Brittany Ives sits up tall in her chair and signals to the court reporter that she’s ready to begin. She scans across the table, her eyes peeking out over her thick-rimmed glasses at me and David across the table.

We sit on either side of Alonso Argento’s plump form. His hands rest on top of the table, each wrist locked in handcuffs. Pretty standard protocol for a mobster on trial for murder.

“Mr. Argento, have you ever been deposed before?” she asks, her voice deep with experience.

Argento leans forward. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, a chuckle beneath his voice. “I have.”

“Then, you are aware that, as the defendant in this case, you may invoke your fifth amendment rights and refuse questioning at any time?”

He raises his hands. “I have nothing to hide.”

“Sir, please refrain from any hand gestures and answer all questions verbally.”

His palms touch the table again. “Okay.”

Already, I begin to zone out. There’s no real reason for me to be here other than muscle. I wasn’t there for the prep and I honestly skimmed the notes. It’s not my case, no matter how much my father wants to try and stuff that down my throat.

I glance at my watch. Fifteen past one. Five more hours and I’m free to head over to Phoebe’s for dinner. My mouth waters. Not sure if it’s because of the steak or her. The latter, I bet.

I force my smile to stay down.

“I will also remind you that you are under oath and any false information—”

“Ms. Ives,” David says, smirking, “my client is aware of his rights and has been well-prepared for this deposition. Please get to the questions.”

Brittany’s lips twist into what I assume is a smile. She casually looks to me, as if I’m David’s fucking keeper or something. I might as well be, truth be told.

I give her a quick nod.

“Very well.” She clears her throat. “Mr. Argento, would you please detail your whereabouts on the evening of January 19th of this year?”

Argento smiles. “I was at my home away from home.”

“And where is that?”

His answers come out stiff and rehearsed. “Room 279 at the Botsford Plaza Hotel downtown,” he says.

“Can anyone corroborate that?”

“Of course,” he says. “The owner, the room service staff, and my wife.”

“Was your wife there with you that night?”

“No. We spoke on the phone.”

Brittany pauses as she jots down a note. “And how exactly can your wife know your location? You could have called from anywhere.”

“I always video chat with my wife on business trips. She could tell you exact layout of my damn room.” He scoffs. “I tell ya, long-distance relations sure have changed since the good old days—”

“Mr. Argento,” Brittany interrupts, “I ask that you please answer your questions straight and to-the-point.”

I pause, my ears perking up.

Argento shifts in his chair. “All right.”

I look at him. “Where does your wife live, Mr. Argento?” I ask.

His face jerks in my direction. “Chicago,” he answers.

“How often are you separated?”

He gawks at me. “Uhh…”

“Mr. Monahan…” Brittany says.

I hold up a hand. “Answer the question, please.”

Argento thinks for a moment. “Two weeks a month, at least, for the past thirty years.”

“Does video chat really help? Your personal relationship, I mean.”

David cranes over Argento’s back to look at me. “Max, what are you doing?” he asks.

“Oh, yeah,” Argento answers. “I mean, it ain’t easy.”

I nod with interest. “No?”

“No, but it’s easier than, say, the eighties when me and Maude first started dating. Long-distance phone calls weren’t cheap back then, you know?”

“Right…”

“Now, you got Skype. You got no limit cell phone plans.” He leans in and lowers his voice. “You even got these remote-activated sex toys she can stick up her—”

“Mr. Monahan,” Brittany spits.

David bolts up out of his chair. “Can we take five?”

“Please do,” she says, glaring at me.

“Max…” He throws the door open and waves at me. “May I have a word?”

I pat Argento on the back as I stand up. “Thanks.”

He shrugs. “Hey, you’re welcome, kid.”

I follow David out of the conference room into the main lobby. Video chatting? Interesting. How did I not think of that?

David spins around to face me. “What the hell are you doing in there?”

“I was just asking a few questions.”

“About remote-activated sex with his wife?” He cringes. “What the fuck, man?”

