I’m alive.
Chapter Sixteen
PRI
My anger at Logan comes at me hard and fast, the history of our relationship an easily sharpened blade that cuts right to my core.
“Careful, Logan,” I warn, wanting to smack the blond pretty-boy right on his clean-shaven jaw. “I’ll show you my knee and we both know I’m good at putting it in just the right place.”
It’s a reference to one of our final fights when I’d had enough of his controlling ways, which too often got overly physical.
His lips curve in amusement, the air of arrogance a second skin he wears right along with his expensive blue suit. “You are,” he agrees. “You surprised me, but I suppose you had a right to be angry that night.”
“You suppose?” I challenge.
“Looking back gets us nowhere, Pri. Looking forward, everywhere. How about you invite me to the living room for a drink?”
“No drink,” I say, folding my arms in front of me, acutely aware of the draft up my skirt and the fact that I handed my panties to Adrian, who is still in the house. “You need something,” I add. “What?”
“Come on, Pri,” he coos in a low, seductive purr that used to work on me. It doesn’t anymore.
Apparently, tall, dark, and deadly with a goatee and tattoos, is what works on me now, considering my body is still thrumming from Adrian’s touch.
“Let’s sit,” Logan prods.
I clench my fist by my side with the realization that he’s not going to leave until he says his piece. And the truth is that I need to know all I can about anyone or thing that equals vulnerability to Waters, including Logan. “You have five minutes,” I say turning away from him, leaving the door for him to handle and walking to the living room.
I round the couch and sit in the chair Adrian had been sitting in, wishing I hadn’t put my gun in the drawer before opening the door. Somehow, my gun on my person just feels better. Not that I think Logan wants to kill me, but it would keep him from getting handsy, and he likes to get handsy. I don’t even know how Adrian would handle that. Would he just let it happen? Not that it matters. I don’t need anyone to save me from Logan. I’ve already proven myself quite worthy of that task.
Logan joins me but doesn’t give me space. He sits down on the coffee table in front of me, too close for comfort. “We need to talk about the Waters’ case.”
Beneath the surface, I bristle, but my courtroom face slides into place. “I’m not at liberty to discuss the Waters’ case with you and you know it.”
“I’m not asking you to discuss details. One of my clients came to me with a warning. He told me that you need to step away before it’s too late. And no, he didn’t elaborate but considering you have two dead witnesses and a clusterfuck over there at the DA’s office, we can both use our imaginations.”
My heart punches at my chest. “Which client?”
“It doesn’t matter and I know you know I can’t tell you that. I talked to your father. We want you to come back to the firm.”
I laugh bitterly before I can stop myself. “And my father thinks sending you to convince me will work? But then he really has no idea how badly we parted ways, does he? To him, all you did was fuck my secretary.”
He ignores my reference to our history and moves right past it. “He would’ve come himself but he says he made a pact of some sort with you.”
It’s not a false statement. After a year of turning every holiday or family get together into the hell I was avoiding, my father agreed to shelf the topic to save our relationship. On the surface, it worked.
“I went to bat for you,” Logan says. “He wants you back. I told him to show you he understands what you want from your career and the firm. I believe, I really do, that if you tell him you want your own division, he’ll give it to you. You pick the cases. You pick the staff. You have your own budget. I set the groundwork.”
“Even if he would,” I say, “even if I’d consider coming back, which is highly unlikely, I’m not walking away from this case.”
“Hand it over to the DA, who’s a pussy for having you frontline this. He’s protecting himself, his career and his life, and