world like garbage,” she hissed in my face.
“Okay, babe. Let’s get you out of here before this coward calls security,” Christian said, towing Faith away from me.
“I’ll meet you out front,” she said, stopping to kiss the man hard on the mouth and then give me the most violent middle finger I’d ever received on her way out.
Christian watched her go with the eyes of a man half in love.
Fuck.
I’d forgotten what Ally had said at my birthday party.
Invisible knives inserted themselves into my gut.
“Well, it’s been fun. I hope you’re real happy with yourself, man,” he said, turning his attention back to me.
“It’s been delightful,” I snarled.
“Everyone has baggage, Russo. Most of us are just smart enough not to hurl full-sized suitcases at the people we love.” He patted the garment bag. “Here’s your custom fucking vest Ally asked me to make for you. Hope it doesn’t even come close to making up for losing the girl.”
My world was starting to close in on me. The walls of my office loomed closer and closer. Had I really thrown away something real, or was I justified in my distrust?
She wasn’t Elena. She hated artifice. Ally taught women to dance and love their bodies. She created beauty with color and design. She inspired kindness and generosity in everyone—myself included. She put her entire life on hold to clean up someone else’s mess.
And I wasn’t my father.
No, I chose to hurt people in other ways.
The realization was crashing over me like a brick wall when a new email popped into my box. Ally Morales.
I clicked it before I was even conscious of grabbing the mouse.
Subject: Itemized remittance sheet.
The message itself was blank. But attached was a spreadsheet with estimates of food, utilities, gas, the storage unit I’d rented for her father’s furniture, and the entire renovation bill from her father’s house. There was a notation at the bottom. First payment $50.
Because she no longer had a job thanks to me. She had nothing until the house went on the market and sold. Even then, the money went to the nursing home.
I swore under my breath. I was an asshole. Lower than low. Ally Morales was worse off having met me.
I jumped up, intending to get my coat. I’d made a very big mistake, and I wasn’t sure I could live with myself now.
There was another knock at my door.
“Go away,” I snarled.
But the knocker was either feeling brave, or they’d underestimated how much I wanted to punch someone.
Malina the Maneater stepped into my office.
“Not now, Malina,” I snapped. I didn’t have time to fend off another one of my father’s ex-lovers.
“This is important,” she said.
I doubted that very much. But when I looked at her, really looked at her, I realized there was something off. For one, she was wearing jeans. For two, she didn’t have any makeup on. She looked softer, younger, less angry.
“What is it?” I asked.
“Well, first of all. I quit.”
“Why are you telling me?”
“Just go with it. It’s this whole full-circle moment for me. I turned down the job your father offered me at Indulgence this morning.”
That caught my interest.
“He offered you a job, you turned it down, and now you’re quitting this job?”
She nodded. “It’s been brought to my attention that I don’t have the healthiest priorities.” She cleared her throat. “I’m leaving New York. But I wanted you to know some things first. Things I’m not proud of.”
I closed my eyes. “Malina, you don’t need to walk me through your personal life. I know you and my father were… involved.”
“It’s not that. Or only that. I fed him information after he left. Things about Label and…” Her gaze shifted to the ceiling. “About your mother.”
I doubted there was much about my mother that an admin could uncover that my father wouldn’t have already known.
“Okay,” I said slowly.
“I wasn’t the only one still friendly with him,” she said.
“Who else?” I asked.
“Irvin. We had a few dinners, the three of us. Your father promised him managing editor at Indulgence.”
“Also, Irvin wasn’t dipping his pen in the company ink, if you know what I mean. But that doesn’t mean he was innocent.”
“What are you saying, Malina?”
She looked uncomfortable. “I don’t think it’s my story to tell,” she said finally.
Exasperation was my new permanent company. “Whose story is it?” I asked.
“Start with Gola and Shayla,” she suggested. “And talk to your mother. Tell her Paul knows, and he’s going to use it against her.”
68
Ally
I left my key and my work