Daxton’s cheeks flush a little. “Mom, we’re not really here to ta—”

“I’m sure Miss Flowers knows what it’s like to have braggy parents,” Mr. Hughes breaks in.

I smile but the comment makes my heart twinge. It’s been a long time since someone bragged about my accomplishments, and the man who stole my biggest one is sitting on the other side of the table, and apparently doesn’t remember the way he screwed me. Not literally, thank God.

“Please, call me Kailyn,” I say through a granite smile.

Daxton’s brows pull down and he tips his head to the side, inspecting me.

“Where did you go to law school, Kailyn?” Evelyn asks.

“UCLA.”

“Really? Daxton went to law school there, too! What year did you graduate? It couldn’t have been that long ago, you’re so young.”

I fight with my hands to stay folded on the table rather than allow them to flutter around. “It’s been five years.”

“Oh my goodness! Daxton!” She grabs his arm. “You went to law school at the same time! Did you know each other?”

“We might’ve run into each other once or twice on campus.” I look to Daxton, waiting for him to acknowledge, to remember. Waiting for a sign that he feels some kind of remorse over what he did. While we never hung out, we were always competing with each other. We bantered in class, especially during debates, sometimes to the point where the professor would have to put a stop to it. It felt a little like verbal foreplay at the time. It kept us both entertained, or so I’d thought.

Daxton’s eyebrows shoot up. “Holy shit!”

“Daxton!” His mother slaps his arm.

“Sorry. Wow. Kailyn. I didn’t recognize you.” He rubs his fingers over his bottom lip, eyes moving over my face again in a way that reminds me a lot of how he looked at me in law school. “You, uh . . . look so different. Good. You look good.”

I give him a tight smile and adjust my glasses, wishing I’d worn contact lenses today. “Yes, well, T-shirts and jeans don’t quite cut it in the business world, as I’m sure you know.”

His eyes drift down. “I liked you in jeans and T-shirts.”

“Did you have classes together? Were you friends?” His mother seems oblivious to the tension flaring between us.

“We had a lot of classes together,” Daxton replies, gaze locking on mine.

Why is it so hot in here all of a sudden? “But we weren’t exactly friends.” I pick up my pen and flip it between my fingers to avoid pulling at the collar of my blouse, which feels too tight.

He tips his head to the side, his expression curious. “We were friendly rivals, though, weren’t we? You kept me on my toes, always two steps ahead of everyone else, me included most of the time. It was hard to compete with beauty and brains.”

I bark out a laugh. At one time I’d almost believed we were friends, but he’d proved me wrong. “Rivals, sure. Friends don’t generally screw each other over by stealing the top spot in the class, do they?”

“Stealing . . . what?” His brow pulls down. “I worked my ass off for that. You can’t be mad about that after five years.”

I sure as hell can still be mad about it, especially when he’s acting like he earned it fairly. As we stare each other down, I briefly wish I’d pursued criminal law instead of trust law as a career. Then I would have much better knowledge of how to get away with murder.

At the clearing of a throat, I’m suddenly aware that I’m being completely unprofessional, and this juvenile battle is being witnessed by my potential clients, who are also his parents.

“Well, you two are certainly full of fire, aren’t you?” his mother chuckles.

I don’t want to let it go, but if I push this further, I’m at risk of embarrassing myself, and I don’t want to give Daxton the satisfaction of seeing how much he gets to me. Still. But this is the first opportunity I’ve had to confront him in five years, so it takes an infinite amount of grace to stow the anger and fix my face with a fake smile. “Daxton and I were always competing for head of the class. In the end I came in second. Anyway, you’re not here to talk about law school. Let’s discuss Emme’s trust and how you’d like the funds allocated. I’m sure we can set up a great plan that will help her manage her money responsibly as she grows.”

I spend the next hour reviewing the insane amount of money this almost-thirteen-year-old girl has amassed from six years’ worth of commercials. It makes me wish for the briefest moment that my parents had been more Hollywood. And then I take a look at Dax and remember why it’s good not to fall into the trap of believing you’re above reproach. So much so that he’s convinced himself he earned something he stole.

Once we’ve addressed the major concerns, I inform his parents that I’ll have papers for them to review in a couple of weeks.

As I usher them out the door, Daxton snags a card. “It looks likes you’ve really got it together here.” He scans my office.

“It’s a great firm.” Hints of my personality bleed through in the quirky memorabilia and trinkets I keep on my desk and that hang from the wall.

“It was nice to see you again, Kailyn,” he says, but this time his eyes aren’t on the walls. Once again he’s checking out my legs as he does another slow sweep of my funky patterned hose.

“Likewise,” I reply, but my tone sounds a lot more like fuck you.

He has the nerve to wink as he slips the card into his breast pocket and follows his parents out of my office. Once he’s gone I flip the double bird at the wall and mouth all sorts of profanity. It’s highly immature. That man brings out the worst in me. I wish I’d had five minutes alone with him so I could finally confront him about what he did and rip him a nice new asshole.

I glance at the clock and realize I’m running late for lunch. Normally that wouldn’t be a problem since I often skip real food in lieu of a bag of Sour Patch Kids, or whatever candy I have stashed in my desk—not particularly health conscious of me, but it gets me through when I don’t feel like taking a break.

Today my best friend and I have a lunch date at our favorite bistro and I have a full schedule this afternoon, so being late means less time with her, and I now need to vent post–Hughes meeting. I shoot her a message to let her know I’m on my way. Holly’s already seated on the patio when I arrive. She pushes away from the table and pulls me in for a tight hug. “Thanks for making time for me.”

Holly is a compulsive hugger, and even though I expect the affection from her, it still takes a moment before I remember to return the gesture. “Of course. Anything for you.”

Holly and I have been friends since I moved next door to her at the age of three. Apart from when she went to college in Santa Barbara, we’ve always lived in the same city.

“So you’ll never believe who came by my office this morning,” I say as we drop into the chairs across from each other.

“Does that mean you want me to guess?” Holly half smiles and raises her eyebrows.

“You can try, but I doubt you’ll get it right.”

“Oooh, now I’m really intrigued. Was it that guy from that law conference last month, the one who wanted to see your not-so-legal briefs?”

I roll my eyes. “Oh my God, no, and that was literally the worst line in the history of lines. Try again.”

“Just tell me. You’re all worked up about it with the way you’re fidgeting, so it’s got to be good.” She motions to my hands.

I’m twisting my napkin into what could approximate a sword, or a knife.

Before I can respond the server comes by. Neither of us needs to open our menu. We come here so often we could practically recite it to each other.

Once our server has taken our order, Holly makes a go-ahead motion with her hand and props her chin on her fist.

“Daxton Hughes.” When she does nothing but blink at me, I add, “You know, the guy from It’s My Life. The show we watched like it was our religion every Tuesday for years.”

“Oh, I know who Daxton Hughes is. You pretty much talked about him nonstop for the entire three years you were in law school, and the ten years before that, too.”

“Well, he turned out to be asshole, in the end, didn’t he?” I mutter. “And that hasn’t changed at all in the last five years, either.”

“Oh? What happened? What was he there for? Oooh! Does he have an illegitimate love child he’s trying to keep secret?”

I glance around the restaurant and make a keep it down gesture. The meeting wasn’t really about him, so telling Holly isn’t a big deal, but I don’t need to broadcast it. “No, he was with his parents and they’re setting up a family trust.”

“That’s way less exciting than an illegitimate love child.” Holly frowns. “It’s actually sweet that he would help his parents do that.”

“Do not call Daxton Hughes sweet! He is the opposite of sweet.”

Holly bites back a smile. “Let it all out. You know you want to.”