"It's not important," Jenna scoffs at me, and in my peripheral vision I can see her wave an impatient hand.
"It is important," I insist. "I don't mean this to sound trite, but as women, our breasts define us. They're an important piece of our femininity. You should get them fixed. You're young and beautiful. It will make you feel better about yourself."
She's silent, so I add on for a bit of levity, "Plus, you're going to want to start dating at some point. Your puppies need to be fixed to do that."
Jenna snorts. "You want me to start dating?"
"I want you to be happy, find love. It's important to have those things for yourself."
"I agree," Jenna says instantaneously, but something about her tone raises my warning hackles. "In fact, let's talk about the importance of love and happiness in regard to your life."
My head snaps over to her, and she's staring at me with a stern look on her face.
"Oh, no," I rebuff her. "This is not about me."
"Let's make it about you, then," she says right over me. "You need to fix things with Reeve."
"He betrayed us," I say irritably, mainly because Jenna is hitting on a very sore spot. I miss the man tremendously, but my pride seems to be standing in my own way.
"He saved us," she counters softly. "He gave us Rhonda Valasquez, and she saved our case."
"But it wouldn't have needed saving if he would have just--"
"Just what?" Jenna sneers at me and her tone brooks no nonsense. "The man did absolutely nothing wrong. And don't forget, Leary, this was my case, not yours. He played the cards he was dealt. He played by the rules. He didn't do it to hurt me personally. It was part of the game. So I want to know, if I can look at what he did and not have any bitter feelings, why can't you?"
My mouth opens.
Then closes.
I open it again and don't know what to say, so I close it once more.
Why in the fuck did it hurt me so badly when Reeve sprang those witnesses on me? Why did I have any expectation that he would clue me in on what he was going to do?
The only plausible solution I can think of is that I held him to the same standards I have for myself, and I have to wonder if that was fair. Should I have expected of Reeve an action that I would have gladly done for him had the situation been reversed? And if the answer is yes, does that mean that is so because I love him but he didn't love me?
Am I hurt by the fact that Reeve didn't care for me the way I cared for him?
I'm so confused, I continue driving on in silence. I have no idea how to answer Jenna's question. When she says it like that, it makes me seem petty and immature. But at the same time, I cannot deny it physically hurt deep in my gut when Reeve sprang those witnesses on me. My body physically reacted because it took his actions as personal, and was perhaps my first indication that maybe my feelings weren't being reciprocated.
And rather than discuss that with Reeve, I just cut him completely out of my life.
"Am I wrong to have been hurt by what he did?" I ask Jenna softly.
"No," she says gently, "because when the heart is involved, feelings will get hurt. But you were wrong to break ties with him without discussing it."
"What could he possibly say that would make it better?" There's really not an apology I can envision that will take away the sting I'm feeling.
"He doesn't need to say anything," Jenna says, and I give her a quick glance. Her gaze is empathetic but there is condemnation there.
"Excuse me?"
"When he came to your door, he apologized, so frankly, Leary, he really doesn't have anything more to say to you. He's already said he's sorry. Now it's time for you to do the same."
Anger surges through me, but then it's overtaken by a flood of guilt.
He did apologize to me.
Profusely, in fact.
Then he went one step farther and laid his entire law career on the line by sending me Rhonda Valasquez.
He risked everything.
For me.
He not only met the high bar of expectations I set, maybe unfairly, but he hurtled over it.
And I was too stuck with anger and hurt feelings to even give him any credit.
As I pull into Reeve's driveway, I imagine myself giving a closing statement to the jury. Except this time, the jury is going to decide my fate with the man I'm supposed to be with. I've decided against overt pleading, thought about potentially using sex to get him back on board but then tossed that away, finally just deciding that honesty and a simple apology will appeal to Reeve the most.
I have no clue if he's pissed at me. Ford seems to think not, but I can't discount the possibility.