“Okay… yeah. They were slightly off-topic,” I say. “It won’t happen again.”

“Fucking better not. What’s up with you lately anyway?”

I rub my brow. “I don’t know.”

“Whatever it is, it’s been messing you up for weeks.” He pauses and flashes a twisted grin. “It wouldn’t happen to have something to do with that big booty you had hiding in your bedroom last week, would it?”

I turn away, taking steps toward the lounge. “No,” I answer.

“Oh, come on. You can tell me.” He keeps in stride. “Actually, don’t. Let me guess because I have a theory and it’s a good one.”

“Not interested in your theories, Dave.”

I head straight for the coffee pot at the back of the lounge to look busy, partially cringing as his devious cackle echoes behind me.

“My theory starts with P and ends…” he points at his face, “with an eye.”

Shit.

I keep my poker face on. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, man.”

He laughs again as I pour myself a cup of coffee. “You took her home from the reunion, Max. We all saw you.”

“You don’t know what you saw,” I claim. “But she saw all of you laughing at her and that’s why she walked out.”

He points a finger. “And you followed her.”

“I wanted to make sure she was okay,” I argue. Hell, that part is actually true.

“Was she?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was just fine after you and Thad got through with her.” He sticks out his tongue. “And again last Thursday…”

“You’re way off.”

“Am I?” His head tilts. “Am I really?”

I take a nonchalant sip from my mug. “Yeah.”

He holds up his hands. “Okay. Okay. You’re not fucking Phoebe Pink.”

“Nope,” I say. “But I’m starting to think that you want to.”

He recoils. “Hell, no. I’ve got a real piece of ass begging me for it day and night lately.”

I almost ignore it. It’s a lure, obviously. He’s gently tugging the line, hoping I’ll pounce and ask for details. Whatever. I’ll give him the win. “And who might that be?” I ask.

And just like magic, a head of blonde hair floats into view from the hallway like some malevolent ghost, attached to a rail-thin body and long, exposed legs.

“Oh, Davey…” Sally sings. She catches sight of us in the back corner and grins. “I was hoping I’d find you in here!”

I sigh. Loudly. “Of course…”

David nudges me with his elbow. “We hit it off after the reunion.”

“Oh, I’m sure you did.”

“There was a real connection.”

“I’m sure there was.”

Sally stops beside him and violently cups his face before planting a hard, wet kiss on his lips. “Whisk me away from this place. Now,” she tells him.

“No can do, babe,” he says, wiping her spit off his mouth with his thumb. “I’m in the middle of something.”

She pouts. “And it’s more important than me?”

“Kind of,” he says, smirking. “Yeah.”

I stare into my coffee. “And they lived happily ever after,” I quip. “The end.”

David laughs, though I’m not really sure he knows why. “We gotta get back to Ives, Max,” he says. “For all we know, she’s coerced a handwritten confession out of him already.”

“You go on ahead.” I flash a smile. “You don’t need me in there. You got this.”

He shrugs and takes a step back. “If you say so…”

“I believe I did.”

“All right. It’s your funeral.” He gives Sally a passive peck on the cheek. “I told you I’d call you. Don’t stop by the office again.”

She frowns. “I’ll do as I fucking please, actually.”

He slaps her rear as he passes by with barely even a glance over his shoulder. Unsurprisingly, that seems to be all that’s required to bring a delighted smile to her face. She even bites her lip longingly as he stomps into the hallway.

I shake my head. Classy as ever.

“So, Max…” She turns her attentions to me. “What’s eating you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit.” Her eyes flick up and down, checking me out. “Anything I can do to help?”

I ignore the sultry tone. “Nope.”

“Are you sure?”

“Pretty darn sure.”

Her demeanor shifts from sex kitten to annoyed rage with a single, pointed sigh. “You know, I’m getting a little tired of you brushing me off, Max,” she seethes.

I don’t blink. “Sally, I’m sorry you find my refusal to sleep with you insulting but that’s not really my problem.”

