“No! After that first night, I told her I couldn’t see her again and I didn’t for a month. But then she was at my parents’ anniversary party.” The one I refused to attend.
If I had gone, would we still be sitting across the table right now, talking about our failed marriage?
He drops his gaze to his hands. “She’s always been so sweet and caring, and . . .” I clear my throat to stifle the bitter laugh. She has him fooled. “. . . she fits with my family well and . . .” Yes, his family, who was crushed when he brought me home. “ . . . she’ll make a good mother one day.” He sounds like he’s spewing out his parents’ propaganda, but the more he goes on, the more desolate I become. If that’s what he wanted in a wife, then we never had a hope in hell. Sweet . . . caring . . . fits in . . . future good mother . . . None of those labels fit me, regardless of whether they’re real or fraudulent on her.
It feels like he’s the one with a paintball gun aimed at point-blank range at my heart, firing mercilessly. I didn’t come here to listen to this. I make a move to push my chair back when I hear, “But I miss you, Reese.”
My mouth drops open, the conflicting end to that “Ode to Caroline” startling.
Eyes thick with emotion blaze into me. “We were pretty fucking great together, weren’t we?”
And then he reaches out to grab my hand.
The still vivid memory of them together yesterday wraps its fist around my guts and squeezes, reminding me not to let myself drift into the nostalgic, not to let myself get caught up in his words now. I want to be screaming at him, agreeing, “Yes! We were fucking awesome together and you ruined it!” I should be stabbing his hand with my fork. But instead I let myself accept the physical contact for just a moment longer, until I manage to lose my gaping jaw, and then I pull my hand out from beneath his and use the fork to jab at my pie. It’s untouched, but at least they can’t serve it to anyone else with holes all through it.
He waits in silence as I take three long, deep calming breaths. “Does she know you’re here with me right now?” I do a cursory glance around the patio, looking for the little ginger-haired husband-stealing bitch hiding behind a plant.
A frown zags across his forehead. “What? You think she’s watching from somewhere?”
“No, only a crazy person would do that.”
He pauses, a smirk curling his lips. “No, she doesn’t know. She’s not even talking to me right now.”
“Oh yeah? Had a big fight?” My conscience starts to laugh—a wicked, triumphant cackle inside my head.
“Yeah. Over something stupid that happened at paintball,” he murmurs absently, cocking his head. “Don’t look so happy about it, okay?”
“I’ll try my best,” I offer, deadpan.
He folds his hands into one another. “We’ve been fighting a lot, actually. I’ve known her for eighteen years and yet the second I said those vows, it’s like she changed into an entirely new woman and she’s trying to change me with her.” He works his mouth for a moment, watching me carefully. “You weren’t like that, though, were you?”
That’s because we only knew each other for six weeks before we got married. And no, I wasn’t. I accepted him as he was. I hold his gaze—a heated look that I’ve seen plenty before, though never while sitting in a public place—but I say nothing to that.
“So this lawyer you’re seeing, how long has that been going on for?”
“A few months,” I lie.
He nods slowly, reaching out to curl his hands around my empty mug, pushing it back and forth slowly. “I was thinking we could all go out to dinner or something, sometime.”
Now my bitter laugh does escape. I know Jared can be kind of dense sometimes—letting me walk into the apartment to collect my things that day is a good example of how he sometimes doesn’t think through his ideas—but this? Chewing food . . . carrying on a conversation . . . not slitting Caroline’s throat with a steak knife . . . all things that sound impossible.
Green eyes flicker to my face, assessing me. “Too weird?”
“Just a little.”
He shrugs. “Okay, well . . . maybe drinks or something more casual at first. Even just the two of us. I really want to be friends, Reese. At least.”
At least? What the hell else could we be? He’s married! Is he actually doing what I think he’s doing? Flip-flopping back and forth between Caroline and me like a beached fish? Like he wants to have his cake and eat it too? If I were an outsider watching in, I would be pointing and laughing at the lot of us right now and especially at the idiot blond, for even sitting here and speaking to this douchebag. If I were an outsider and not the idiot blond who not so long ago hopelessly loved said douchebag, who was left broken-hearted and humiliated in a ditch.