What I can bank on is that Reeve is a genuine person and doesn't have an intentionally cruel bone in his body. He's truly sorry for what he did to me, and I have to assume that is still the case. I also have to assume, then, that he will at least listen to me and let me get my feelings out on the table.
And I'm not going to hold them back.
As I put the car in park, his front door is open, and my pulse starts skittering madly. Then it comes to a complete halt, and I'm afraid I might have just died an early death when I see Vanessa walk out of his house with Mr. Chico Taco on his leash. I wait for feelings of anger and jealousy to wash over me, but they never come. Instead, I feel massive disappointment that it's not Reeve I'm looking at right now.
I get out of my car and Vanessa looks my way. Her nose scrunches up slightly, but she walks over to me as I close my door.
"He's not here," she says while eyeballing me up and down.
"When will he be back?" I ask, trying to keep a polite tone.
"Not sure," she says as she shrugs her shoulders. "He's in New York."
"Oh," I say dejectedly, my gaze dropping to the ground briefly. When I look back up, I give her a small smile. "Okay, I'll just try him later."
"Clearly you didn't even know he was gone," Vanessa says condescendingly. "I take that to mean you two broke up."
The small smile slides from my face, and I level a steely look her way as I open my car door again. "Not really any of your business."
"So that must be the reason he's interviewing for a job in New York, then," she says as if a great mystery was just unveiled to her. "That's just great. Way to chase him off, Leary."
Interviewing for a job in New York? What the hell?
I glare at Vanessa but don't bother to respond. Instead, the minute I get in my car, start it up, and put it in reverse, I'm dialing Ford.
"What's up, buttercup?" he asks amiably when he picks up.
"Reeve is moving to New York?" I screech.
"Easy there, Miss Pterodactyl," Ford laughs. "You about busted out my eardrums."
"Cut the shit," I snarl. "Is Reeve moving to New York?"
"I have no clue," he says, his voice not so humorous now. "He said he might look for work there when I talked to him the day of the verdict."
"And you didn't think to mention that to me?" I demand.
"Well, no," Ford says sheepishly. "I didn't think it would matter to you."
"Oh, come on," I gripe. "You know me better than that. You know Reeve is for me and that I needed to get my head out of my ass. If you knew there was a potential for him to leave, you should have pulled my head out of my ass two days ago."
Ford chuckles and I grit my teeth. "Sorry, babe. My bad."
I blow out a frustrated breath. "He's apparently in New York now. Interviewing for a job."
"So call him," Ford suggests.
"No," I emphatically deny. "What I need to say to him has to be done in person. It's too important to do by phone."
"Then just wait for him to get back. I'm sure he'll be home in a few days."
"No, it's too important," I argue with frustration.
"Then get on a damn plane and go see him," Ford says with exasperation.
"Exactly," I affirm. "Call him, find out where he is, and let me know. But don't tell him I'm coming."
&nb
sp; "You're awfully demanding," he grumbles, but I hear the affection in his voice. "I'll call you back as soon as I know something."
Smiling, I drive out of Reeve's neighborhood, hit the beltway, and head toward my house. I call my secretary and ask her to book me on the next available direct flight to New York. She asks me if I'll need hotel accommodations, and I tell her no. I'm going to bet on love prevailing and that I'll have sufficient accommodations in Reeve's room tonight.
Then I call Midge's direct number.
I have a huge favor to ask her.
CHAPTER 26
REEVE
The bartender sets a glass of Woodford Reserve down in front of me, and I slide my credit card across the bar to him. "Start a tab. I'm meeting a friend for drinks before I head out to dinner."
He nods at me, glances at my card, and says, "Of course, Mr. Holloway."
Picking up my glass, I raise it in salute to him and take a healthy sip. It burns nicely but does nothing to settle my stomach.
Fucking Cal offered me a job today. I met him and his partner, MacKayla Dawson, for lunch, and by the time I made it back to my hotel, he'd called and offered me a position at their law firm.
And now I have a choice to make.
