Reasonable Doubt: Volume 3 (Reasonable Doubt #3)(2)

Silence.

“Five thousand a month,” she said.

“Go f**k yourself, Ava.”

“You know I never give up,” she said, her eyes widened as I stepped back inside my apartment. “I always get what I want.”

“So do I.” I slammed the door in her face, feeling my heart palpitating, feeling the onset of ugly memories all over again.

Rain. New York. Heartbreak.

Complete and utter heartbreak.

Seeing Ava in person again—hearing her manipulative voice and feeling those familiar pangs in my chest, immediately made me realize that I couldn’t make the same mistake again.

Aubrey was already asking questions, trying to dig her way into my life as much as she could—thinking that if she stayed around long enough that we would work out together. But I knew that would never happen, not after seeing Ava and knowing just how far she would go to ruin me all over again.

I was officially done with this monogamous game we’d been playing for the past couple weeks. It was quite fun—different, but since Aubrey could never be mine and I could never be hers, it was quite f**king pointless, too.

I headed back into my bedroom and saw Aubrey smiling as she settled into the bed.

“Where’s the dinner?” she asked tilting her head to the side. “Did you leave it at the door?”

“No.” I shook my head and started packing up her things, stuffing them all into her purse.

“What are you doing?” she asked.

“You can’t stay the night.”

“Okay…” She stood up. “Did something just happen? Do you want to talk about—”

“I don’t want to talk about anything else with you.” I hissed. “I just want to take you the hell home.”

“What?” She looked confused. “What’s wrong with you? Why are you—”

“Make sure you get all of your shit out of my bathroom. You won’t be coming back here again.”

“Why not?”

“Because I need to start f**king someone else.” I picked up her headband. “I think I’ve spent more than enough time with you, don’t you think?”

“Andrew…” Her face fell. “Where is all of this coming from?”

“The same place it was always coming from. You lied to me once, you’ll lie again.”

“I thought we were over that.”

“Maybe you were, but I wasn’t.”

“What are you saying?”

“I’m saying that you need to get all of your things so I can take you home, and from here on out, you are my intern and I am your boss. You will forever be Miss Everhart to me, and to you I’ll be Mr. Hamilton.”

“Andrew…”

“Mr. Fucking. Hamilton.”

She rushed over to me and snatched her things, letting a few tears escape her eyes. “Fuck you. FUCK. YOU. This is the last time you’ll ever pull this hot and cold shit on me.” She stormed out of my apartment, slamming the door behind her.

I sighed and felt an immediate pang of guilt in my chest, but I knew it was the right thing to do. It was either cut this bullshit off now, or be responsible for breaking her heart later.

I stepped onto the balcony and lit a cigar—looking up at the moonless sky. Even though I felt bad for ending things so abruptly, for putting her out with no explanation, I needed to get back to who the hell I was and fast before I f**ked up and put my heart on the line again…

For my BFF/ultimate beta-reader/amazing assistant/shoulder to cry on whenever I’m acting crazy/ “person” like they say on ‘Grey’s Anatomy’… Tamisha Draper. ( My books would suck without you…)

To Tiffany Neal. Thank you for being the balance. You’ll always be the perfect balance…

To Natasha Gentile…How did you become my friend? LOL

And for the F.L.Y. crew: I f**king love you more than you’ll ever know…

Prologue

Several months ago…

Andrew

It was all there in black and white, front and center, no filler.

Although the facts were skewed and The New York Times had once again neglected to post my photo, the damage to my firm—Henderson & Hart, was now done. And I knew exactly what was about to occur, step by step.

I’d seen it happen in this city too many times before.

First, the top clients who’d sworn to always stay by my side would call and say that they “suddenly” found new representation. Then the employees would file letters of resignation—knowing that having a tainted firm on their resumes would hinder their careers. Next, the investors would call—pretending to sympathize as they publicly denounced me in the media and promptly pulled all funding.

Last, and most unfortunately, I was sure to become another hotshot lawyer who ruined his career before it could even begin.

“How much longer do you think you’ll be able to get away with stalking Emma?” The private investigator I hired stepped beside me.

“She’s my f**king daughter. I’m not stalking her.”

“Five hundred feet.” He lit a cigarette. “That’s how far you’re supposed to be.”

“Are they treating her right during the week?”

He sighed and handed me a stack of photos. “Private preschool, early tap-dance lessons, and weekends at the park as you can clearly see. She’s fine.”