Chapter 13
Chapter Thirteen
If you can’t win, make the other person lose.
Tips and tricks for every situation from divorce lawyer Connor Stone
There’s a word for that: Cheating. - Rachel
Connor had found a woman who wanted to meet him.
She was irritated that he’d suggested a miniature golf course, and he also found it questionable to call the meeting a date, but…
it didn’t matter! Rachel would see he had a date, and he’d make sure her date went badly.
He had every right to do so after her near-cyber attack at the Galette.
Besides, he was still angry, and upsetting Rachel seemed like a fundamentally good idea.
The mini-golf course was right by the ocean, and a salty breeze was blowing in off the beach that made the palm trees sway along the edge of the course.
To the right, there was a small beach cafe with red plastic furniture and umbrellas advertising the surf school nearby.
Connor wondered if there was enough overlap between mini-golf and surfing to warrant the advertising, but before he could give it any further thought or start a Google search, someone cleared their throat behind him.
“Hey, are you Connor Stone?”
He blinked and turned around. His not-really-date was a dark-haired woman in her mid-twenties, wearing a pencil skirt with a dark blue blouse and a pair of pumps that were neither suitable for mini-golf nor surfing. Slung over her shoulder was a jute satchel containing a thick folder.
Oh, shit, this had been one of his dumber ideas, but now she was here, so…
“Yes, I am. You’re Jean Morowitz?” He took her outstretched hand and shook it. “Nice to meet you.”
“Likewise. I’m excited about this opportunity. I’ve heard a lot about you, and I admire you greatly.”
Generally, on a date, it was a bad sign if the woman had heard of him. But in this case…oh, man. Good thing Rachel wasn’t here yet. Jean’s enthusiasm at meeting him would have highly irritated her.
“I’m glad. We’ll tee off shortly. I just need to wait a minute…”
“Oh, wow,” Jean interrupted, her mouth gaping as she looked over his shoulder.
Connor whipped his head around…and immediately understood because seeing Rachel felt like a punch to the gut.
She was wearing another one of those summer dresses he wished she wouldn’t wear, the ones that seemed so innocent with their high neckline, bright colors, and long skirts — which only reminded him that the woman inside had whispered harder in his ear.
His jaw clenched as his gaze flicked from her light blue dress to her flats before he looked at Jean. Her mouth was still open, looking as if she were seeing a supernatural apparition.
Great. His date might be interested in women. Well, at least they had that in common. Shared interests were important.
“Connor,” Rachel stated simply, stopping in front of him, even though she wasn’t looking directly at him. She kept her eyes on his chin as if she didn’t want to see the rest of his face.
He didn’t reply and suppressed a snort. He didn’t trust his voice. In general, he didn’t trust himself when it came to Rachel. His body was tense, his heart felt like it had jumped into the cold ocean, and his stomach was taking the surfing ad a little too seriously.
Fuck. That was the anger, wasn’t it? It was because of her that he wasn’t sleeping well. It was because of her that he’d had to postpone the court date and have several more grueling phone calls with Mrs. Teager. Yet Rachel believed she was right and had done nothing wrong!
“Were we waiting for her?” Jean asked, her cheeks slightly flushed.
He nodded stiffly.
“Hey,” she murmured, slightly breathless. “Jean Morowitz, pleased to meet you.”
Rachel blinked, looked up at him in confusion, but took her hand. “Rachel James,” she said slowly, smiling tightly. “Where did Connor pick you up?”
“Um…” Jean blinked. “I answered the ad.”
Caught off guard, Rachel glanced up at him, but still not into his eyes.
He wished it was because she was afraid of him, but he knew why she didn’t.
The last time they’d looked deep into each other’s eyes, he’d been buried deep inside her…
and she was a coward. “You’re placing ads now? ” she asked, perplexed.
“Yes,” he replied flatly. “I thought I’d at least give it a try.”
Jean frowned in confusion. “It’s not that uncommon to place ads. I responded to four different ones last week alone.”
Rachel’s eyebrows shot up. “Seriously?”
Connor looked away and suppressed a smile. Shit, Rachel looked cute when she didn’t understand things. She had no right! He was angry with her, and she was manipulating him with her wide-eyed, uncomprehending expression.
“Yes, so it’s clear what you’re looking for,” Jean continued. “I also printed out my resume again.” She pulled a sheet of paper from her satchel.
Connor rubbed the back of his neck. “Thanks,” he said, taking it. “That’s helpful.”
“You’re welcome! I can tell you everything you want to know about my strengths and weaknesses, but I need to use the bathroom before we get started. I really do have a lot of experience, so…you won’t be disappointed.” She smiled and then turned toward the toilet.
“She has…experience?” Rachel echoed, watching her go. “In what area?”
“In bed,” he replied, unfazed. “Do you have something against experienced women?”
He heard Rachel grinding her teeth. “Not at all. And her strengths and weaknesses…”
“In bed,” he replied, unperturbed.
Rachel snorted. “You took out an ad asking women to list their strengths and weaknesses between the sheets?”
“Why not? Want to hear yours?”
“Oh, I know them,” she said, unimpressed. “My weaknesses: I make wrong choices and only sleep with arrogant jerks. My strengths: Everything else.”
“And you call me arrogant,” he whispered.
Rachel glanced up, finally meeting his eyes. Her pupils were dilated, and her chin was raised. “Are you contradicting me? You should stop provoking me. I actually came here in peace.”
“You really need to stop talking about how you came,” he murmured darkly. “It gives me the wrong idea and might upset my date.”
