It sucks that no one’s on my side. Mom would always be on Team Grace, but I’m not going to upset her by telling her what happened with Peter, even though I’d kill for some of her warm support to help soothe my pain.
I glare at my empty glass. There isn’t enough alcohol in the world to make me feel better.So…revenge?I’ve never really pursued it before, but that seems like the only option left.
Except…What would constitute good revenge in a situation like this?
In romance novels, heroines sometimes sleep with their shitty ex’s dad, but Peter’s father passed away when he was in college. His older brother’s out, since he’s a degenerate alcoholic who’s in jail for assaulting his girlfriend. It’s not revenge if you downgrade.
I scan the people in the bar again. The place is near a couple of law firms with lawyers Peter has talked—well, sneered—about. I could sleep with one of them, just to show him.
Loud laughter and cheers erupt from a large group to my left. From the conservative suits and boasts of “spanking the opposing counsel,” they’re definitely lawyers. They also sport smiles as slick as Peter’s, their teeth just as bleached.
I shake my head inwardly.What am I doing?Sleeping with a random guy isn’t going to hurt Peter. He wouldn’t even care. Our relationship ended, unilaterally, a little while ago.
My actions going forward shouldn’t involve spiting Peter. I should only sleep with someone who makes my belly flip and libido sing. A guy who’s at least a hundred times better in bed than my ex, which shouldn’t be that difficult. He wasn’t always that great, especially when he was tired from work. Huxley & Webber works their associates hard. Or maybe Viv rode him too hard.
Ugh.I need to stop thinking about that or I’m going to puke.
Maybe I should get a guy who isn’t a lawyer. Just look at my life. No decent attorney anywhere, except for Adam.
I signal the bartender for another drink. She gives me a look, but this isdefinitelymy last one. Spending money on whiskey isn’t going to solve my situation. The idea of doing laundry tonight is exhausting, but no way am I sleeping in that bed with the sheets Peter and Viv fucked on. I already feel gross. If I hadn’t showered this morning, I’d drive back home to disinfect my body with extra-hot water and bleach.
–Adam: Peter’s a fucking asshole.
The understatement of the century. Bet Adam never cheats on his boyfriend. Always treats him with respect, too. I stare at the screen glumly. Why can’t I find a man who loves me unconditionally and thinks I’m hotter than sliced bread?
A lawyer from the rowdy group comes over, stands next to me and says something to the bartender. He leans annoyingly close, even though the bar isn’tthatcrowded, and brushes against my bare arm. Then he pushes his jacket back and places his hand on his waist, his elbow almost poking my side.
He’s dressed in a dark suit, with a shit-eating grin that reminds me of Peter when he thinks he’s being extra clever. I used to think it was sort of cute, but now it just looks smarmy.
The bartender puts my whiskey down. As I reach for it, the guy knocks my hand out of the way, grabs the drink and downs the whole thing in one swallow.
“Hey, that was my drink!” I say.
He blinks at me, like he can’t believe I have the audacity to complain. “Says who?”
“Says me. I ordered that whiskey.”
He rolls his eyes. “It didn’t have your name on it, sweetheart. And I ordered a whiskey too.”
“That actuallywashers,” the bartender says.
“Nobody asked you,” he sneers at her, his expression dripping with condescension. Apparently, a fancy law degree makes him better than her. What a dickface.
“Nobody asked you to take up my space, either,” I say. “Or to steal my drink. Why don’t you apologize to the bartender who corrected you so you can quit making an ass of yourself, then run back to your group? They obviously don’t mind putting up with your poor manners, and I’m not interested in interacting with rude people. Oh, and pay for that whiskey before you go.”
His face turns red. “You think you can get away with talking to me like that? I’m a fucking lawyer, bitch. I can sue your ass.”
“For what? Teaching you manners? I should bill you for doing the job your mother didn’t. And speaking of lawsuits, I’m the one with the grounds to sue. You smacked my hand out of the way when you stole my drink, which is technically battery and assault.”
He’s incandescent scarlet now. People probably don’t talk back when he says he’s a lawyer and threatens to sue. He steps forward and tries to physically tower over me, the gesture meantto intimidate. If he can’t win with words, he’s going to win with physical force.
My mouth dries a little, my heart picking up speed. An overpriced suit and an even more overpriced degree don’t mean the man’s too good for violence. Mick has shown me how low men can go when they think they can get away with it. And I’m always on my own.
“Back off, asshole,” says a cool, gravelly voice.
I blink as a brick wall of a man places himself in front of me like a fortress. He’s tall, and solidly built underneath the well-fitted suit. His shoulders are wide, his waist trim. The man keeps in shape.
“Who the fuck are you?” Mr. Lawyer says.
