Chapter 12 – Cain
I’d rather be anywhere else but here.
In fact, where I want to be is back in Connecticut, in that hotel room where Rhiannon Carpenter left me in my bed, naked again, without a goodbye or any way to get in touch with her despite my threat.
I should have known I wouldn’t need her number; the universe would force her back into my orbit somehow at the worst possible moment.
“What the hell happened up there?” Madison snaps as she drags us into one of the courthouse’s small conference rooms that are meant for lawyers to debrief with their clients.
She slams the door shut, crossing her arms and glaring at me like I personally sabotaged this entire case I never wanted to take on in the first place.
“Your case wasn’t strong enough,” I reply flatly, irritation coursing through me now.
I pull out my laptop and set it on the desk, reviewing my calendar for the rest of this week. Another court appearance, a meeting with one of my clients on the upper east side, a dental appointment to get a chip fixed.
Yeah, any of these things sound better than this favor I did for my sister.
It’s bad enough that I got dragged into this attempt to defend her flimsy case, but her accusations and the way she touched me with misplaced familiarity and not enough professionalism in my place of work is pushing me to the edge of indifference.
This is one of the worst parts of being a lawyer representing entertainers. The entitlement to my personal space and time.
“Then make it stronger,” she huffs, sticking out her bottom lip. Madison has always been a beautiful woman, but the external beauty can’t mask the mean streak she has deep inside her heart that I’ve heard about personally.
Madison’s outer perfection has always been at odds with her venomous personality. She doesn’t show it online, but my sister’s told me stories about backstabbing friendships she’s had for decades and turning on suppliers with zero notice.
I tolerated her for as long as I needed to.
For professional reasons, sure, and because my little sister Rosie claims that they’re friends.
But no amount of fleeting physical attraction could make me overlook the fact that I never wanted anything more from her than her and her best friend Matt’s business.
And even that I’m not sure I want anymore.
I stretch out my legs, rolling my shoulders back and cracking my neck as I eye her with fresh detachment. She’s a paying client, yes, but I don’t need this case. In fact, losing it just hurt my winning streak that I’ve been maintaining for three years now.
“That’s not how the law works. She never directly named you or Matt in any of her videos.
Yes, the content mirrors some of your posts, but it could just as easily mimic any of the other thousands of influencers providing similar lifestyle advice online.
Also, there’s no case for defamation. You can’t sue for providing a counter perspective. Opinions aren’t a crime.”
I stop myself from saying what I really want which is this should have never been a case to begin with. My patience is paper thin after seeing Rhiannon in the courtroom and watching the way her best friend held her.
Yes, I’m aware he’s in a relationship. I met his partner the night she ditched me at his apartment, and they seemed quite happy together. Yet those two facts do nothing to stop the burning need I felt seeing her again. But this time she was tucked in close to the side of another man.
The desire I feel to go back out there and hunt her down is strong… But I won’t. Not yet at least.
Instead, I adjust my tie and glance at my watch, annoyed that it’s already noon and I’ve wasted half my day working on a case I was always bound to lose. I’m annoyed that this case exists. Annoyed that I spent time fighting a battle against a woman I never thought I’d see again.
And, worst of all, I’m annoyed at the fact that the universe seems bent on forcing us to see each other.
Because if I can’t have Rhiannon Carpenter for more than a night, then I’d be content in never seeing her again.
But having her forced on me every few months like a tease is the worst edging I’ve ever experienced, and I need to put an end to it for good.
“So, you’re saying what I’m sharing is just my opinion?” Madison’s voice is full of disbelief. “You don’t believe that what Matt and I are sharing with the world is true? What kind of lawyer are you if you don’t support your clients?”
Her face is scrunched up in disgust, cheeks red as if she’s going to burst a blood vessel at that revelation.
I did my research, what she’s sharing has been said before in many different formats and medias.
It’s not that she’s right or wrong. It’s just that it’s not new information that she’s uncovering for the first time.
“I’m simply stating that you don’t have enough evidence to sue for defamation. We should have never pursued this case in the first place.”
