Love Proof (Laws of Attraction) (35 page)

“Maybe I’ll see you tonight,” Sollers said to her.  “I think we’re both
registered at the same hotel—that is, if you check in this time.  We can talk
about it more over dinner.  I’ll even let you buy.”

Sarah didn’t answer.  Instead she headed for the door.

Joe remained in his seat.

“Burke?” she said, hoping to shake him loose.  She didn’t know what he
might say or do, but she doubted it would help.  And it might make matters
worse, although at that moment she couldn’t imagine how.

What she really needed was to talk to him privately, to process
everything that had just happened.  But Joe didn’t budge.

So Sarah kept on going.  Out of the room, out of the hotel, into a
taxi, and bound for the airport.

It would catch up to her, she knew.  The knowledge that what had just
happened in there, in the space of however many minutes, had irrevocably
changed her life.  Because Sollers was right:  it wasn’t his fault.  He hadn’t
tricked them or trapped them.  Sarah and Joe had done this to themselves,
gotten sloppy and careless, had given an outsider the chance to destroy their
careers.

Would she go to prison for it?  No.  What they’d done wasn’t
criminal—they hadn’t swindled anyone, laundered money, violated any federal
laws the way the partners in both Joe’s and Sarah’s firms had.

But an ethical violation like this could get them both disbarred.  At a
minimum, suspended.  And Sarah couldn’t afford a suspension any more than she
could afford quitting this case or losing the job Calvin had only recently offered
her.

Sarah leaned forward in the cab and dropped her head into her hands. 
What a complete and utter mess.  And she had no one to blame but herself.

She would have to figure out a way to dig out of it, but she knew it wouldn’t
be easy—no part of it would be easy.  And she knew Joe wouldn’t agree with what
she was already thinking she had to do.  But she couldn’t worry about that.  He
had his own career to think of, and she had hers.

I’m with you, Joe.

That was before, Sarah thought, when it was Joe alone who seemed in
danger of going down with the ship.

Now it was Sarah’s turn—again—but this time she knew she had a choice. 
She could stay on deck and wait for the water to lap up over her feet, or she
could take the leap now, plunging into the roiling seas.

Thirty-seven

Sarah found an earlier flight, and she took it.  She wanted to get away
from Portland as soon as possible.  She had no idea what Joe was thinking or
doing, but she knew they would find each other eventually.

She needed time on her own first.

She checked into her hotel, found her room, and immediately undressed
and stepped into a hot shower.  She needed to wash the day away.  Stand there
in the steam and accept the emotional earthquake she had been holding off for
the last several hours.

Sarah tried not to allow herself to cry too often.  It never felt as
cleansing as people said it would.  In fact, it made her feel weaker, more
vulnerable, more open to attack.  It had nothing to do with anyone seeing her
that way.  It had everything to do with feeling herself lose control.

When Joe left her that December six years ago, when he wouldn’t return
her phone calls or talk to her about what had happened with his mother, when
she watched him deliberately take up with woman after woman without any
explanation of what went wrong, Sarah fell apart in a way she never had in her
entire life.

She cried then—plenty.  She felt raw, turned inside out, unable to
think in logical, rational ways anymore about what she should do next, how she
should behave, whether she should study for this class or that one, whether she
should confront Joe or leave him alone and keep hoping one day he would explain.

If she had clung to that last hope, she knew now she would have waited
a long time.  In fact, she might never have learned the truth if she never had
this case against Joe.  She would have gone on with her life just as before,
hating him, resenting him, wishing she had never fallen in love with him in the
first place.  It left a wound that never quite healed.  And made her never want
to put herself in that position again.

So there had been other lovers after him, but not love.  She always
stopped herself short.  And the men she was with didn’t seem to mind.  Maybe,
Sarah thought now, it was because she chose them so carefully:  men just like
Ryan Sollers, with a certain charm and confidence, but whose primary interests
lay in advancing their own careers.  Men who wouldn’t hesitate to take care of
themselves first in any situation, and Sarah second, if it was convenient.

Sarah always told herself she felt the same way.  She had worked hard
all her life to get where she was, and even after April 6 she knew she would
keep fighting hard to keep it.  Her law degree wasn’t just a piece of paper in
a frame.  It meant as much to her as the first paycheck she ever earned as a
secretary at the insurance agency.  As much as the first commission she earned
as the youngest insurance agent in her region.  Her mother and father had
brought her up to believe that her own efforts could take her far.  And Sarah
still believed that.

But she also knew she had to take responsibility for her own mistakes. 
No matter how much better it would feel to blame them on someone else.

And who were the contenders for blame here, anyway? she thought.  Not
Joe.  She was glad he’d made a project out of her, glad he came up with a
strategy of treating her well and trying to win her back.  She didn’t regret a
single aspect of their short time together, except maybe how long it had taken
them both to find each other again.

Ryan Sollers?  Maybe she could blame him for taking such obvious
pleasure in laying out every new piece of evidence against them in that slow,
methodical style.  But another part of her—the lawyer part—had to admire how
he’d gone about it.  She had to make sure the team at Mickey’s office
understood that Chapman’s replacement was not to be underestimated.

But not yet.  There was a time for work, and a time for grieving.  And
Sarah felt she had earned herself a few minutes of grief.  She turned her face
into the water and let the hot tears stream down her cheeks.

Nobody to blame but yourself.  Nobody to blame but
yourself.
  The refrain continued
ping-ponging in her brain until finally she had to accept that her few moments
of peaceful self-pity were over.

