You weren’t doing your job. You lost your professional distance!
Yes. That was exactly what she hadn’t mastered: creating new distance. As was evident from her stupid bet with Connor. Around him, at least, she behaved about as professionally as a medicine ball on a tennis court.
“Obviously, I’ll be there when the trial starts,” she stated. “I’m not going to miss the chance to testify in court, under oath, about what a jerk he is. That’s out of the question.”
“Okay. Then try to relax a bit, I’ll be in touch with any news. See you then, Rachel.”
“See you then,” she replied wearily and hung up.
Shit. And she’d thought her father’s two missed calls were pressuring on her. But no.
She loved her job as a couples' therapist. She loved the notes from couples who were happily together again. She loved the emails from couples who had resolved to separate, and thanks to her help, had ended amicably or at least without mudslinging. Shehelpedpeople. And yes, she also enjoyed matching people with Maddie. Her sister had good intuition about who was compatible without Rachel's help, though — and she couldn’t really afford Rachel’s salary anyway. She had wanted to do both: open a new practice and help Maddie out, but now…
“What kind of trial?”
She jumped violently and whirled around. Oh God, not again. “Tell me, is this your hobby now?” she asked, annoyed, and tossed the phone back in her purse. “Eavesdropping?”
Connor shrugged and narrowed his eyes. “Not yet, but I’m always open to new things. So, what kind of trial?”
“None of your business.”
“What are you testifying about in court?”
“That you’re an asshole. Sorry, but I have to tell the truth under oath,” she replied calmly. Besides, she hated that the guy was wearing another one of those white shirts that clung to his muscular shoulders as if they were the love of its life. As if the shirt suffered from acute separation anxiety. He was wearing black jeans that should have looked casual, but there were the muscles and that charisma...
“You’re staring at me,” he stated.
Shit. “Yeah, because I’ve never seen an ogre up close before,” she mused aloud, and the bastard smiled. Broadly. So much so that little wrinkles fanned out around his eyes, making him look almost amicable for a second.
“We learned from Shrek: Even an ogre can find a woman who loves him. So I’m confident.”
Rachel sighed. “Your first date was completely inappropriate, so your method is questionable.”
“Ah,mymethod?” He grinned. “I’m so excited about the guy you’re meeting today!”
The back of her neck prickled. She didn’t like that at all.
“But to answer your question,” he continued, “it’s statistically likely that I’ll find someone who wants to marry me, or at least be with me forever.”
She sighed dramatically. “Oh, everyone knows that math is what makes love truly romantic.”
“Says the woman who works at a dating agency that uses a probability algorithm.”
Shit. He was right. “Fine, I’ll bite. Why is it probable?”
“Because I’m in my mid-thirties, and I date women my age. Or at least women no younger than twenty-eight. When it comes to staying together, it’s not aboutwho, it’s aboutwhen. Or why do you think everyone in their late twenties or early thirties suddenly finds true love?”
With pursed lips, she shook her head. “You’re initial C for cynical, aren’t you? There is so much wrong with that sentence. I’d gladly take a red pen to it.”
Connor shrugged. “Believe me: There is no such thing as the right person. There’s only the right time. And since I’ve decided that’s now…” His smile widened even further before he nodded toward the restaurant.
God, the confidence. Rolling her eyes, she followed and looked up in surprise when he held the door open for her and let her enter first. A hot man with manners. Romance novels weremadeof that. Maybe it was a good thing they were meeting their dates at the same restaurant, so she could be certain his wasn’t a success. After all, she had another ace up her sleeve.
Connor entered behind her, and the heat radiating from his body made her bare back tingle. But surely that was because the restaurant was air-conditioned. That was why she shivered when Connor let the door close behind them and brushed his knuckles, feather-light, down her spine to encourage her to step further into Galette. She wore a backless yellow dress that reminded her of the sun and always made her feel good. But it was also a little cold inside.
Though she wasn’t feeling cold at that moment. More like hot.
“Rachel, move,” he said sharply, his raspy voice scurrying down her spine like searching fingertips. She groaned inwardly. Her body couldn’t be serious. Comfortable, familiar calm – that was what she was looking for in a man, not a tinglingrestlessness that put her on alert, resulting in adrenaline, confused endorphins, and nervousness.