She huffs out a breath. “Well, can we at least, spend some time talking about this over lunch?”
I lean back. “Madison, I did this as a favor to my sister and that’s it.”
“Wait,” she says reaching out her hand and placing it on top of mine to stop me. “What about us? You haven’t responded to any of my text messages or calls in months.”
Has she texted and called me? I haven’t noticed.
Probably because I’ve either ignored them assuming she was trying to get in touch with Rosie or been drowning in the case work that my father’s been tossing my way, preparing me to make partner at his firm.
“There’s no us, Madison. There never was an us. I’m your lawyer, and you and Matt are my clients. That’s all this is.”
The truth is, I haven’t dated in years. I don’t have the time. The only time I carved out for sex this autumn was that one night in Hartford with Rhiannon. Which is exactly why Madison acting like there was ever an us when I’ve said maybe five total words to her outside of work is laughable.
I’ve always kept things strictly professional. Made boundaries clear. Honestly, I don’t think there’s anything left she could say that would surprise me at this point.
She pouts again. “But I only filed this case to see you.”
Yep. There it is. Consider me officially shocked. I’ve had people file cases for loads of reasons, revenge, reputation, pettiness, boredom, but just to score a date with me is a new one.
“I need to meet with another client over in Courthouse C,” I say brusquely. I shove my laptop in the brief case and then pull open the door before she can say another word. I don’t look back. I don’t need to. Rosie can take over her friend as a client for all I care.
The brief walk to the next court room gives me just enough time to stew over everything that happened this morning.
How had I let myself get roped into this circus? When I agreed to take on Matt and Madison’s case, I thought I was dealing with some random, online, faceless poster, someone Matt had exaggerated into a monster for the sake of getting ratings and maintaining their income.
I certainly hadn’t expected Rhiannon to be the person I was suing.
Her name replays in my mind like an itch I can’t scratch, and irritation prickles under my skin. I only took this ridiculous case because my little sister Rosie begged me to help out her friend. To this day, I’m not sure why they were even friends.
I push into the next courtroom and slide into one of the conference rooms attached to the back, waiting for my client. It’s a perpetually tardy pop star who goes by the name Three Bright Diamonds.
She’s late, as usual so with time to kill, I pull out my laptop and against my better judgment, navigate to Rhiannon’s social media page. Her latest video starts to play, her voice warm and steady over a series of visuals that never show her face.
Hearing her voice now, I have no idea how I missed that the steady, sultry one I’m hearing was her. It’s the same one I heard moaning my name in Hartford and felt coming around my cock in NYC.
“Hey guys, just a reminder to do whatever is best for you and your family,” she begins, her tone calm but assured.
Her hands move with purpose, ending the video with a thumbs-up as she says, “If no one has told you today, you’re doing an amazing job taking care of yourself, your family, and the people that you love.
Your best might look different from someone else’s.
Don’t put so much pressure on yourself to always have everything figured out.
None of us really know what we’re doing.
This is all our first time being humans on this earth. Talk soon.”
I exhale slowly, leaning back in my chair.
The sincerity in her voice, the message she’s trying to get across, it all gnaws at me.
It’s not fake. It’s not forced. And despite her wanting me to know absolutely nothing about her, I finally feel like I do know something and it’s good. Fucking way too good.
This is who Rhiannon is. This is her character. She’s someone who wants to project light into a world that rarely gives any back. Someone who feels deeply, who leads with empathy, who believes she can make things better just by showing up.
She might be the woman I slept with twice, the one I haven’t been able to stop thinking about but never truly understood, but now, I think I’m starting to. And what I know only makes me want to know more. I want to know everything about her and that terrifies me.
She shook something loose in me. Cracked open the monotony of my overly structured, lawyer driven life filled with boardrooms, client meetings, overpriced cologne, and the same rotation of tailored suits.
She may have joked that I was “a Suit,” and she wasn’t wrong.
I am one. The guy who orders takeout instead of cooking in his million-dollar, state of the art kitchen.
