Prologue

Andrew

New York City

Six years ago...

For the third week in a row, I woke up to a relentless rain falling over this repulsive city. The clouds above were coated in an ugly hue of grey, and the streaks of lightning that flashed across the sky every few seconds were no longer marvels; they were predictable.

Holding up my umbrella, I walked to a newspaper stand and picked up The New York Times—bracing myself for what lay between its pages.

“How many women do you think a man could possibly screw in his lifetime?” The vendor handed me my change.

“I don’t know,” I said. “I’ve stopped counting.”

“Stopped counting, eh? What did you do, get to ten and decide that was enough before settling down?” He pointed to the gold band on my left hand.

“No. I settled down first, then I started f**king.”

He raised his eyebrow—looking stunned, and then he turned around to organize his cigar display.

A couple of months ago, I would’ve entertained his attempt to make conversation, would’ve answered his question with a lighthearted laugh and a “More than we’ll ever admit to,” but I didn’t have the ability to laugh anymore.

My life was now a depressing reel of repeated frames—hotel nights, cold sweats, marred memories, and rain.

Goddamn rain.

I tucked the newspaper underneath my arm and turned away, glancing at the ring on my hand.

I hadn’t worn it in a long time, and I had no idea what possessed me to put it on today. Twisting it off my finger, I looked at it one last time—shaking my head at its uselessness.

For a split second, I considered keeping it, maybe locking it away as a reminder of the man I used to be. But that version of me was pathetic—gullible, and I wanted to forget him as fast as I could.

I crossed the street as the light turned green, and as I stepped onto the sidewalk, I tossed the band where I should’ve thrown it months ago.

Down the drain.

Exculpatory Evidence (n.):

Evidence indicating that a defendant did not commit the crime.

Andrew

Present Day

The hot coffee that was currently seeping through my pants and stinging my skin was the exact reason why I never f**ked the same woman twice.

Wincing, I took a deep breath. “Aubrey...”

“You’re f**king married.”

I ignored her comment and leaned back in my chair. “In the interest of your future short-lived and mediocre law career¸ I’m going to do two huge favors for you: One, I’m going to apologize for f**king you a second time and let you know that it will never happen again. Two, I’m going to pretend like you didn’t just assault me with some goddamn coffee.”

“Don’t.” She threw my coffee mug onto the floor, shattering it to pieces. “I definitely did, and I’m tempted to do it again.”

“Miss Everhart—”

“Fuck you.” She narrowed her eyes at me, adding, “I hope your dick falls off,” as she stormed out of my office.

“Jessica!” I quickly stood up and grabbed a roll of paper towels. “Jessica?”

No answer.

I picked up my phone to call her desk, but she suddenly stepped into my office. “Yes, Mr. Hamilton?”

“Call Luxury Dry Cleaning and have them to deliver one of my suits to the office. I also need a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file from HR, and you need to tell Mr. Bach that I’ll be late to that four o’ clock meeting today.”

I waited to hear her usual “Right away, sir” or “I’m on it, Mr. Hamilton,” but she said nothing. She was silent—blushing, and her eyes were glued to the crotch of my pants.

“Don’t you need some help cleaning that up?” Her lips curved into a smile. “I have a really thick towel in my desk drawer. It’s very soft...and gentle.”

“Jessica...”

“It is huge, isn’t it?” Her eyes finally met mine. “I really wouldn’t tell a soul. It would be our little secret.”

“My f**king dry cleaning, a new cup of coffee, Miss Everhart’s file, and a message to Mr. Bach about me being late. Now.”

“I really love the way you resist...” She stole another glance of my wet pants before leaving the room.

I sighed and started to soak up as much of the coffee as I could. I should’ve known that Aubrey was the emotional type, should’ve known that she was unstable and incapable of behaving normally the second I realized she’d made up a fake identity just for LawyerChat.

I regretted ever telling her that I wanted to own her pu**y, and I was cursing myself for driving to her apartment yesterday.

Never again...

Just as I was tearing off a new paper towel, a familiar voice cleared the air.

“Why, hello...It’s good to see you again,” she said.

I lifted my head up, hoping that this was a hallucination—that the woman at my door wasn’t really standing there smiling. That she wasn’t stepping forward with her hand outstretched as if she wasn’t the very reason that my life was heartlessly altered six years ago.

“Are you going to shake my hand, Mr. Hamilton?” She raised her eyebrow. “That is the name you’re going by these days, isn’t it?”

I stared at her long and hard—noticing that her once silky black hair was now cut short into a bob. Her light green eyes were still as soft and alluring as I remembered them, but they weren’t having the same effect.

All the memories I’d tried to suppress over the past few years were suddenly playing right in front of me, and the blood under my skin was starting to boil.

“Mr. Hamilton?” she asked again.

I picked up my phone. “Security?”

“Are you f**king kidding me?” She slammed the phone down. “You’re not going to ask why I’m here? Why I came to see you?”

