight of what matters?
And when I finally turn to start looking for Shayla —
She's gone.
And that's when I realize how big a mistake I've made.
My parents were crazy about each other. But then all of a sudden, they just...weren't.
That was what she said about the two people she had trusted as a child...only to have them shatter her trust in relationships.
You're driving me crazy, Shayla. I want you. More than I've ever wanted anyone.
And that's what I told her.
The man she's worked for all these years.
And even though she's never said it —
We both knew she's always respected me. Looked up to me. Trusted me.
And in return, I told her I was crazy about her...only to allow another woman to touch me like my own body were a commodity.