The one who works thirteen-hour days including weekends and calls that balance.
The one that ex-girlfriends have labeled distant, distracted and emotionless.
Someone who knows how to please a woman’s body but can’t quite figure out how to reach her heart or mind.
Rhiannon, though, she’s the opposite of all of that. Warm. Inviting. Soft in a way that doesn’t make her weak but magnetic. She didn’t want me to know anything about her, yet she’d pry little pieces of me loose without even trying.
I know she loves my arms. My glasses. That she hadn’t been with anyone in years prior to me. That her birthday was that night in March, and yet she was spending it alone in a massive city watching a movie. That she’s never been to Bryant Park because she never has time for movies.
But who is she, really? Why did she create a social media page providing an alternative perspective that’s counter to Matt and Madisons that she doesn’t profit from? That I don’t know. And it frustrates the hell out of me.
The part of me that’s built to dig, to uncover, to know everything as a form of protection, it’s restless now. My skin itches with it. That familiar burn in my chest that comes when something doesn’t add up, when I’m being kept in the dark.
And the idea that Rhiannon might suddenly reappear for a third time, has me on edge. Because I’m not sure whether I want to run from her… or go find her first.
I think about the way that her hazel eyes widened when she first noticed me in the courtroom, and the way she looked today in that fiery red two-piece suit. And was she even wearing a shirt underneath that jacket? Who wears something like that to court when they’re being sued?
She looked like a sexy, modern-day Carmen Sandiego.
The song “Where in the world is Carmen San Diego?” plays in my mind when really, I want to know where Rhiannon Carpenter is right now.
My mind drifts back to that night a month ago at the hotel in Hartford—the one I can’t seem to forget no matter how hard I try. Likely because it’s the last time I let loose and had fun. The last time I gave myself permission to slow down and spend a day in bed with a woman.
She hadn’t asked for my last name, though I’d managed to learn her first when the director shouted it over the music.
She didn’t ask why I was on the set of Davey’s video or what I did for a living.
She didn’t care. She was completely in the moment, focused on one thing—her pleasure. And I fucking loved it.
There was no hesitation in her, no trace of insecurity. Just confidence. Control. And, like before, we both knew exactly what it was. A onetime thing.
The difference was, for Rhiannon, it was another one-night stand. For me, it was something I haven’t been able to put a label on since. Watching this mesmerizing, self-assured woman take me apart piece by piece with confidence I’ve never seen in another.
She’d undressed slowly, revealing curves that were all her own.
Full breasts, soft hips, skin that made my palms itch to touch.
Then she’d climbed on top of me, moved like she knew exactly what she was doing, like she was built for it.
For me. The way she rode me, had me coming fast. We stayed tangled together for hours, exploring different positions, and telling our lies mixed with a rare truth.
And then she was gone.
No note. No number. Just gone again.
It pissed me off more than I’d ever share. She’d ghosted me like I was just another forgettable body, a box checked and dismissed.
For once, I was the one left wanting with questions I knew I wouldn’t get answered.
And hell if that doesn’t make me want her that much more.
My cock stirs at the memory, and I shift in my seat, forcing my focus back where it belongs—on the client I’m about to meet with, not the woman who keeps showing up in my head every time I close my eyes.
“Hey, counsel.” There’s a knock at the door of the conference room. I look up. Thankfully, it’s just the bailiff.
“Hi Jeffrey. How can I help?”
“This was left in the courtroom you were just in. Is it your clients?” he passes a tiny grey wallet across the table to me. I unzip it and look at the ID.
Rhiannon Carpenter
DOB: 03/13 (28 y/o)
And included is a pretty photo of her smiling at the camera.
I smile widely. “Yeah, it’s hers. I’ll make sure she gets it tonight,” I lie as I zip the wallet closed, dismissing him.
A few seconds later, my client arrives to prepare for our next case, but my mind is elsewhere.
On how exactly I’m going to get this to the girl who fucked up my mind, heart, and now my career winning streak.