“I’ll have to think about it,” I say, standing. He follows suit, and we’re left facing each other in this uncomfortable stance. Do we just walk away? Do we hug? Do I punch him in the junk so maybe he starts using that dense mass of gray matter filling his skull, for once?
“You got a new number, right?” He pulls his cell out of his pocket and starts scrolling through it.
I hesitate. “Yeah, Miami local.”
Frowning, he mutters, “Weird. I had your contact info in here. I don’t know where it went.” I think I have a pretty good idea. To deleted heaven, care of your sweet new wife. “Here. I’ll put it in again. Okay, shoot.”
I pause.
Do I do this?
Do I give him my number?
I give him my number.
“Great. Well . . .” He frowns and then, stepping forward, envelops my stiff body in a hug that I don’t reciprocate. “See you soon. I hope.” His lips brush against my cheek as he pulls away. I watch him stroll away, whistling happily.
And I release the lung’s worth of air I didn’t know I was holding.
I don’t know how I feel about all of this. Jared’s not happy with Caroline. In the nasty swirl of hurt that has encased me for months, there’s no mistaking the sweet feeling of that knowledge. Now he’s come right out and told me that he misses me. He’s showing me that he still has feelings for me. If I ever wanted Jared . . .
To hurt.
To suffer.
To love me again.
This could the perfect opportunity.
But first, I would need Switzerland to play along.
Chapter 16
BEN
“Well, look at you, big-shot lawyer.”
Fuck . . . Just the sound of that smooth voice has blood rushing to my cock. It’s nothing I can control. Mercy has always had that effect on me. It’s only gotten worse since my farewell party at Penny’s. Cain’s “no screwing the strippers” rule got publically launched out the window by her and Hannah that night. At the same time. I didn’t even suggest it, but I sure as hell wasn’t going to pass up the chance.
But the look on Mason’s face now as he turns around to find the platinum-blond stripper in my office is almost as entertaining. His face goes from pale to beet red in an instant as the poor guy’s eyes bobble around uncontrollably—from her face to her tits to her face to the wall and back to her tits before he turns around to stare at me with pleading eyes.
“This is my good friend Mason. Mason, this is Mercy.”
She reaches out with a giggle. After a somewhat awkward-looking handshake, he mumbles something about photocopies and then bolts from my office.
I stand and round my desk to scoop the tiny blond stripper into a big hug, the smell of her flowery perfume—almost too strong—attacking my nose. “Hey, babe.” I’ve never had any interest in her as more than a friend, with a few occasional benefits that we kept very discreet and far from Penny’s. I do respect Cain and his rules . . . to a degree. And, if I thought she’d ever want more from me, I never would have let it happen.
But I’m starting to worry that something has changed.
I’m getting texts from Mercy almost daily now, asking me to come visit her at the club.
Her big blue eyes appraise my office, the endless stack of paperwork. And me, her gaze drifting over my chest as her fingers toy with my shirt collar. “You look all grown up.” She’s wearing more than I’m used to seeing her in but there’s really no hiding what she does for a living in that short, tight dress. Her enhanced curves, her face, the way she carries herself . . . it all screams, “I get naked for money.”
And, by the multitude of glances into my office, everyone in the building can hear those screams. Based on what Mason told me of Jack’s worries about my past workplace transgressions, bringing this into the office probably won’t look good on me. Still, I can’t kick her out. I can only hope she leaves soon.
“I’m trying to be, anyway. What are you doing here?”
A cute little giggle escapes. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Penny’s just isn’t the same without you.” A delicate hand runs across my chest and then descends quickly, nails dragging along my stomach until her fingers find my belt. Mercy has always been a tease like that. She likes knowing that she can get an instant reaction out of me.
“Come here.” I use the excuse of pushing my door shut to step away before her hand drifts even farther down. Leading her to the spare chair, I then dive into mine, letting the desk act as a barrier between the two of us.
