But feelings lied and magic wasn’t real.
She’d spent her high school years as a hopeless romantic, in love with her best friend, thinking they were fated, believing all those romantic movies and TV shows she’d watched while her dad worked late nights at the firm. She’d even written a time capsule letter with her friends senior year, painting her perfect romantic life that she was going to have with her crush. She was going to be Sally to his Harry, Joey to his Pacey, Rachel to his Ross. Turns out she was Duckie. Or Dawson. Or worse, the geek with an underwear fetish from Sixteen Candles. Finn, the guy she’d hung all her hope on, had been in love with someone else the whole time. Still was.
She’d closed that chapter and wished him well, but she hadn’t forgotten the lesson. She also got a refresher every day at work. Love wasn’t just a risk. It was a bad bet. If she had to argue the case for it in court, the evidence would be stacked so high against it, she wouldn’t have a shot at winning. A lasting, loving marriage was a unicorn. And the person who loved the deepest in a relationship—the romantic, the idealist—was the one whose guts got ripped out in the end. No, thanks.
She headed back to her office to give her email one last check and make sure she had everything buttoned up. She started with making notes in the Ames file. Twice she caught her eyes drifting to the screenshots from the videos. She couldn’t see much of Daphne besides the rapt look on her face, but the tense, flexing muscles of the mostly naked contractor were hard to look away from. Rebecca usually found herself more attracted to men in suits, men who had a certain level of polish, but maybe there was something to be said for a guy who was a little rougher around the edges and worked with his hands.
Love was a bad bet, but sex with a hot guy…that didn’t sound so bad.
She snorted at her own R-rated thoughts and forced herself to finish her work. Before long, the sunset cut swaths of burnt-orange light over her desk, reminding her that she should be getting home.
To her empty apartment.
Where no one was waiting.
And no one would be getting naked with her.
She grunted and leaned back in her chair, rubbing the bridge of her nose. What was with her tonight? She couldn’t let Anthony’s words or these photos get to her.
She lived a busy life, was good at her job, had friends. She was comfortable being alone. If she got pent up with sexual frustration sometimes, she knew how to handle things on her own. Frankly, taking care of things solo was more satisfying than the few awkward encounters with men she’d had along the way, and it saved her from having to explain the ugly, pitted scars on her leg—always a fun conversation. Her life worked.
Anthony hadn’t wanted to be alone, and look where that had landed him—in a messy divorce, crying over his dog. She wanted no part of that kind of drama.
With renewed resolve, she closed the file she’d been working on and shut everything down. This had been a good week. She’d won two cases. She deserved to be celebrating, not ruminating in her office.
A new plan formed quickly in her head. She’d pick up her favorite wine from the store down the street, get takeout and dessert from that fancy Italian restaurant that just opened, and rent a new movie with a pretty guy to look at.
She wasn’t craving a date. She was just craving a break and a little indulgence. She didn’t need anyone else to give her that. She could handle it on her own.
She’d been doing it all her life.
Why stop now?
chapter
TWO
Wes Garrett peeked through the crack in the door to the apartment inside, eyeing the small group of women laughing and drinking champagne. One was wearing a party hat with a big light-up dick on it. He shut the door and leaned against the wall in the hallway. “I can’t believe I’m considering this.”
Suzie grinned wickedly at him, her lip ring glinting in the light of the hallway. “Don’t be such a prude, Garrett. What happened to that wild, try-anything-once guy I used to know?”
His jaw clenched. “Are you really asking me that?”
She waved a dismissive hand. “You know that’s not what I mean. I don’t want post-apocalyptic you. That sucked.”
“Ya think?”
She rolled her eyes. “I’m talking about the you before everything went to shit. You’ve swung too far in the other direction.” She shrugged. “Walking the straight and narrow doesn’t mean not having any fun or, you know, a sense of humor.”
“Suze…”
“This is a good gig.” She pinned him with her gaze. “Three hundred bucks for two hours of your time. All you’re going to be doing is teaching drunk chicks how to cook simple things. You teach cooking every day. This is no different.”
He gave her a droll look. “I teach cooking to teenagers. I get to wear my chef’s whites. I don’t have to cook naked.”
She groaned. “You’re not going to be naked. That would be a major kitchen hazard. Just…shirtless. And hey, with all your tattoos, you have some added coverage.”
Christ. This was what his life had come to? From four-star restaurants to this? He’d thought teaching at an after-school program was a giant tumble down the staircase from his chef dreams, but this was a new level. The basement. At least with the kids he could convince himself he was training future chefs. Here he would be the special of the day. “I don’t know.”