Take the job, move here to New York, and start a new career.
Or stay in Raleigh and hope to God that one day I'll find my way back into Leary's good graces.
Decisions, decisions.
Pulling my phone out, I shoot a quick text to Ford.
I'm here. Just ordered a drink.
He called me yesterday to chat, and ironically happened to mention he was in New York for depositions. I suggested we get together tonight for drinks before I have to meet up with Cal, Macy, MacKayla, and her husband, Matt, for dinner, which I expect might be an attempt to schmooze me more as an inducement to take the job.
I poured the rest of the sordid story out to Cal last night when we hooked up for dinner. Macy had other plans, so it was just me, Cal, and some good whiskey. We caught up on old times, and I bitched and whined over my Leary situation.
And while Cal was empathetic to said situation, he didn't have much advice to offer. Only sympathized with my plight and said that he hoped I got what I truly wanted.
Now I just have to determine what that is.
New York or Leary?
Fucking decisions.
My phone vibrates and I see Ford has texted me back. Running a bit late. Be there in about ten minutes.
Setting my phone back down, I swirl my drink and ponder the almost insurmountable wall before me.
Leary is hurt. She feels I betrayed her. The trust has been damaged.
The question is, how do I fucking repair all that shit?
I made an attempt with Rhonda Valasquez, but I never heard a word from Leary about it. I sort of expected her to call after the verdict to, I don't know, maybe thank me, or tell me to go fuck myself. Something. Anything.
Instead, I got nothing but silence, so I made an impromptu decision to head to New York and discuss job options with Cal. He's been hinting for months that he wants me to move here and has been telling me how great his and MacKayla's firm is. They do the same exact type of work that Leary does, and I've been in the game long enough to know I'm better suited to representing the downtrodden over the wealthy.
Didn't expect a job offer so fast, though.
I take a healthy slug from the whiskey and set it down, gritting my teeth as it travels downward. I should just accept the job. Get it over with. Cut ties with Raleigh and what could have been and move on.
Except that every molecule in my entire being screams at me, Dumbass!
Someone pulls a stool out to my right, and by the scent of perfume, I know it's a woman. Ordinarily, I would sidle a glance over her way, see if she's worth checking out. See if I can buy her a drink, let nature take its course. Get laid, in other words.
No interest now.
Leary completely fucking ruined me.
Twisting my wrist, I look at my watch and then turn my head toward the front of the bar. Ford picked this place and since it's close to my hotel, I agreed. It's nice and small, quietly cozy and filled with hip, young New Yorkers stopping by for a drink with friends after work.
It's actually getting a little crowded, so I take a quick glance around to make sure I didn't miss Ford walking in. My gaze drops first on the woman who just sat down next to me, and yeah . . . she's pretty hot. She gives me a coy smile and I move right past her. I look around--everyone's in smart business suits with harried expressions on their faces as they slurp at their overpriced drinks and complain about their workdays.
Did I mention that I really, really don't like New York?
My eyes roam the bar area, every person looking like the next. I do a complete 360 of the entire bar.
I pass over men and women, seeing but not really seeing them, because frankly I really only want to see one person.
And holy fuck, there she is.
I have to do an actual double take.
Walking in the door is Leary.
My heart seizes up in disbelief and shock, and I'm wondering, what are the chances that she would be in the same bar as I am in a city of almost 8.5 million people?
I wait for her to see me as she glances around, and almost like a magnet, her gaze is drawn to me. Her expression immediately morphs into one of relief, and in that instant, I know she's here for me.
Not by coincidence, but for me.
I have not an ounce of control over my eyes as they rove all over her, eating her up. She's stunning in black high-heeled boots, a taupe sweaterdress molded to her curves, and her bright-red wool coat.
I start to stand up from my stool, but she shakes her head slightly as she walks toward me. I feel my heart pumping hard with every step she takes.
When she reaches me, her look is almost shy, which I find utterly charming on this self-possessed and confident woman.
