Chapter 33
Chapter Thirty-Three
This Thing Feels Funny
Raf
He nods, a sheepish smile tugging on his lips as he walks across the room and takes a seat across from me.
“I’ve got some forgiveness to earn from your mother, and being home to eat dinner with her while it’s hot is high on her list of requests.
Besides, you knew my intention was to start to wind down and hand more of the reins to you once you made partner. ”
I nod, even though I know he won’t be able to help himself and will want to know every little detail about everything.
Also known as micro-managing, but that’s a dance for another day because my card is all filled up right now when it comes to fighting losing battles.
Being a lawyer is what he knows. It’s intrinsic to who he is.
I guess he was just lucky to have found a soulmate in my mom, in that she was content to stand by his side and devote her time to family and the foundation she runs to make life a little easier for others.
A soulmate type of love. It’s what I thought I had—and lost—with Victoria.
Except twelve hours and claiming Chiara like she demanded is all it took to have me questioning if I’ve ever really known what it meant to have chemistry with someone, let alone love.
Fuck! Get it together, Raf, I internally berate myself.
I tune back into the conversation that’s currently one-sided.
“You’ve been spending some late nights here,” Dad is saying. “Where are we with the case against Arty Bartholomew Jones?”
“Police interviews are being conducted, and we’ve agreed to represent the victims filing against him pro-bono.”
My phone chimes with the notification sound I have set for Avery so I can tell his messages apart from all the other millions of notifications that come through daily.
Now that Chiara is living with me, I’ve done the same for her.
Just in case it’s an emergency. My suspicions about her ex are never far from my mind.
I don’t check the message immediately, instead trying to focus on the conversation at hand.
“Have we done our due diligence, made sure their stories check out? This case has to be watertight, son. The Bartholomew Joneses are going to be throwing a lot of money at this to clear his name,” my dad says, like I don’t already know all this.
I want to tell him I have more purview into this guy’s shitbag behavior than he does but decide for the sake of trying to keep this whole interaction at a minimum to answer with facts.
“We’re in the process. Sophia is working on it with me remotely while Marco recovers, but once he’s back home in a few weeks, she’ll be back on deck here in a more hands-on way.”
My phone pings three more times, a succession of messages so uncharacteristic from Avery and much more the style of the woman I’m relying on him to watch like a hawk.
Unease ripples through me. Avery is a man of few words, intense in that quiet way where you never know what he’s thinking but he looks at you like he’s cracked the code to every secret you have.
My hand is reaching for my phone and I’m unlocking it before I can stop myself.
I scan the messages from Avery and the sushi I had for lunch threatens to reappear.
“That’s good, because I’m going to need you to step into a few of my commitments as the face of Princi she just needs someone who cares about her welfare and won’t use her as a means to making another deal.
I can’t in good conscience leave her out there like fresh meat for the circling sharks.
” Then, more for my own delusional benefit, I add, “That doesn’t mean she’s the one I’m going to marry and have babies with, for fuck’s sake. ”
He studies me intently. Maybe he can hear the way my heart is beating out of my chest. “You’ve already taken a bite of the forbidden fruit, haven’t you?”
I let the question hang, and he pinches the bridge of his nose then taps the envelope on my desk.
“You leave next Monday. It’s a week-long conference. Then I want you to go and network with some of our UK clients, get them used to speaking with you.”
“Dad. There is so much going on here.”
“You wanted the top job, and this is what it takes. You nurture client relationships. You lead on the blue-chip client cases and make sure you have oversight over every case—but that means handing over wading through the weeds to your team. This is what you want, what we’ve worked towards for the last ten years, isn’t it? ”
He’s asking me, telling me, and shining a spotlight on the fact that he doesn’t believe I’m acting in the manner that tells him I do. That’s the Patrick Princi special.
I grab my suit jacket from the back of my chair and put it on.
He retrieves something from his jacket pocket, puts it on my desk and taps it.
“You’ll need a plus-one for this,” he says, hiking his brows. “It’s the Annual Lawyer’s Association Banquet.”
I pick it up and put it in my suit jacket wordlessly then stride towards the door, already texting my driver to meet me out front.
My dad calls my name, and I stop but don’t turn to face him.
“One day very soon you are going to be the figurehead and face of this company. The next generation of the Princi legacy. I know you can do it, but I’m not convinced it’s your top priority—and that’s concerning.”
It’s not my fucking top priority right now, I want to scream. The words echo through me, somewhat of a shock to me too. I just lift my hand by way of acknowledgement that I heard him, but I don’t have answers to what he’s asking.
“Tell Mom I said hi and I’ll come for dinner soon,” I call out.
Then I keep going on my mission to get home. To get to her as soon as I can.
As soon as I get into the back of the car, I hit dial on AJ’s contact and feel myself tremble with anticipation as I wait for him to answer so I can unleash the tirade of words blocking my airways.
“This better be fucking good, because I’ve got a busted head and a whole new set of fucking problems.”
“Are you that much of a fucking idiot?” I demand, foregoing a greeting.
“I’ve been called worse. But please, go on.”
“Did you consider that Marco’s shooting would have brought up a lot of trauma from her parents’ death?
And then you drop a surprise meet-and-greet with a man she’s been fucking sold off to in some Godfather-type-shit arranged marriage.
For someone who repeatedly says he’s trying to keep her safe, you’ve got a fucking funny way of showing it. ”
“Are you finished?”
“No. And what is this I’m hearing that he put his hands on her and threatened to fill all her holes to shut her up? I hope you dealt with him.”
“You know what dealing with things means in my world, right?”
I let the silence hang between us.
“Ah, I see what’s happening here. She’s already gotten under your skin.” He snickers, adding, “You’ve started to really care about her—but it won’t make it easier to tame her.”
“And who are you to decide she needs taming?” I snap.