His stupid grin was back, despite Ari glaring at him.
“Whatever,” she grumbled, then she gave both of them a half hearted wave. “Bye, guys.”
She all but ran out of the pub, the door slamming shut behind her. It belatedly occurred to Ari that Evans must have driven them there. Would she run all the way back to Caché?
“I take it that went exactly how you hoped it would?” Evans asked in a casual voice. Ari glared at him, then stood up, his movements slow as he tucked his tie back inside his jacket.
“I take it this all went exactly how you planned it,” he countered. “I warned you about her.”
“Ah, but she's a free agent now – you don't own her time anymore,” Evans pointed out. “You fucked that all up.”
“She told you that?”
“Her co-workers like to gossip with big tippers.”
“Fuckers,” he growled. “And it doesn't matter – she's still off limits. Don't push me on this.”
“I won't,” Evans sighed. “She already gave me the same speech.”
“She did?”
“Yes. She won't have anything to do with me because of you.”
“She said that?” Ari checked, and his heart dropped a little when Evans shrugged.
“Not exactly, but pretty close. What's going on with you two, anyway?” he asked. “First you had a whole 'Pretty Woman' thing going on, and then she hated you, and just now she looked like she wanted to swallow her own head when you walked up.”
“What's going on is none of your business,” Ari replied, then he grabbed Evans' drink and knocked back the contents in one gulp.
“Ooohhh, I see,” Evans spoke in a soft voice. “Fucked it up again, didn't you, Sharapov. Two cracks at an amazing woman like Val, and you still couldn't hang onto her.”
Ari glared down at him, but he wasn't really mad at Evans.
He was mad at himself.
“What can I say? I'm just exceptionally talented that way.”
Evans sighed, then slid out of the booth as well.
“We're not friends, are we, Sharapov?” he asked. Ari thought for a second.
“Not particularly, no.”
“Which is a shame, because we're alike in a lot of ways. Both a couple of cocky bastards.”
“If you say so.”
“But the difference between us is you get your cockiness from everything you have,” Evans explained. “I get mine from everything I am.”
“Do you sell tickets to your self-help seminars?” Ari asked, glancing at his watch. “I'll buy some next time you're having a show – I'm a little busy right now.”
“So no matter what happens to me, I'm good,” Evans continued. “I've always got me. But what'll happen to you if something happens to all those things you have? Your lofty job, your nice apartment, your fancy car? Your rich daddy? Your connections?”
“Are you saying I shouldn't own nice shit because it makes me shallow?” Ari checked. “Because last I saw, you were driving a Range Rover.”
“That's not what I'm saying at all, and I think you know that. Christ, why am I even bothering? She deserves way better than you,” Evans groaned before storming out of the bar. Ari sighed and watched as the front door slammed shut for a second time that night.
Finally, Evans, we agree on something.
14
Between Evans and Valentine, Ari had a lot to think about.
The next day, Ari stood in front of his desk, his gaze bouncing around his office.
His degrees hung in frames on the wall. A teak desk dominated the room, with matching bookshelves behind it. Several awards were displayed on their shelves. An original Baswuait hung on the wall – a gift from his father when he'd landed his first account for the company.
For the company.
He couldn't even remember what company it had been. He hadn't even cared, he'd just wanted to impress his father. Impress the partners.
He hadn't even cared.
He didn't want to work in corporate law. He'd never wanted to; he found it boring and soul sucking.
He wanted to be a trial lawyer.
He didn't want to wait five years to inherit his father's share of this firm.
He wanted to have his own practice, his own firm.
These were all thoughts he'd had before, but he'd always quieted them. Had always taken the path of least resistance. Valentine had practically been screaming them at him the other night, begging him to listen to her, to listen to himself, and he'd refused. He was a robot, built from the ground up by his father, to do the things his father had taught him, to follow in his footsteps.
I want to walk my own path. How come I automatically believed that attempting to do so would only end in failure? How come it never once occurred to me that was an option? Not once. Not in high school. Not in college. Not in law school. I'm a Sharapov – this is just what Sharapov's do.
Valentine didn't want him, but he didn't want to let go of her.
He wanted to be with her.
Which would I prefer, to have my father like me, or to like myself?
Such a simple question, yet so deep. It was embarrassing that he even had to ask it. His father should like him no matter what, and a good father would want his son to like himself.
I don't ever want to see Valentine with Evans Daniels again. I don't ever want to see her walking away from me again. I don't ever want to let her down again. Jesus, when did I become such a quitter? Spent three weeks trying to get her back, and then when I had her in my hands, I let go at the first push. She's right – she believed in me more than I ever did. I'm such an idiot. She said it, and I didn't even understand it. Didn't even believe it. Didn't even hear it, and then I was too angry to even think about it. Such a fucking idiot.
“Rose!” Ari shouted. By the time he turned around, the secretary was standing in his doorway.
“Is everything okay?” she asked, glancing around.
“Better than okay,” he said, loosening his tie. “Is my father in?”
“Yes, he's -”
“Tell him I need to speak with him, now.”
“Alright,” she said, but then she hesitated. “Are you sure you're okay?”
He opened his mouth to repeat his answer from before, then hesitated.
Baby steps. Slay a tiny dragon now. Slay the bigger ones as they come.
“No,” he responded. “I've been fucking miserable for so goddamn long, I got used to it, and then forgot about it. Didn't even realize it.”
Rose's eyes blinked rapidly behind her tortoiseshell glasses, then she slowly smiled at him.
“I know how you feel, sir. I'll go get Mr. Sharapov.”
After she disappeared, Ari yanked his tie completely loose, pulling it over his head and shoving it into his jacket pocket. He dropped his briefcase on his desk and opened it, then walked over to the wall and started pulling down his diplomas one by one. He placed them all carefully in his case. It may not be the life he wanted, but it hadn't been all bad. He'd accomplished some amazing things, all while doing something he didn't even like. How better could he be when he was doing something he enjoyed?