She crosses her arms. “Oh, really?”

“Really.” I nod once. “Your efforts would be better spent on the millions of other men in the greater Los Angeles area who would gladly drop everything to fuck you at a moment’s notice. Throw a rock downtown. I guarantee you’ll hit one.”

“I don’t want them. I want you.” She pauses, growing soft. “I always have.”

I smile through the bullshit pity bait. “Nice try,” I whisper.

Her eye twitches. “Fine. Be that way.”

“Okay. Bye, Sally.”

I turn to walk off and leave her here but she steps out in front of me.

“You’ll be back,” she says, oozing with confidence.

“I doubt that very much.”

“I don’t.” She takes a step closer, invading my senses with her thick, ugly perfume. “In fact, I think you’ll come crawling back to me very, very soon.”

I pause, purposefully staring a little deeper into her pale, dead eyes. “Sally…”

“Yes?” she says with a quivering whisper on her breath.

I lean forward, stopping a few inches shy of her lips. “Get a fucking hobby.”

She clenches her jaw and glares at me through narrow, hateful eyes as I raise my mug to my mouth. I down a sip and turn away, taking wide strides to get the hell away from her and the scent of dead flowers.

Once I reach the hallway, I turn the corner and glance over my shoulder to make sure she’s not stalking me back to my office. Thankfully, she’s not, or she doesn’t seem to be. Part of me expects to walk in and find her standing over the doorway holding a butcher’s knife. Wouldn’t surprise me, honestly…

“Deposition over already, sir?”

I pause beside my secretary’s desk. “Not really,” I answer.

She furrows her wrinkled brow, instantly reminding me of my mother. Luckily, Erica is nothing like her. If she judges me at all, I wouldn’t know. Mom, on the other hand…

“Was there a problem?” she asks.

“No…” I bite my inner cheek. “Erica, could you clear the rest of my day? Feeling a bit under the weather.”

“Sure,” she says with a nod. “Mr. Monahan wanted to meet with you as soon as the deposition was over, though…”

“I figured. Just cancel it. I’ll talk to him tomorrow.”

“Before or after the meeting with the DA?”

I deflate, letting my head fall. “That’s tomorrow morning?”

“Yes, it is,” she says. “Nine… A… M.”

Dammit. I’d hoped to spend the night with Phoebe and drag ass tomorrow, spent and hungover. “Don’t suppose you can reschedule that one for me?” I ask her with a smirk.

“They’ve rescheduled twice,” she answers, smirking right back.

That means no.

“Okay…” I nod. “I will speak to my father after our meeting with the DA.”

“I’ll write it down, sir.”

She gives me a sly smile. If there’s anyone who knows how much I hate this place, it’s her. The poor woman has been covering for me for years. She enjoys a nice holiday bonus from me because of it, though.

“Have a good day, Erica,” I tell her. “Feel free to skip out early and snatch a box of pens from the storeroom while you’re at it.”

“I’ll do just that. Hope you feel better,” she adds with a wink.

“Thanks.”

I slip into my office and grab my phone off the desk. I’m not surprised to find a new text from dad, gently reminding me to check-in with him as soon as I get out. My thumb flicks the notification away. Out of sight, out of mind, as they say.

I step out and walk down the corridor toward the elevators, eyes constantly darting around in search of my father. Or anyone, really. There’s not one person I want to speak to right now.

Except her, of course.

I stop to hit the call button on the elevator. The doors instantly open but I pause as my eyes land on the logo emblazoned on the wall beside me.

Monahan.

Letters twice the size of my damn head. My name. My father’s name. A family legacy that I never questioned for a second.

Until recently, of course.

It almost feels like high school again. Cutting responsibilities in favor of playing hooky with some girl but I’m an adult, for Christ’s sake. Am I really doing this?

I shoot out a hand to stop the elevator doors from closing.

Yes. I guess I am.

I step onto the empty elevator and the doors slide closed behind me.