"I'm going to go out on a limb here," I say by way of breaking the ice. "Ford isn't coming to meet me for drinks tonight, is he?"
The corners of her mouth tip up slightly. "No. It was a ruse to find out where you were."
"And you flew here to see me?"
She takes a step closer, touching her fingers against my knee. So innocent a touch, and yet it hits me with the power of a lightning strike. "I flew here to see you," she affirms softly. "I had to see you."
Leary opens her mouth but I quickly cover her lips with my fingers. "If you're here, by some chance, to reconcile with me, I'm going to save you a lot of time and effort. Just nod your head if that's the case."
Her eyes go round in surprise and I can feel her smile under my fingers. She gives a quick nod and I pull my hand away, replacing my touch with my mouth. I kiss her fast and hard, my arms coming around her waist to pull her into me. She answers by sliding her fingers in my hair and holding on tight while we explore each other's mouths, sitting in a bar in New York City.
She tries to pull away from me, muttering against my lips, "I need to apologize--"
"Shut up, Leary," I manage to say before I kiss her again.
She submits fully, her hands going to my neck this time and holding me hard as we kiss and make up.
Finally, I let her up for air. I pull my mouth away and stare at her, my heart for the first time in days feeling peaceful.
Her fingertips come up and gently trace my lips. "We need to talk," she says softly.
"We need to fuck," I correct her and turn to get the bartender's attention. I motion him to cash me out and turn back to Leary.
"Reeve," she admonishes, "we've got some things to resolve--"
"Hold on to that thought," I tell her and pull out my phone. I shoot off two texts.
First to Ford: I owe you, buddy.
The second to Cal: Dinner's canceled. Leary flew to New York.
Both short and sweet with no other explanation needed. I expect Cal will understand this means I can't accept the job, but I'll cal
l him later just to make sure.
Ignoring Leary, I turn back and find that the bartender has brought back my credit card and the receipt. I leave him a ridiculously large tip because I am fucking ridiculously beside myself right this minute.
Pocketing my phone and credit card, I grab Leary's hand and drag her out of the bar. I take an immediate right out of the door. Thank God my hotel is just three blocks away.
When we make it a block, Leary starts pulling on my hand. "Reeve, stop. Let me get this out."
I ignore her, plowing forward, completely intent on elbowing people out of my way if they think to impede the progress I'm making toward getting Leary into my hotel room and naked.
She tugs again on my hand, and I tighten my grasp so she doesn't slip loose.
"Reeve," she says with frustration, "you need to let me apologize."
"Apology accepted," I tell her quickly and then shoot her a wink.
She wrenches free of me, and I immediately stop in my tracks to turn back to her. Someone bumps into me hard and curses, but I ignore it. She's glaring at me, her hands on her hips with the throngs of New York rush-hour pedestrians swarming by us.
I lunge for her hand and growl, "I apologized; you apologized. It's done. Now let's get to the makeup-sex part. We can talk details later."
"Stop it!" she yells at me, loud enough that several people turn their heads as they walk by. "We need to talk."
Her face is determined.
Beautiful, regretful, angry, and so determined.
Sighing in my own frustration, I rake my hand through my hair and throw my arms out to the side. I yell right back at her, "Fine. Lay it on me. Do you want me to apologize some more for hurting you? Betraying you? Want me to get down on my knees here in the middle of a New York sidewalk and beg your forgiveness? Just tell me what you want, because I will give it to you. I'll give you anything to make this all better so we can be together again."
For the most part, we're ignored, although I swear I hear one woman call out as she walks by, "Make him grovel."
That gets a smirk out of Leary, but she shakes her head at me and takes a step closer. Her hand comes out and grasps my tie, just below the knot. She goes up on her tiptoes and plants a soft kiss on my mouth.
"I don't want you to do anything but listen to me," she says softly. "I know you're sorry. I'm sorry, too. And you're right, we can discuss the details of apologies and forgiveness later. But I have something more important to say to you."
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