4| Fire-2

I glanced at the rest of the room and at least they were smart enough to take the hint and leave me alone. "A glass of whiskey," I told the bartender. "Being a sore loser doesn't suit you, Mr. Harper." I glanced over my eyes meeting Amara's. She stood at a fair distance from me but she had clearly been there long enough to overhear my last conversation. An amused smile danced on her lips as she set her glass on the counter after taking a small sip and turned to me. "But my, my, is it a sight for sore eyes," she taunted, picking up her glass and moving closer to me. "Here to gloat tonight, Ms. Milano?" "Well, I don't get a lot of chances to gloat now, do I? I hardly see you outside the courtroom. But it seems like your clients do enough to rub salt in the wound. I don't even have to try." "Don't let one little win get to your head." "Don't take your losses to heart," she retorted, "I always tell you to leave cases in the courtroom, to leave work at work. You just don't listen. You'd be less frustrated if you did." "I highly doubt that," I snickered, taking my glass from the bartender and having the first sip. "Do tell," she mused. Amara loved to see the effect she had on me, she relished in knowing that one person that vexed me like nothing else, was her. I couldn't blame her either, in all my past victories, I acted the very same. Because Amara being at a loss was a fucking sight to see. I turned to face her completely and her body almost naturally mirrored mine. My eyes traveled over her, taking in the soft champagne-colored satin slip dress she wore with two dainty little straps on her shoulders holding it up and despite the fabric flowing down to her feet, the satin hugged her chest, waist, and hips perfectly. It truly was a pity that she had such fine taste. "The only way for me to fix this frustration is to beat you in another case, Malyshka." "You'll fail. Especially with all this anger raging inside of you, Harper," she smiled in a sickly, sweet manner, "you don't do well with losing." "And you think you do? I should remind you how many crucial cases you've lost to me in the past." "And I should remind you those losses are the reason I was able to beat you today. All your extra experience can only take you so far. Even you should have known that I'd catch up to you someday. I guess that someday was today." Amara was resilient and so fucking persistent. She'd never give up. But I'd never stop competing against her if that was what it took to make her realize she couldn't do it all. "I give you my word, Ms. Milano. The next time I see you in any case, it'll be one of the biggest losses you've ever faced." "Do your worst, Mr. Harper," she responded, swiping her glass and brushing past me. On nights like this, what pissed me off the most was the way she always stole the last word and then strutted off as if what the other person had to say didn't affect her at all. Downing the rest of my drink, I left the glass on the counter and spun around, walking out of the hall and getting on the elevator, going to the rooftop dining and view that this hotel was most known for. Seeing and dealing with Amara often left me with a desperate urge like this to get out of the room she was in and get fresh air. At times, it felt like it was the sight of her that stole the air from my lungs, but I knew it was the anger ignited in my veins because of her. Tonight, it was the feeling of losing to her that got to me far more than it normally would. Stopping behind the railing, I rested my arms on it and let out a breath, staring at the skyline ahead of me. My hands itched to reach into my pockets and I had to grip the railing so tight that my knuckles grew white just to suppress that urge. After a while, I lost track of time and had no idea how long I'd been up here or how many times my phone had buzzed with texts demanding that I returned to the party. My jaw ticked as the urgency to smoke a cigarette hit me harder than it had in the past three years. "Fuck it," I mumbled, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and the spare old-fashioned silver lighter I kept with me most of the time, often, out of subconscious habit. Even as I held the cigarette between my fingers and stared at it, I contemplated not doing it. But the urge was too overwhelming tonight. Taking the end between my lips, I flicked the lighter on, but before I could even bring the flame to the cigarette, it was snatched out of my lips along with the box that was taken out of my hands. Releasing an annoyed huff, I ran my tongue along the inside of my cheek as I turned to face whoever was adamant about ruining whatever I tried to salvage of tonight and adamant on dying, apparently. "I didn't sober you up three years ago for you to fall back into it," Amara said, scanning the front and back of the box. "Sobranie," she read the brand aloud, "at least you're not wasting sixty dollars on one box of Treasurer cigarettes." I reached for the box only for her to move it out of reach. "I understand you needed me sober as your client then, but you're no longer my attorney, Malyshka. Hand them over." "No," she defied, her eyes sharp and blazing with fire as they met mine. "I needed you sober back then because I refused to defend you when you were addicted to these. I refuse to compete with someone who's addicted to cigarettes too." I lifted a brow at her. "If I didn't know any better, I'd say you're worried about me, Ms. Milano." She ignored me and glanced at the lighter still in my hand. I pocketed it before she could snatch it up and do something stupid like light the entire box on fire. Considering she did it once to make me quit, she could do it again. "I already hate you enough," she said, lifting her gaze to mine, "don't give me any more reasons to." Stepping closer, she kept me cornered as I had to turn around to face her with the railing pressing into my back. "Listen to me very carefully, Tristan," she said, keeping her voice low but sharp, "it's no fun competing and winning against someone who self-destructs. I'm sure you would agree, right?" I held her gaze, my eyes occasionally traveling across the rest of her features. "I don't know, Malyshka, I'd give almost anything to see you in ruins. Even if it's at your own hands." Her eyes narrowed. "Liar. Where's the fun in that?" It was too late for me to stop her when I felt her hand leaving my pocket with the lighter between her fingers. A small sigh escaped me as she moved away and opened the pack, lighting every single cigarette on fire as she held onto the box. She looked at me as I stared at the box. "You really are a bitch, you know that?" I said. "I know," she retorted, tossing me the lighter. "I'll never understand smokers. The box warns you that smoking kills. Why choose such a boring way to die?" As the flames neared her fingertips, she tossed the box in the metal trash can nearby and then dusted her hands, heading back to the party after that. . . . . . Chapter 4