Twisted Fate (Dark Heart Duet #2) - Ella James Page 0,52

brought me into his ill-begotten line of inheritance, and I didn’t even know till more than a year after he died. I made lots of it myself, too. Investing. Economics, I think with a smirk.

“What are you looking at me like that for?” She touches her mouth with a napkin, and I smile.

“Define ‘like that.’”

“You were smirking.”

“Not at you.”

“I do like my job,” she says, sounding more sure this time. “I don’t like the way it intersects with you, though.”

Oh, so we’re gonna go there. I press my lips together. “If it intersects with me, you probably better not say much. Yeah?”

Her face reddens. “Not you personally. I mean…unless it did.”

“It doesn’t matter, E. And I don’t need to hear about it.”

“That’s a stupid thing to say. Of course it matters. From your vantage point, what matters more?”

“Global warming. The fallibility of democracy. A decline in bees. The widening gap between socioeconomic classes, for-profit healthcare, A.I., poverty and starvation, human trafficking—”

“Matter more to you than your own fate?” she cuts in.

I lift my brows. “Just being objective.”

She gives a hoarse laugh. “From whose point of view?”

“Well…mine.”

“Your point of view is supposed to be pointed toward you.” She gives me a topsy-turvy smile.

“I don’t think that’s always how it works.”

“Not always,” she agrees.

“In this case, it’s pointed toward you.” I arch a brow at her. I’m sort of trying to be funny, but her face goes somber, so I know I fucked that up. Her features soften, her eyes widen, and her mouth does something that I know means she’s caught feels. “Don’t ask me why. Just take it, O’Hara.”

She looks like a deer in headlights.

My foot finds hers underneath the table. “C’mon. Don’t be looking at me like that.”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re worried. Or upset.”

“Well, I’m both.” She sounds exasperated.

I come around and take the seat beside her. “I thought you came over to have this off-the-radar night, forget your troubles eating lemon cake and pizza.” I press my leg against hers. Then I can’t resist rubbing my hand down her shoulder. “Don’t get bogged down by that other shit.”

“What other shit?”

“The anything that makes you think too hard shit. Stuff like jobs and worrying and who’s on what team, who would do what if whatever happened. You know what I’d do if whatever happened?”

She blinks at me.

“I don’t know.” I throw my hands up, miming my grandmother. “Who knows, la mia rosa. And who cares?”

Her eyes glisten, and she blinks. “That reminds me of a story,” she says hoarsely.

18

Elise

I’m the kind of person who asks the universe for signs. It’s a secret, of course. No good, self-respecting prosecutor requests signs. That’s like believing in app horoscopes or having lucky socks. But I’m a closet sign-seeker.

I think often of my mother’s rabbit story—and about what she hoped I would get out of it. My mom had a lot of flaws, but I think she knew I was a perfectionist and sought to help me out of that. Unfortunately, she failed. And when you care so much about things being right, you’re desperate for some confirmation that you’re on the right track.

So, all afternoon, as I ran my errands, showered, and dressed, I was hoping for some sign. That coming here would be a neutral move, if not a wise one. That nothing that happens here tonight will really hurt me.

Then I arrive, and he welcomes me the way I’d hoped he would. When we were talking about jobs, things felt tense. But then we had that last exchange. And what he said…it sounded so much like what my mom used to say. He even threw his hands up like she used to.

Don’t worry, Elise. Just be. I can hear her telling me that. It makes me almost cry—but I hold back. I am not going to cry here tonight. I refuse. Let the tears rain down tomorrow, when I’m driving home and all of this is in my rearview mirror.

I sit up straighter. “Maybe you’re right.” I smile at him, and stick my hand out. “Hi there, I’m Elise…your neighbor. I’m an attorney. I like books and tea and France and Italy—really anything in Europe, which I realize sounds so bourgeoisie, but it’s still true. I’m not ashamed.” I grin. “If you want, you can expand that to all international travel. I’ve been places like Micronesia and the North Pole, plus all the regular places people like to go. The Baltic Sea is my favorite. Also a fan of spiked cider,