Page 38 of My Office Rival

“Well, I need to stop. Because there’s no way we are going to sleep together. He told me he only does one night.” I practically heard Margo’s eye roll. “I know, I know. But at this point, if I want to make partner, I need to come out on top of this deal, not on top of my opposing counsel.” I halfway wanted Margo to say “go for it” like I had told her to do months ago. But that had been different. I had known Andrew was in love with her when I had told her to seduce him. It had been there in the way he tracked her with his eyes and the way he spent so much time needling her.

“I know you’re right,” she said slowly. “I just want more for you.” She sighed. My stomach twisted. What was it about your friends settling down that made them want you to do the same? I didn’t ever consider the possibility, because wanting something you couldn’t have only made things worse.

“Jason is not the guy to give me that,” I whispered. “I’m not goingto risk my job for someone who can’t give me more than empty pleasure. You know if I seduce Jason, I won’t feel good after. I’ll feel empty. And things will be even more awkward between us.”

“Or you could sayfuck itand have some fun,” she said.

Doubt wormed in. What if we slept together again? What was the worst that could happen?

“I could getfired.”

“I hate to remind you, butyou could get fired anyway.”

I barked a laugh. “Not helpful, Margo.”

“Live a little. Stop overthinking.” Her voice was stern.

“Says the queen of overthinking,” I muttered back. But maybe she was right.

22

JASON

Cynthia and I pulled up to a nondescript building and parked the car.

“It doesn’t look like much.” She eyed it nervously. “I’m not really a country girl, Jason. Is this the type of place where everyone is going to turn around and look at me when we walk in?”

I snorted. It did look like that type of place. The squat brick building faced a parking lot made up mostly of motorcycles and pickup trucks. There were no frills, no plants, and no sign. I’d looked at the map for the closest bar since I didn’t relish driving drunk on dark country roads, and this little place was it.

“If it is, I’ve got you.” I knew how to handle myself in a dirty bar. I was a city lawyer now, but at one time in my life I had been able to throw a punch in a bar fight with the best of them. Cynthia didn’t know that, though. She saw what I wanted the world to see—suave, sophisticated, unruffled, cold. When in reality, Iburned.

“Okay, okay. Let’s go. But I’m going to be really annoyed at you if someone tells me I don’t look like I’m from ‘round here.”

“God forbid.” She had a point, though. This was the shittiest little bar in a small town where we outsiders. I swallowed thickly and steeled myself.Time to get out of your comfort zone.

Cynthia extricated herself from the car, her tight blue jeans molding over her ass. She looked amazing, like a weekend wet dream, in her tight black sweater, jeans, and white sneakers. Her flaming red hair spilled down her back, and her lips were glossed with something that kept me sneaking peeks while she was talking, just to watch the flash of her white teeth against the pink plumpness.

“Stick with me though, okay?” I caught up to her and put my hand on the small of her back. She startled.

“You’re a worrier,” she said.

“Humor me, please.”

She huffed, but let me open the metal door for her. I ushered her inside, and my eyes adjusted quickly to the dim interior. No one turned to stare, but a distinct hush passed through the crowd at the bar. It was cleaner than I had expected, with a long wooden bar and lots of decorations. News clippings, old cowboy boots, Christmas lights, two-dollar bills. Two pool tables bookended the space, and a few small windows were scattered with a seemingly random hand. Nothing out of the ordinary here.

The patrons looked like ranchers, locals, and bikers. I forced myself to relax, to push down the memories from years ago of bars just like this. The crowd looked peaceful, easy. They’d even turned away from us after a minute or so, though I spied a few men checking Cynthia out, including one guy with offensive tattoos. Yikes. She was already at the bar, hands on her hips, comfortable as could be. She had no idea how people could turn, how a friendly face could hide a rotten interior. I tamped down my dark thoughts and stepped in behind her at the bar. I brushed her hair off her shoulder and leaned down to whisper in her ear.

“Pretend you’re with me.” I put emphasis on the words so she knew I meant as more than just friends.

She shivered as my lips moved against her ear. “Why? This place seems harmless enough.”

“I’m just being cautious.” I didn’t say that I was scarred from a lifetime of shitty little towns and shittier people. “I don’t like the way these guys in the back are checking you out.”

“I can handle myself. I grew up in New York, remember?” She raised a hand when I started to protest. “But I’ll go with it.”

“Thank you.” I pulled her flush against me, and she muttered something that sounded likeugh, menunder her breath. With a smile, I turned to the bartender and ordered two cheap beers. I knew full well Cynthia preferred martinis, but this wasn’t a martini type of place.

I gave her a warning squeeze on the shoulder, and before she could offer, I paid in cash. I kept the wad of bills hidden beneath the bar, and then hustled her to a dark booth in the back, where I sat facing the room.

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