Five Ways to Fall (29 page)

“Yeah . . .” That one word draws out of Ben’s mouth with another glance toward Jack’s office as he shakes his head, a strange frown marring his face. “Just don’t get your fake boyfriend fired.”

“Here.” I set one of Mrs. Cooke’s muffins down on his desk, my stomach doing a small flip at the sight of Ben’s arms, looking all the more defined in a fitted silvery-blue golf shirt. I think blue is my favorite color on him. It makes his eyes pop. “They’re going fast.”

Ben looks up from his desk, glancing at my offering, and then up at me. “That’s because I’ve already eaten three this morning.” Reaching out to wrap a giant hand around it, he says with a wry smile, “But thanks. I’ll gladly take this one too.”

“You’re going to grow a belly like Jack if you don’t slow down on those.”

Taking a bite, he watches me with curious eyes while he chews and swallows. “Will you still love me when I don’t look like this?”

“Absolutely not.” I turn to walk out, his snicker making me smile.

But then his words catch me at his doorway. “You know, you’re acting awfully nice to me. It’s out of character. People are starting to notice. They think Rancor is developing a little crush.” I look over my shoulder in time to catch his wink. “We wouldn’t want that, now, would we?”

I can’t tell if he’s just teasing me or if people are actually saying that and noticing a difference in me. But I do know that we definitely don’t want that kind of rumor floating around. “You know better, though, right?” It almost comes out as a warning.

Grinning broadly, he holds the muffin up and says, “No worries here, Reese. Thanks for this.”

I didn’t realize I was holding my breath but I guess I was, because I release it in a heavy sigh. Just to be on the safe side, I add in a calm but loud—loud enough for half the office to hear—voice, “I hope you choke on that and die. Have a nice day!”

Reese MacKay does not “crush” on anyone.

Ben’s laughter trails me past a dozen nosy clerks and admins, all the way into my own office.

Life at work has taken a turn down Dreadfully Boring Street. It’s not that I ever particularly enjoyed it, but the last few weeks had felt different. More lively. Now, my office feels empty and dull. Not for the lack of file folders or coffee cups, though.

It’s because a certain six-foot-three-inch blond guy ensures he’s never in a room alone with me anymore. I’m still focused 100 percent on Natasha’s and his cases, but he has started going to the other paralegals—who aren’t half as quick or efficient as I am—for answers.

For a while there, I was worried he might believe these “rumors” that I have a thing for him and was intentionally avoiding me because he doesn’t want to lead me on. But I catch those blue eyes on me
all the time
. He’s not embarrassed about it, either. I know because he winks at me every time our eyes connect.

I can’t even corner him in his office, because he’s in meetings with Natasha
all
the time.

And now I’m starting to get paranoid that there’s something going on between him and the law bot, even though she’s engaged and I’m pretty sure she’d never agree to casual sex. She’s probably as militant in bed as she is with everything else, something I doubt Ben would be into.

I
hope
he wouldn’t be into.

Unless she’s one of those people who tie their men up and whip them. Ben
might
be into that.

I hate this.

I don’t even
want
anything with Ben besides what we already have. I just don’t want him to have that with anyone else.

So now I find myself looking for every excuse possible to stop by Ben’s office. That’s why I’m standing in line, buying a cup of this dreadful coffee—a joke, really—and some scones.

“I’ve seen you here before. I can’t believe I didn’t realize who you were.”

People say that southern drawls are beautiful and relaxing. At nine a.m. and coming from its source, I would describe it more like nails-on-a-chalkboard grating.

I glance over my shoulder to catch Caroline’s sour expression and wonder why she’s here so late. The four times I waited on that park bench outside for her, the girl walked in at eight thirty, like clockwork. Though, by the sharp look in her eyes, I’m starting to think that she may have been doing the waiting today. “Sorry, can’t say I ever noticed
you
.” I pay for my purchase and step away from the counter. “Have a
great
day!” I offer in the most annoying, chirpy voice I can manage as I pass by her and head out the door.

A vice-like grip latches onto my arm. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing?” Caroline hisses.

I glance down at her hand and she releases it quickly as if suddenly spotting lesions. “Was that a trick question? Because I’m heading to work. It’s not exactly surreptitious.”

She stabs me with an icy glare. “There are an awful lot of coincidences at play here, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Aside from us having the same taste in men and cafés, I’m not seeing it.” She’s standing so close to me that I can smell her breath. It smells like watermelon. The simulated-flavor gum kind. I
hate
watermelon. Figures.

Her eyes narrow. “How did your number end up in Jared’s phone again?”

I struggle to hide my surprise. Jared has a thing about his phone and keeping people out of it. Or maybe it was just keeping
me
out of it, because he was texting his ex.

Her next words answer my confusion. “That’s the thing about knowing someone since you were six years old. They’re pretty predictable. Even with their passwords.”

