When I got back to the table, Luna pointed at Trent’s cell phone before gesturing with her hands to demonstrate something bigger.

“You want the iPad,” he said. I hated the way he spoke to her. Like he cared—like he truly cared—even though I knew he was just another Jordan. Maybe I was doing him a favor by getting him kicked out of FHH. He obviously needed the perspective and time to bond with his daughter.

“It’s in my office. Camila will give it to you when we’re done. Finish your pasta.”

Luna strummed her fingers on the table, her eyebrows wrinkled.

“Maybe she should learn sign language,” I murmured, more to myself than to anyone else, sticking a fork inside a juicy piece of steak and dragging it along the mashed potatoes. I never went to restaurants anymore—I spent my money on important things like gas and Theo—so this, in truth, wasn’t completely terrible. I hadn’t had a meal this decadent in years. Trent growled, his favorite form of communication.

“She knows how to speak. She just needs to do it.” He scrolled through his digital keypad, not even sparing me a look. Camila patted the corners of Luna’s mouth with a napkin, filling the pregnant air with words like “washing hands is important” and “want dessert?”

“She obviously feels more comfortable communicating with her hands right now,” I persisted, taking another bite of the steak. “Why make her life more difficult? You said yourself that she can speak. She will when she wants to. In the meantime, you can give her another way to express herself.”

He raised his eyes to me, his gaze loaded like a gun, before returning to his phone.

“I’ll ask Rina to find a sign language teacher,” he surprised me by saying.

“You’ll need to learn it, too,” I pointed out. He didn’t like that. I could tell by the way he put his phone down and regarded me with frosty eyes. He hadn’t touched his chicken parmigiana, and I was almost tempted to ask if he would let me take it in a doggy bag.

“Are you done telling me how to raise my daughter?”

“Not really. And I’m not sure you talking to me—or anyone else, for that matter—like this is constructive for her.”

That was the other thing that bothered me in the growing list of things that pissed me off about Trent Rexroth. He often acted like his daughter was not present in the room, even though Luna clearly understood everything he’d said. Her facial expressions molded and changed according to his words.

He stood up, disregarding me, and walked over to the hostess, paying the check. The waitress flirted with him, playing with her hair and laughing loud at what he’d said, even though Trent was the least funny guy I’d ever met in my entire life. If anything, he could bring me to tears just by looking at me if he really tried. He didn’t flirt back, didn’t smile, didn’t look interested, but when she turned her head for one second to swipe his card, he rolled his eyes and sneered. If nothing else, I wasn’t feeling so bad about stealing his iPad now.

Walking back to the office on the busy sidewalk, Trent and I strode next to each other, with Luna and Camila trailing behind us.

“You seem to have a lot of criticism about my parenting style.”

I laughed at his observation. “Oh, you have a parenting style? I hadn’t noticed. You clearly kept your crappy attitude—the one you wear in the office like a badge—at the lunch table, too. You haven’t spared Camila and me so much as a glance. Do you think your daughter can’t tell that you’re only civil to her?”

“Edie,” he warned. His voice sent a tingle down my spine, and I tried not to let my mouth curve into a smile. We were at it again. The cat and the mouse. But I wasn’t just a mouse. He was Tom and I was Jerry. He might win our battle eventually, but I’d managed to bruise him. I purpled and greened him all the time, leaving battle scars. Marks I loved to look at, in the form of his pissed off face.

“Trent.”

“How’s our little friend, Bane, doing?” He changed the subject.

I bit my lower lip in an attempt to suppress a laugh. The reluctance in his question was no less than thrilling. He shouldn’t have cared. The fact he was the first to bring up that night felt like a victory.

“There’s nothing little about him, and he is good. So, so good.”

“This sass is not worth the retribution, Edie. I promise you that.”

“See, you assuming I care about your power trip is your first mistake. Drop it,” I said easily, and this, right here, was what turned Trent on. I knew it because he stopped for a second, his throat bobbing on a swallow, and slanted his eyes sideways to see if Camila and Luna were watching him as he rearranged his impressive package inside his slacks. I stilled to allow him the time to do so—it was the epitome of provocation, after all. Then we resumed our walk.

“Are you keeping our arrangement?”

“What arrangement?” I bit out, prolonging the conversation. We stopped again, this time at a traffic light, and Luna huddled between him and me, watching the red light with interest. A pedestrian tried to push in front of us, forcing Luna to take a sidestep in my direction. I gathered her by the shoulder and squeezed her to my thigh. Trent caught it, his frown melting very slowly, his set jaw unclenching. The light turned green. We continued walking until we reached the revolving doors of the Oracle building.

