“A client. He wasn’t referring tomeas his date, but a woman he’d met the night prior. They slept together, and he woke up to find his wallet and valuables missing, along with a half-assed marriage certificate. I informed him that I wasn’t the right lawyer for him and excused myself to deal with something more important. Whatever he was blabbing on about didn’tinvolve me, but thank you for sharing who in this office finds it acceptable to spread gossip about a lawyer who holds much, much more power than she does.”
Somehow, he turns an even darker shade of red. “That slipped.”
“It doesn’t matter. I know who it was now, and I’m done discussing my personal life with you, Spencer. You can see yourself out.”
“Not so fast,” he rushes out, taking three well-measured steps toward my desk. “Who are you dating?”
“I just told you I was finished talking about that. Do you need a lesson on boundaries in addition to respecting women?”
“If you’re lying, I’m going to be the one to unravel it in front of the entire office,” he hisses.
I’m too smart to call his bluff outright. “For what? Do you think Victor is going to use your petty vengeance as reason to fight for your promotion and strip me of mine?”
“Perhaps. Or I could just want to sit back and watch as you’re made out to be an embarrassment.”
“Get the fuck out of my office.”
“Fine. I look forward to seeing this boyfriend, though. I’m sure you’re just so in love with him that you’re chomping at the bit to bring him around prior to the gala. Surely, you want to introduce your man to your mentor.”
I lick my teeth before repeating myself one last time. “Get. Out.”
“Have a good day, Aubrey,” he all but purrs as he finally spins on his heels and stalks out of my office.
My door remains open once he’s out of sight, and before I know it, I’m out of my seat and sailing toward it. With a grit of my teeth, I shut it as hard as I can without drawing attention.
I’m in trouble now, but I refuse to lose my head. I’ve never cracked under pressure, and Spencer will not be responsible for driving me there.
I refuse to let that happen.
I’ve officially hitrock bottom.
That’s what I told myself a thousand times while opening Tinder for the first time in six months and starting to swipe. And truthfully, it didn’t start off too badly. The men were attractive in their own ways, and I won’t deny that seeing an immediate match every time I swiped right wasn’t the least bit flattering. Then, everything went up in flames.
Message after message began popping up, sending my phone into a frenzy and my mind running to catch up. Each one seemed to get worse, somehow encapsulating everything I’ve grown to hate about men andthensome. There were pleas for pictures, hookups, and even one guy who asked if I had ever thought of charging money for videos of me dressing my feet up in frilly, used panties.
Just when I thought all hope was lost, there was one match left who I thoughtcouldbe decent enough company. It was a bit of a stretch, considering his opening line was “You, me, a tall glass of wine and a kiss under the stars.” Still, I was scraping the bottom of the barrel here, and he icked me out the least.
That’s the only reason I’m here, entertaining a date after a day from hell.
I will give him points for choosing a restaurant with a beautiful view. The sun is setting low on the horizon, painting the harbour a soft mix of orange, pink, and purple. Seagulls cryover the low, sultry music floating around the table, helping to loosen my stiff muscles. Even when I look up from my thin menu to the man across from me, it’s hard to feelutterlyrepulsed while being somewhere so peaceful.
“Have you chosen what you’re going to order?” Jay asks, already trumping my last date with his lack of robo-voice.
“I think so. The rib-eye looks good.”
I prepare for his response, expecting a frown or judgmental quirk of a brow. Neither comes. Instead, he smiles, and—wait. Those are dimples in his cheeks. I can’t help but grin back, scooting my chair a bit closer to the table now that I’m not debating taking off before our drinks arrive.
“I was thinking about ordering that as well. I’m glad you’re not thinking about a salad. I like a woman who can eat.”
My head falls back before I can stop it as I choke on a disappointed groan. It was going so much better than usual. Joke’s on me. Again.
Relax, Aubrey. One strike isn’t the end of the world. There are two more.
Readjusting my posture, I tuck the loose pieces of hair I left out of my bun behind my ears. “So, what do you do for work?”
“I’m in sales.”
“What kind?”