It had been the same after April 6.  She wanted to hide in a hole. 
Live in the darkness, never come out again.

But Angie had badgered her so hard, in texts and phone messages, Sarah
finally dragged herself back for a workout just to make the relentless woman
leave her alone.

She had gone in that morning sullen and weak and broken, and emerged an
hour and a half later—after running and lifting and kicking and sweating—a
different person.  One who had reclaimed her clear, logical mind.

No, she’d acknowledged back then, none of what happened was fair.  She
hadn’t done anything to bring it on herself.  But it didn’t change the fact
that this was her life now, reality wasn’t going away, and so she had better
pull herself up and figure out what to do.

And that was why, Sarah realized now as she climbed out of the shower
and toweled off,
Nobody to blame but yourself
was actually a very
powerful statement.  It meant that she had created the situation herself, and
now she could find some way to manage it herself, too.  Maybe not fix it—not
entirely—but at least do something besides curling up in a little ball and letting
other people decide her fate.

She had already been considering her next move ever since she left the
conference room that afternoon.  But now she knew for certain.

Sarah pulled on a robe, set up her laptop on the desk, and prepared to
do what had to be done.

***

Where are you?
the text from Joe asked.

My hotel.

Want me to come get you?

Yes.

She thought about what Sollers had said about the Bar wanting to see
any texts or e-mails between Sarah and Joe. 
Hardly anything is secret
anymore, boys and girls. 
But she didn’t think a few more would matter. 
The damage was already done.

Joe texted her again from the parking lot.  Sarah wondered if she would
see Sollers on her way through the lobby, but she really didn’t care anymore. 
She found Joe’s car, opened the door and slid onto the seat, then leaned over
and cupped her hand behind his neck and gave him a long, lingering kiss.

Joe seemed surprised.

“You’re all right?” he asked once she let him go.

“I’m fine,” Sarah said.  “Except I’m starving.  Come on, let’s find
something to eat.”

He still wore his suit, whereas Sarah had changed into the jersey pants
and hoodie she wore to the airport the night before.  She had also straightened
her hair again after the shower, treating the process like a meditation as she reflected
on the e-mail she composed.

Her finger had hesitated just a little too long, she thought, before
finally hitting Send.  But once the message was gone, she could relax.  And
wait for the storm to brew.

“So,” Joe said as he drove away from the hotel, “almost makes you miss
Paul, doesn’t it?”

“Let’s not talk about it yet,” Sarah said.  “I want to have a nice
dinner with you.  We can talk later.”

She reached out for his hand, and he lifted hers to his lips and kissed
it.  “I just want you to know it’s going to be all right,” Joe said.

“I know.  But feed me first.”

They found a decent-looking Italian restaurant not far from the hotel. 
As the two of them walked to the entrance, their hands intertwined, Sarah said,
“I think this might count as a date.”

Joe paused to take her into his arms.  He kissed her with a kind of
possessiveness no one would mistake as appropriate for a first date.  Sarah
laughed when he let her go.  “Pace yourself,” she said.

“Why are you in such a good mood?” he asked.

“Because you’re here, and I’m with you, and we’re actually out in
public together for once.”

“We were in public on your birthday,” Joe pointed out.

“Not for very long.”

The hostess seated them at a table small enough that their knees
touched underneath.  Joe kept a hold on Sarah’s hand.  It was sweet, she
thought, just being out with him like this.  And exactly the kind of thing she
needed after the rough day they’d had.

Although the way he was stroking his thumb across her knuckles reminded
her that being alone with him in his hotel room, eating room service or
takeout, also would have had its merits.  Sarah’s eyes met his, and from the subtle
way his mouth curved up, she could tell he’d been thinking the same thing.

“You’re buying me dinner first, Burke.”

His chuckle was low and suggestive.  “Who said I wasn’t?”

She reached over and stroked the dark stubble on his cheek.  “You look
tired.”  He covered her hand with his and brought her palm to her lips.  Sarah
smiled at the seductive feel of his kiss against her sensitive flesh.

Hardly anything is secret, boys and girls.
  She had quick flash of how they might look if
someone took a picture of them just then.  But she managed to shake it off. 
It
doesn’t matter,
she reminded herself. 
It’s over.

When the food arrived, Sarah attacked hers like a wrestler.  She
remembered feeling this hungry after her first week of training with Angie. 
Her body seemed to realize that Sarah was about to put more and more demands on
it, and for the next several weeks her stomach felt like a bottomless pit.  She
could eat every two to three hours without ever feeling full.

Maybe her body understood what was happening now, Sarah thought.  It
knew it needed its strength because it was about to go to war.

“You about done?” Sarah asked once she’d eaten every morsel of her
spaghetti in marinara.

Joe leaned back and surveyed what was left on his plate.  “Are you
making me a better offer?”

“Only one way to find out,” Sarah said.

As they walked out to his car, Joe’s arm around her waist, Sarah
couldn’t help wondering how long their happy, romantic mood would last.  She
guessed it would evaporate within the next half hour.  But she didn’t regret
what she had done.  Wished she didn’t have to do it, yes.  But regret how she’d
handled it, no.

She just hoped that Joe would see it that way.

Thirty-eight

It was different this time when Joe opened the door to his room. 
Instead of the two of them rushing into each other’s arms, Sarah moved to the
bed alone.  She kicked off her shoes, then pulled out the pillows from beneath
the bedspread and fluffed them against the headboard.  She propped herself up
on one of them and waited while Joe removed his own shoes, his coat and tie,
then joined her on the bed.