“What’s wrong, you don’t trust him?” I doubt Jared would be happy having his jealous wife snooping through his things, and she’s jealous all right. I feel the spike of joy deep inside.

“You will
never
get him back,” she says slowly and evenly, with the kind of confidence that can’t be faked. “Jared has been in love with me all his life. He was so crushed when we broke up that he would have taken anything. Why else do you think he’d marry a motorcycle-riding psycho like you? You were a mistake that he regrets every day. He’s
mine
and he always will be.”

Emotion erupts inside me—a hazardous mixture of anger and humiliation and hurt that burns at the rims of my eyes and makes me want to dump this scalding coffee over her head. Not for one second have I forgotten the look on her face when I pulled open the shower curtain that day. I swear, I think she was waiting for that moment because she quickly locked eyes with me, a triumphant gleam shining through.

And now she’s throwing down the gloves in the middle of a café, surrounded by baked goods and strangers. I catch a slight tremble in her hand and I have to believe she may be a little bit afraid of me. Seeing as I left a pair of scissors jabbed through her eyes in that picture of her and Jared, she should be. She should probably be afraid that I’m going to hit her right here, in the middle of this crowd. Maybe she’s hoping that’s exactly what I’ll do. That’s exactly what I
want
to do. She knows I have a temper. She could press charges against me and be rid of me. There’d be plenty of witnesses here.

Clever girl.

“Why are you so worried that he has my phone number then?” I ask in a forced calm voice, feeling the scone in my hand crumble within my tight grasp.

“I’m not,” she sputters out, seemingly caught off guard. “You just need to know that I know and I’m laughing at you. All of my friends are laughing at you. You are
pathetic
.”

Yeah, she’s definitely provoking me.

I bite my tongue against the irresistible urge to ask how her legs are after Sunday. No use giving her something worthy of a restraining order. “Well, it’s nice to see that Jared’s moving on from one crazy to another. Have a great day,” I exclaim with forced exuberance as I turn my back to her and walk away, my teeth gritted tightly.

I pull out my phone and hit number two on my speed dial.

“Reese? Are you okay?” Jack asks right away.

I frown, scanning the cars and pedestrians on the street. “Yeah . . .”

A deep exhale carries through the receiver. “Okay, good. I just thought . . . because you’re calling me,” he says with a chuckle. “You’re usually holed up in your office, hating everyone for another hour or two.”

“Oh, yeah. I’m fine.”

“So, what’s up?”

“You mentioned a little party for Ben and Mason?” It was official last week. Ben and Mason got their bar exam results and both passed. They’re now associate lawyers.

“I did. Why?”

The wheels of my devious brain are picking up speed. “I’m going to plan something for this Friday.”

“Well, Mrs. Cooke has already—”

I cut him off. “No, Jack. We’re not doing this in a church basement. I’ll find something good.” A casual bar, a relaxed situation. Neutral ground. Somewhere I can come and go as if I don’t give a shit.

And remind my ex-husband how much he misses me.

As soon as I’m off the phone with Jack, I message Jared.

I’ll be at The Grill on Friday night around eight, with friends. Casual.

After a moment, I add:

You may want to change your phone password. According to your lovely wife who I just ran into, you’re very predictable.

Chapter 22

BEN

T.G.I.F.

Every day seems to blend into the next around here. I guess I pushed my office door shut a little too hard because it slams, causing at least a dozen heads to pop up from cubicles like in that carnival groundhog game. I wave a lazy apology as I toss another folder down.

Damn, what I’d do to have Reese attached to me all hours of the day and night! I like working with her. No, I fucking
love
working with her. Just having her around somehow makes everything more entertaining.

That’s why I’ve had to all but avoid her this week. And it sucks.

Jack is right: the girl just has a bewitching way about her. Idiots like me are doomed.

As I round my desk, I find a red gift bag sitting in my chair with bits of white tissue paper sticking out. After weeks of hiding in rooms and doing Natasha’s bidding, bar exam results were posted this week. Mason and I passed. I’m finally a real lawyer. I’m guessing this is some sort of congratulatory thing.

I rifle through it with curiosity to discover a folded note:

Congrats on becoming an official law bot.

In case the nickname didn’t give it away, I know by the messy chicken scratch that it’s from Reese. The woman has worse handwriting than any doctor I’ve ever met. I think it’s because she’s always rushing. Digging down farther, I pull out a bright red T-shirt that says: “I got puked on in Cancún and all I have to show for it is this ugly red shirt.”

I’m sure the entire floor can hear my bellow of laughter.

Damn
, I love her sense of humor.

And I’m really disappointed when I find no one but the Rancor cutout in her office, her computer shut down already. I guess it’s not a big deal. I can thank her at the little after-work party they’re throwing for Mason and me tonight.