“I thought you were coming to visit me at Penny’s on the weekend,” she says with a small pout.
“I was stuck here all weekend.” Honestly, between work and Reese, I didn’t even think about Penny’s. I was exhausted on Saturday night. I can’t believe I haven’t stepped foot in the club in over three weeks. It’s a record for me.
“It’s not fun over there right now.” Her smile falters. “I don’t know what happened, Ben. Charlie disappeared, China got fired . . .” Her face pinches up. “I’ve never seen Cain so miserable.”
“Yeah, I don’t really know what’s going on either.” That’s a lie. I know more than most, seeing as one of my best friends and the head bouncer at Penny’s, Nate, called me last week to fill me in. It seems that Cain, my good friend and the owner of Penny’s, fell in love with a stripper who has more secrets than he was able to dig up through his clandestine methods that I’m not supposed to know about. She took off in the night and now he’s a wreck. I’ve never seen Cain anything but cool and composed.
With a sigh, Mercy uncrosses and crosses her long bare legs, distracting me completely with a momentary glimpse of black lace panties. At least she wore them today. That’s never a guarantee. Fuck, it’s also been over three weeks since I got laid. That’s another unnaturally long span of time for me. And now I’m sitting across from a girl who actually enjoys giving private lap dances. I don’t know how the hell an Amish community produced the likes of her. Clearly, I need to go visit one of those places to see if she’s just a freak occurrence.
After another ten minutes of polite conversation, Mercy abruptly stands. “Well, I should let you get back to work. I just wanted to see you in your office.” She bends down and lays a semi-inappropriate kiss right on my lips. “Dinner later?”
Is dinner code for sex? We’ve never gone out for meals. With a long, drawn-out sigh and a visual dip down her low-cut dress, I say, “Yeah, I’ll see if I can get out early tonight.” I can’t help it. Mercy offers no frustrations.
It isn’t until she steps away that I notice Reese standing in my doorway, holding at least a dozen yellow folders tight to her chest, a sardonic expression on her face as she eyes my company.
Turning toward the door, Mercy offers Reese a stiff smile—Mercy may be sweet but she’s no idiot; she can read the edge of judgment in Reese’s sharp, caramel eyes—and then strolls out, humming softly.
Reese saunters into my office to unceremoniously drop the folders on my lap. I’m pretty sure she was aiming to crush my dick with them. “So are you dating that Twinkie? Because after bringing me home to meet your mother, I was so sure you were in love with me.” She sounds so disinterested that I know I don’t have to worry about her actually believing that.
I bite my tongue as I decide how to respond. Answering Reese is sometimes tricky. I actually care if I come off sounding like a moron, and I don’t normally care about that. I finally settle on, “You’re safe, I promise.” I remove the files from my lap and drop them onto my desk. “So what’d you find?”
“I’ve posted some notes of things you’ll want to follow up on and some cases for precedence-setting when the law bot takes this to court. I’ve also solved the Kensington case for you. You’re welcome.”
I can’t help my eyes from drifting over her frame. Having Mercy in here only magnifies how naturally attractive Reese is. How real. No silicone. A solid body, without being too over-the-top. I’d kill to see this girl naked again. If my mama hadn’t shown up when she did, I would have had her stretched out in the back of that truck in another thirty seconds.
She pulls out a sheet of paper from the top folder, slapping it onto my desk. “The good doctor’s out. See?” Her long, slender finger jabs at the paper. “The wife’s company donated a hundred thousand dollars to his private clinic’s fundraiser six months ago.”
Pulling my attention back to the case, I scan the tax receipt. “Shit. You’re right.” It’s definitely enough to discredit the expert witness who’s trying to paint our client as a psychologically abusive father to gain his ex-wife sole custody of their three-year-old girl and all the child support that goes along with it. “Without this jerk’s testimony, this custody battle is dead.”
“Okay, Erin Brockovich, where the hell did you find this?”
She shrugs. “Wasn’t that hard.”