“Oh, please, Connor.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’re rather good at upsetting your dates and…” The next moment, she yanked Jean’s resume out of his hands and took three hasty steps back.
Fuck.
The corners of her mouth twitched. “Hm,” she drawled. “Looks like your date is pretty good at reciting clauses in bed.”
He clasped his hands behind his back. “What can I say? It turns me on.”
Rachel snorted. “I know what turns you on, Connor, and…” She trailed off, her cheeks as red as the cafe’s plastic chairs. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Oh no,” he murmured, sauntering toward her. “Tell me more. What turns me on? When women can’t admit they’re wrong and give my clients bad advice?”
Rachel’s expression darkened. “Obviously, because why else would you have attacked me?”
His shoulders tensed. He wished she wouldn't remind him how rotten his judgment was when it came to her.
But she didn’t seem to care. “Connor, you don’t have a date. You have a damn interview!” she stated.
Yes, he knew that too. “You’re getting off topic.”
“What’s the topic? That you didn’t find a date?”
“Hmm,” he said. “An interview is kind of a date too.”
Rachel stared at him, her lips parted — before she laughed. He could see she didn’t mean to, but obviously, she couldn’t help it.
“How can you still be so confident?” she asked incredulously.
He shrugged. “I still don’t think it’s a bad idea. You know, I figured if a miniature golf interview didn’t scare her off, she’d be tough. We need that kind of person at our firm.”
“Yeah, because she has to work for you.”
“Yeah, right,” he replied, irritated.
Rachel snorted. “You realize you’re wasting one of your five dates.”
“Hmm,” he said, approaching her. “It seems to upset you. How could it be a waste?”
Mouth gaping, she stared at him. “Wow. How could I not have won this bet by now?”
“You already know why. You’re dating the wrong men.”
“Oh, yeah, your theory…”
“You like the thrill, Rachel. Fuck, you had sex with me even though I’m your declared enemy!”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “You’re still angry, aren’t you?”
“At you for messing with my work and giving random divorce advice? Why should I be?” he replied roughly.
She lowered her gaze and took a deep breath. “Connor, I was hoping you’d calmed down a bit so…”
“Here comes your date,” he interrupted, looking over her shoulder. “Plaid shirt, khaki pants. Boring. Looks like your type.”
“Stop it,” she hissed. “He can hear you.”
He didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything. The guy shouldn’t be here, damn it!
“You know what’s ridiculous?” Rachel continued. “I had actually planned to apologize to you today! But you’re making it impossible.”
“And what exactly am I doing?” he asked hostilely, because he still considered himself relatively friendly and unproblematic.
“Um, excuse me?” the plaid hero spoke up. “Are you Rachel?”
“Jesus Christ, do you like confrontations?” Connor snapped at him.
The guy blinked. “No,” he replied meekly. “I hate arguing.”
Connor laughed dryly. Naturally. “Then she’s not the right woman for you. Believe me!” he snapped. “Do yourself and me a favor and leave!”
Shocked, the guy stumbled back a few steps.
“Connor!” Rachel shouted before softening her voice and saying to her date, “He doesn’t mean it.”
“Oh, but I do mean it,” he said stonily, glaring at the hopeful-looking guy. “Leave.”
It didn’t take long for the guy to convince himself — and a fire burned in Rachel’s eyes when she looked back at him.
“What?” he asked innocently. “Was that wrong? I asked him the most important question, and he gave the wrong answer. Match Me! should fucking hire me. I seem to be the only one who even remotely understands what kind of people are compatible.”
“You turned a job interview into a date!”
“And you found someone else less than twelve hours after I took you on the desk!”
Open-mouthed, she stared at him. Seconds ticked by, stretching into hours. “So, what’s wrong with that?” she whispered.
“Nothing,” he lashed out, looking away. He hated the tight feeling in his chest that reminded him of jealousy. He didn’t get jealous! Not since his high school girlfriend called the football captain hot. So if that wasn’t it…
“Connor,” Rachel whispered, staring at him, “cut the bullshit. Don’t act like you’re suddenly claiming ownership of me just so I don’t win the bet!”
Claiming ownership? No. No, he didn’t want to possess Rachel. He wanted her to give him everything voluntarily. For a few weeks. Months. Until he’d had enough. Until he could think clearly again. Until everything he thought he knew about himself was true again.
“Rachel,” he replied coldly, “if I’m the first to tell you that your apologies suck, it's sad for everyone that has had anything to do with you.”
She pressed her lips together. “I haven’t started apologizing yet.”
“Oh, well then, go ahead,” he said coolly, folding his arms across his chest. “I’m looking forward to it. It’ll be great.”
She closed her eyes. “I hate it when you’re rationally cool even more than when you're yelling,” she murmured barely audibly. “So…go ahead and be irrationally angry again.”
“I can see this isn’t working, so just go home, I have a job interview.”
He wanted to leave. He needed distance from her and the feeling in his chest. But Rachel reached out and gripped his arm.
Her touch was gentle. Hesitant. He could have easily pulled away, but he didn’t want to.
“Connor,” Rachel murmured, her voice sliding over his face like fingers, “I’m…sorry.”
He paused and took a deep breath before turning around. “You’re sorry for what? That you’d rather let people stay in their miserable marriages just so you can claim that eternal love exists? So you can keep convincing yourself that your plaid hero is the one, and that the right one exists?”
“I don’t let people stay in their miserable marriages!” she said tensely.
“Oh, please, you’re a couples' therapist who…”
“…who’s being fucking sued for telling a woman to dump her shitty husband!” she snapped.