At reception, Trent swiveled from the closed elevator doors and offered his daughter his business smile. The one he gave people who were important enough to be acknowledged on the fifteenth floor. All three of them.

“Camila, Luna, get us all some donuts for dessert.” He plucked a bill from his wallet and shoved it in Camila’s hand. She nodded, clasping Luna’s hand and ambling out of the building. The elevator slid open. We walked in, along with two other suited businessmen whom I think worked in accounting on the seventh floor. The four of us stared at the red numbers above our heads with quiet urgency, the tension in the small space making the back of my neck dampen with sweat.

Then the two men filed out on their floor. The second they left the elevator and the doors closed, Trent spun in my direction and slammed my body into the silver wall, and not the way I’d imagined. He didn’t even touch me. He pinned his arms on each side of my head, staring down at me. “Time to cut the bullshit. Did you fuck Bane this weekend?” His voice was an untamed snarl. I blinked innocently, wetting my lips with my tongue. Knowing it would drive him mad. Recognizing that the need was reciprocal. Whatever we were, we were toxic. A lullaby on a thoroughly scratched record that keeps hiccupping again and again on the line that you hate.

This can’t happen.

This can’t happen.

This won’t happen.

“What’s it to you?” I jerked my chin.

“It’s a yes or no question.”

I scanned his face. The way he’d dismissed me on Saturday had left scars on my ego and blisters on my libido.

The way he’d shoved me in his car like he possessed me.

The way he’d undermined my plans like they were meaningless.

The way we’d played with each other’s bodies like they weren’t connected to our souls.

My eyes flicked to the digital numeral above the elevator doors. Fifteen. The doors slithered open and I snaked under his arm, making a beeline toward his office. I could feel him following me by the heat rolling from his body. We passed Vicious and Dean in the hallway. They were hunched together, frowning over a document.

“Everything good?” Trent inquired, maintaining his business-as-usual bravado. And maybe it really was nothing to him. What we were. But for me, it was everything. At least in the realm of the fifteenth floor of the Oracle building.

“Great, where the fuck do you two think you’re going?” Dean was the first to snap his eyes up from the papers, biting his inner cheek to stifle a smile. Vicious ignored us, as he did the majority of the floor. The only time I’d seen him looking at someone—really looking at as opposed to past—was when his lavender-haired, boho-looking wife and cute son had visited the office last week. He’d looked at them with ferocious protectiveness. Like they made his soul both hungry and satisfied at the very same time. Everyone deserves to be looked at that way.

“Work.” Trent sniffed.

Vicious chuckled, shaking his head, his eyes still on the page. “Oh, brother.”

“And what the fuck is that supposed to mean?” Trent stopped, prompting me to do the same. The three men were staring at each other, and reading between the lines didn’t take long. They all disliked my father and wanted Trent to stay as far away from me as possible. Rightly so. Jordan would burn down the whole floor and wipe the building off of Earth if I messed with Rexroth the way I’d fantasized about not even an hour ago in the ladies’ room. No daughter of his was going to be caught messing around with an older man. A biracial older man, at that. A biracial older man who despised him and was probably trying to dethrone him.

Trent was the only one out of the four of them who needed me. For Luna, not for work. That made me the others’ problem by association, and I wouldn’t be surprised to find out they wanted to eliminate me from the equation.

Trent tipped his chin up and cut his gaze to me. “Wait in my office.”

I was going to argue, but then it occurred to me that he’d just given me the perfect opening. I bolted down the corridor, rounding corners, and threw his door open. I rushed over to his desk on shaky legs, stripping out of my scruples and good intentions with every step I took, like a snake shedding skin.

Like a snake. That’s who I was in that moment. A true Van Der Zee.

I don’t remember how I got to his desk, but I do remember trying to rattle the first drawer open. Locked. The second one was locked, too. The realization the room might be wired crashed into me at once, and my head snapped up, my eyes searching for the cameras. Abstract pictures hung on the walls, sparse furniture and a rug stared back at me, but no red flashing dots anywhere to be found. Not that it meant they weren’t there. My damp fingers made indentations on everything I touched, no matter how many times I wiped them on my skirt. Even if Trent had installed cameras around, it was too late to back out of what I was doing. Might as well take what I’d come there for. I resumed my search by reaching for a black leathered case under his desk, shoving my hand into it. A square, cool device met my skin. I fished it out, not taking my gaze off the closed door.