“Surely you’re not thinking about agreeing—” Ian says.
“Hear me out,” I interrupt. “This thing with Matt and me isn’t real. He hired me to pretend to be in a relationship with him to clean up his reputation so that he can get clients like Jarod Lanham. I honestly don’t think Matt will care how it happens, so long as it happens. Lanham’s always been the goal.”
“So you’re going to do it?”
“I don’t know yet. It really should be Matt’s decision,” I say. “We signed a contract that I’d accompany him to any events, specifically the gala. But I can’t imagine he wouldn’t prefer to have Jarod as a client.”
“And how will you feel about that?”
“Does it matter?”
“It does to me.”
I take a deep breath and consider.
Honestly? I’m tired of feeling. I wouldn’t mind being numb, just for a little while. I meant what I said to Ian about wanting to hold out for the fairy-tale ending, but . . . not just yet. I need time to come to grips with my feelings for Matt and embrace them, agony and all.
But . . . I’d be lying if I said Jarod’s interest hasn’t been a balm to my ego. It gives me hope to know that just because I’m alone now, just because my heart hurts now, it doesn’t mean I’ll have to be alone forever.
I’ll go to the gala with Matt if that’s what he wants, but I can’t say that I’d look forward to it. Not with this weird unrequited-love thing I have going on now. I don’t know that I’d particularly enjoy going with Jarod, either, but it would hurt less.
“I just want Matt to be happy,” I say quietly. “His career’s everything to him, and landing a client like Jarod would go a long way to restoring other clients’ faith in him.”
“Have you talked to him about it yet?”
I shake my head. “I was going to swing by the Wolfe offices later this afternoon. Kate says he’s got some free time.”
“Let me do it,” Ian says.
I blink in surprise. “Why?”
“It’s a guy thing.”
“Well, for me it’s a professional thing,” I counter. “I can’t let my client’s coworker deliver this kind of news.”
“You’re not. You’re letting your best friend talk to his best friend about a sticky situation.”
“But—”
“Sabrina.” He touches my arm again. “Trust me on this.”
I open my mouth to tell him no—to tell him that best friend or not, I handle my own problems. Always have, always will.
But then . . . have I handled my own problems? Because over the past month I seem to have gotten myself into trouble, not out of it.
Surely Ian can’t do any worse than I’ve done for myself.
“Fine,” I say with a sigh. “Talk to him.”
31
MATT
Tuesday Morning, October 17
“What the fuck? Tell me you’re joking.”
Ian takes a sip of his coffee. “Nope.”
“Sabrina wants to go to the gala with Lanham?”
“Not what I said. I said he wants to go with her.”
I suddenly have a whole new respect for the simplicity of cavemen’s thoughts, because right now, I’d love nothing better than a big stick and a cliff, just Lanham and me fighting to the death, with him going over the edge.
“This is bullshit,” I mutter.
“Did you miss the part where you get to manage all of Lanham’s money?” Kennedy says from where he leans against the wall on the far side of my office.
“Yeah, but the asshole is using Sabrina as leverage. How am I the only one outraged by this?”
“Because,” Kate says, coming through my open office door and unabashedly entering the conversation, “what he’s doing is not that different from what you did to her.”
I glare at her. “It’s entirely different. And how do you know about this?”
Kate shuts the door and shakes her head, coming to sit across from me, beside Ian. “Sabrina told me. And it isn’t different. You used her to get him. He used you to get her. You and Jarod want different things, but you still used someone else to get it.”
“The parallels really are remarkable,” Kennedy muses.
“Shut up,” I growl at him. “How are all three of you sitting there like this is fine? Like it’s no big deal that the woman I . . .”
“Yes?” Kate asks, sitting back and crossing her legs. “I’m dying to know how you’re going to finish that sentence.”
“I wouldn’t mind hearing the answer to that one myself,” Ian says. His tone is mild, but there’s a note of warning there.
I lock eyes with him. “You’ve talked to her.”
“Yes. We had lunch yesterday. That’s when she told me about the Lanham deal.”
“Fuck Lanham,” I say, leaning forward. “How is she?”
There’s a moment of silence in my office. Finally, Kennedy breaks it. “Did you just say, ‘Fuck Lanham’? As in, the unicorn you’ve been chasing your entire career?”
I ignore this, never looking away from Ian. “How is she?”
“She’s like you’d expect,” Ian says.
“What the hell does that mean?” My desperation is coming out in my voice, but I don’t care.
I am desperate.
It’s been more than a week since I’ve seen her. Talked to her. Held her. And the absence of her feels like a gaping hole in my chest.
Her email that she was still available “per our contract” had only made matters worse, shining light on the fact that I don’t want her that way. I don’t want her to spend time with me because it’s in the contract, because I’m paying her. I don’t want her to pretend to be in love with me for the sake of my bosses and my damn reputation.
I want . . .
I want her to love me for real.
She does, you idiot. You were just too chickenshit to do anything about it.
Kate leans toward Ian without looking away from me. “Is he having a moment right now?” She says it in a whisper, but it’s clearly meant for my ears.
I’m not having a moment. I’ve been having a week.
Or rather, a lifetime’s realization in a week, without a damn clue of what happens next. What do I do? How do I get her back? How do I trust that I have what it takes?
“Are your parents happy?” I ask Kate.
She blinks in surprise. “My parents?”
“I’ve met them once. They seemed happy.”
“Sure, they’re happy. Married thirty-two years next month, and they still act like they’re on their honeymoon.”
Thirty-two years of happiness.
I shift my gaze to Kennedy. “What about your parents? Happy?”
He gives me a questioning look but nods. “Yeah, they’re happy.”
I glance at Ian, who shrugs. “Everyone knows my parents aren’t in the picture, and my foster father’s longest relationship is with the Phillies. But if you’re after what I think you’re after—reassurance that a man and a woman can be happy together long-term—I can assure you that it’s absolutely possible for two people who love each other to make it work. It may not be easy. It’s terrifying as shit. But it’s possible.”
Kate pats Ian’s knee affectionately. “I can’t say I ever imagined the day when you’d play the role of love coach, but it’s an adorable look on you.”
If I didn’t know better, I’d swear Ian is blushing just a little, but given my own predicament at the moment, I’m hardly one to give him shit.
“You know what I mean,” Ian grumbles. “I’m just saying Cannon should get over whatever moronic hang-ups he has about relationships.”
“What are your hang-ups?” Kennedy asks. “Just good old-fashioned male commitment phobia?”
“Something like that.”
My friends’ silence tells me my answer isn’t good enough.
I sigh. “Fine. My parents’ relationship is completely fucked up. It’d be one thing if they just got divorced, you know? Allowed each other to move on? Instead they just sort of accepted that their bullshit arrangement was as good as it gets.”
“Which led you to believe that that would be as good as it ever got for you?” Kate asks, sounding slightly disappointed in me.
I don’t bother to defend myself, because I’m disappointed, too. I’ve been an idiot and a coward, too foolish to see that my feelings for Sabrina aren’t terrifying because they’re wrong—they’re terrifying because they’re right.
She’s right. For me.