“Doing so would imply that I care.”

“Did you know that when most people get sentenced to prison, they get care packages, money orders, even a phone call on their first day?” She clenched her jaw. “I got divorce papers.”

“I told you I’d write.”

“You told me you’d stay. You told me you forgave me, you said that we could start over when I got out, that you would be right there—”

“You f**king ruined me, Ava.” I glared at her. “Ruined me, and the only reason I said those dumb ass things to you was because my lawyer told me to.”

“So, you don’t love me anymore?”

“I don’t answer rhetorical questions,” I said. “And I’m not a geography expert, but I know damn well that North Carolina is outside of New York and a direct violation of your parole. What do you think will happen when they find out you’re here? Do you think they’ll make you serve out the sentence that you more than f**king deserve?”

She gasped. “You would snitch on me?”

“I would run my car over you.”

She opened her mouth to say something else, but my door opened and the security team walked in.

“Miss?” The lead guard, Paul cleared his throat. “We’re going to need you to vacate the premises now.”

Ava scowled at me, shaking her head. “Really? You’re really going to let them haul me off like I’m some kind of animal?”

“Once again, rhetorical.” I sat down in my chair, signaling for Paul to get rid of her.

She said something else, but I tuned it out. She didn’t mean shit to me, and I needed to find someone online tonight so I could f**k her random and unwanted appearance out of my mind.

Evasion (n.):

A subtle device to set aside the truth, or escape the punishment of the law.

Aubrey

Andrew was the epitome of what it meant to be an ass**le, a shining example of what that word stood for, but no matter how pissed I was, I hadn’t been able to stop thinking about him.

In the six months that we’d spoken, he’d never mentioned a wife. And the one time I’d asked if he’d ever done anything more than “One dinner. One night. No repeats.” –he’d said “Once,” and quickly changed the subject.

I’d been replaying that conversation in my mind all night, telling myself to accept that he was a liar, and that I needed to move on.

“Ladies and gentlemen of La Monte Art Gallery...” My ballet instructor suddenly spoke into a mic, cutting through my thoughts. “May I have your attention please?”

I shook my head and looked out into the full audience. Tonight was supposed to be one of the highlights of my dance career. It was an exhibition for the city’s college dancers. All of the leading performers for spring productions were supposed to dance a two minute solo in honor of their school, in celebration of what was to come months later.

“This next performer you’re about to see is Miss Aubrey Everhart.” There was pride in his voice. “She is playing the role of Odette/Odile in Duke’s production of Swan Lake, and when I tell you that she is one of the most talented dancers I’ve ever seen...” He paused as the crowd’s chatter dissolved into silence. “I need you to take my word for it.”

One of the photographers in the front row snapped a picture of me, temporarily rendering me blind by the flash.

“As most of you know,” he continued, “I’ve worked with the best of the best, spent countless years in Russia studying underneath the greats, and after a long and illustrious career with the New York Ballet Company, I’ve retired to teach those with untapped potential.”

There was a loud applause. Everyone in the room knew who Paul Petrova was, and even though most in the field were confused as to why he would ever want to teach in Durham, no one dared to question his decision.

“I hope you’ll come out and see the first transformation of the Duke ballet program in the spring,” he said as he slowly walked to the other side of the stage. “But for now, Miss Everhart will perform a short duet from Balanchine’s ‘Serenade,’ with her partner Eric Lofton!”

The audience clapped again, and the lights above them dimmed. A soft spotlight shone on me and Eric, and the violinists began to play.

Short, soft notes filled the room, and I stood on my toes—trying to dance as delicately as the music demanded. Yet, with each step, all I could picture was Andrew kissing me, f**king me, and ultimately lying to me.

“I’ve never lied to you, Aubrey. I trust you for some strange reason...”

I pushed Eric away when he held out his hands, and twirled across the stage until he came after me. He held my face in his hands—as if he was begging me to stay, but I spun away again, launching myself into a full set of nonstop pirouettes.

I was angry, I was hurt, and I wasn’t holding anything back as I showed off just how well I could dance en pointe.

The second the violinists struck the last note, the audience let out a collective gasp and applauded the loudest they had all night.

“Wow...” Eric whispered as he took a bow next to me. “I don’t think anyone will talk shit about you getting the swan role after that...”

“People have been talking shit about me?” I raised my eyebrow, but I already knew the answer to that. A junior landing the top role over all the seniors was unheard of.

“Bravo, Miss Everhart.” Mr. Petrova walked over to me. “She’s going to blow you all away in the spring, I’m sure of it!”

Another round of applause began to build and he moved the mic away from his mouth. “Where are your parents? I’d like for them to come up for a picture.”

“They’re out of town.” I lied. I hadn’t wasted my time even attempting to invite them to this.

“Well, that’s too bad!” he said. “I’m sure they’re very proud of you. You can exit the stage now.”