Three and a Half Weeks(24)

There are some changes, though. He looks leaner now and his eyes aren’t as bright as before; in fact, if Ella were pressed to say, she’d swear he looks haunted. But why? It couldn’t have anything to do with the lawsuit, could it?

“Yes, thank you, Ian. You look good, as well. And… how are you?”

“Fine. Business is hectic, but that’s par for the course. Other than that, life is fairly serene.”

The waiter returns with the bottle, opens it, and pours a bit into his glass to taste. Ian does and nods his approval, anxious for the man to make himself scarce. “Very good, thank you.” After pouring the wine and water, the server retreats quickly.

Ian turns his full attention back to the girl seated in front of him. “So, Ariel, I’m exceedingly pleased to see you. I was so very disappointed when you disappeared last year without any explanation. May I ask why you chose to do so?”

Her face floods with red but she appears to arrest it—mind over matter—and thrusts her chin up, as if defying her own nature. “I think you know why, Ian. Let’s not bother with playing games.”

His head snaps back in surprise at her tone; clearly Ms. Strong has come into her own. “I know you were angry with me but I don’t think it warranted the drastic actions you took. Obviously, you do?”

“I did at the time. Perhaps in retrospect it seems a tad excessive.”

“Hmmm. When did you learn of your fellowship?”

Again she flushes. “The letter of acceptance arrived in the morning mail the very next day.” She smiles, satisfied. “I had less than two weeks to pack up and get there before classes were slated to begin.”

What incredibly bad timing for him. That damn letter arriving that day brought him a year’s worth of misery.

She clears her throat. “Ian, I don’t mean to be rude but I would really like to cut to the chase. Do you mind?”

Again the door opens and the waiter steps over to take their dinner order.



Ian leans back in his chair, feeling his equilibrium return to him, and casually sips his wine. His hand must be played oh so carefully—no need to rush it, despite her impatience, or rather because of it. He just watches her react to his presence and enjoys her unease. Or is it disdain? Perhaps his power no longer affects her quite so dramatically? The distinct possibility leaves an acidic taste in his mouth.

“So,” she starts.

She’s decided not to wait for his lead, then. Let’s see where she goes with it.

“I understand you consider my book a violation of the contract you had me sign when we first met. May I explain the circumstances to you?”

He gestures with his hand for her to continue, saying nothing, and by his manner keeping the pressure up and on her. He just isn’t sure it matters anymore.

She launches into her explanation. As she recounts the story, Ian watches her face closely, scrutinizing her for lies or half-truths. None. It seems as if she’s being honest. He has to suppress his laughter at the impossible situation in which she finds herself, through no fault of her own, not really. Poor Ella: not good for her but excellent for him.

Initially, it was to his consternation to learn she had ignored the CA and in the most public of ways, by writing a damn book! The news had taken him aback for it didn’t seem like something Ella would do, to tread on someone else’s privacy so thoroughly. But when Delacroix read the book—and enjoyed it immensely, so he said—and saw there were no identifying details, Ian had felt better. Still, there remained a lingering sense of betrayal about the whole affair, over the fact that she profited monetarily by disclosing intimate details, however anonymously. Now that she explained how it unfolded, he can find it comical.

She flips her long hair back off her shoulder, distracting him from his thoughts and continues to speak. “The question now becomes what exactly will you accept as restitution for your injury? I’m perfectly willing to consider anything you put on the table, Ian.”

A brow goes up. “Anything, Ariel?”

No blush—ten points for her. “Within reason. I just want to clear this matter up.”

“You could have turned down the offer from the publishing company, you know.”

She shrugs, bringing attention to her bare shoulders. Now on her second glass of wine, she’s removed her sweater and her tanned shoulders gleam in the low light. A shiver runs up his spine: he wants her in his bed tonight. Is it within the realm of possibility? Her voice interrupts his reverie. “By that point it had been all over the Internet. It became a matter of continuing to give it away or make some money on it. Seemed like a no-brainer.”