Natasha was stumped. I was stumped. We thought we’d be searching for something to win this case right up until we lost it. I look up at Reese’s smug smile again. I’m seriously thinking about taking her into that corner conference room across the hall to thank her the way I’d really like to. The one with blinds and a lock. Jack’s out of town at a conference. Other than Natasha, no one would be looking to interrupt us “working.”
Dammit, thinking like this is not helping the current predicament I’m trying to hide under my desk.
I throw my pen down and lean back in my chair. “You’re awesome. You know that, right?”
“I prefer spectacular.” She pushes a lock of hair behind her ear, her face scrunching up with apology. “Look, I know I promised I’d stay late, but today’s been weird and I’m not feeling great. I’m going to grab a nap at home and work some more later.”
She is kind of pale, now that I think of it. “Yeah, I guess.”
“So, is there anything else you absolutely need me to do for you before I go?” Her eyes drift to my lap as she adds dryly, “Besides the problem that the Twinkie will be fixing later.” There’s a biting edge in her tone.
“Jealous?” Just the possibility has me smiling like an ass. I hook my hands together behind my head and admit, “Because I’d much rather have your help with that.” And I honestly would.
Reese’s lips twist in thought as she slowly appraises my body with that raptor gaze. She’s normally so much more covert when she’s ogling me, preferring to do it when she thinks I’m not paying attention. Her voice drops a few octaves as an “Okay” slides from those thin lips. “Conference room?”
“What?” My eyebrows shoot up. Shit. I wasn’t expecting that. My wide eyes scan the office for anyone who might be watching or listening in, seeing as the door isn’t even closed. Is she serious? I can’t tell! All I do know is that I’m sure going to be in a lot of fucking pain if she doesn’t follow through.
A wicked cackle erupts from her. “Mrs. Cooke!” she hollers as Jack’s assistant passes by my door, on her way somewhere.
Mrs. Cooke retraces her steps and pokes her head in, out of breath and wiping her sweaty forehead with a tissue. “What’s the matter, dear?”
“Ben was just telling me how he ate all of your muffins over the weekend and wonders how you make them s
o peachy.”
The kind woman’s eyes light up as they settle on me. “Oh, you sweet boy. I’ll give you the recipe, for your mama. Do you have a pen and paper handy?” Her hands flutter about as she starts giggling—a funny Betty Rubble sound. She strolls into my office and squeezes herself into my spare chair—and I mean squeezes—as I shoot a look Reese’s way.
“Was I helpful?” Reese asks sweetly.
I can’t help but smile. “Yes, you were.” Like a bucket of ice.
“Good. Maybe you won’t need any Twinkies after all.” She struts out.
I’m sinking into total oblivion when the knock sounds on my door.
“Yeah?” I call out groggily, cracking an eye to see the glowing red numbers on my digital clock staring back at me. One a.m. I’m fucking exhausted.
The door creaks open and a sliver of the hallway light behind shines down to reveal platinum-blond hair and a sparkly tight blue dress. “Hey,” Mercy offers, leaning back to close the door with her ass. “Travis let me in.”
I roll onto my back and murmur, “That was nice of him.” I’ve shared a house with five guys for almost six years. Someone’s always home and they’ve never not let Mercy in. I should probably set some new ground rules, given the situation.
Sauntering forward in that way she has—slow and graceful, like a cat—she reaches the side of the bed. I’ve started sleeping with the curtains open, finding the morning light helps me adjust to my new sleeping pattern. Now, it casts enough street light that I can just barely make her figure out. “You said you’d call.”
“I got caught up with work.” I actually forgot all about Mercy. After getting detailed instructions on Mrs. Cooke’s peach muffins—which I’m actually gonna give to my mama—I spent hours churning through all the files Reese gave me. Mercy’s gaze skates down along my exposed chest and stomach, her brow arching slightly as her attention drifts farther down to where I’m already pitching a tent under my sheets. I can’t help it. Reaching up, her fingertips do this little curling motion around the straps of her dress and then, giving them a slight tug, she pushes the material down until her dress hits my floor in a shimmering heap. Working six days a week at Penny’s, I’ve seen Mercy naked so many times that I could almost map out all her freckles in the dark.