CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
BENNET
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I am out of control. My will has been slipping since Friday night.
Rosalie's expression is doing exactly what I knew it would do the moment I heard her voice from the doorway.
Bouncing between me and Blaire, assembling the scene she walked into, trying to reconcile the brother who has spent ten years hating this woman with the man she just caught with his fingers inside her in his office in the middle of a Monday morning.
The math is not adding up for her. I can see it happening in real time, and I have absolutely nothing to offer in my defense.
"I'll uh—" Blaire starts, her voice coming out with a crack of awkwardness that, under any other circumstances, might make me smile. "Yeah. I, uh, I need to make a phone call."
And before I can say a single word, she's moving past Rosalie and out the door, leaving me alone with my sister and the wreckage of the last twenty minutes.
The office is very quiet.
Rosalie looks at me.
I look at her.
"Rose—"
"Don't." She holds up one hand. "Give me a minute."
"You're back early."
"One. Minute. Michael."
I give her a minute.
She stands at the closed door with her arms folded, and I can see her doing what she always does — organizing her thoughts before she opens her mouth. When she finally speaks, her voice is controlled in the specific way that means she's working very hard to keep it that way.
"I won't even go into the fact that she's still legally married.
Or that this arrangement was supposed to be fake.
" She tilts her head. "Let's set those two major red flags aside for the moment.
" A breath. "She ruined you, Michael. I held you on the floor of our house while you fell apart.
I watched you bury yourself and build someone new from the pieces.
" Her eyes don't leave mine. "So, what the hell are you thinking?
Is this some kind of revenge situation, or should I be genuinely concerned?
Because I'm an attorney. I know where to bury a body. "
I run my hand through my hair and close my eyes.
"I don't fucking know what I'm doing anymore, Rose." The honesty of it sits heavy in my throat when I say it out loud. "She's under my skin. Whatever you walked in on, it just happened. I lost control."
"Are you saying you want to pursue something with her?"
"No. Fuck no."
Is that the truth?
I don't know anymore. I know I can't forgive her. This is physical. That's all it is. That's all it can be.
"Are you sure?" Rosalie tilts her head. "Because you don't even seem convinced of that yourself."
"I'm sure."
She looks at me for a long moment, the way she always looks at me when she's decided I'm lying and has chosen not to press it. The attorney look. Patient and certain and waiting for me to catch up to what she already knows.
"She's still married, Michael."
"I know that."
"And she doesn't know who you are."
"I know that, too."
"So, whatever this is—" she gestures at the general state of my office, "—it cannot continue the way it just did. You understand that, right?"
"Yeah," I say. "I know."
Rosalie doesn't look like she believes me.
I'm not sure I believe myself.
"I'm going to go wash my eyes out with bleach now, and we'll catch up later."
I give her a sad smile as she walks out and pulls the door shut behind her. Then I sit down at my desk and bang my forehead against it a couple of times.
"Not going to work." Blaire's voice comes from the doorway. "I've tried."
I lift my head. She's peeking around through the cracked door with an expression that is trying to be professional and landing somewhere closer to sheepish, which is its own kind of devastation. She’s fucking adorable, and I hate her for it.
"We should probably talk," she says.
I sit back in my chair and look at her. "Yeah, we should."
She walks in and takes a seat at the conference table across the office instead of the chairs at my desk. I stand to join her, and she holds up one hand. "No, you're fine where you are."
I chuckle. "Safe distance?"
She nods. "Safe distance."
"Fair enough." I settle back into my chair. "Listen, Mrs. Monroe—"
"I think we're at the Bennet and Blaire phase of our working relationship now, yeah?"
Something about that hits me in a way I wasn't equipped for.
"Blaire," I correct myself. "What just happened can’t happen again.
I was out of line, and I take full responsibility for that.
I will keep to the professional line moving forward, I will adhere to our schedule, and it won't look good to have you replaced at this stage, so I'm not going anywhere and neither are you.
" I hold her gaze. "I was acting on impulse, and I apologize. "
She looks at me from across the room with the conference table and twelve feet of carefully maintained distance between us, and she is quiet for a moment.
"Okay," she says finally.
"Okay?"
"Apology accepted." She closes her hands in her lap. "I'm sorry, too. For Friday and for today. I find you attractive, Bennet, and clearly you feel the same. I pushed too hard, and that won't happen again. Thank you for reconsidering keeping our contract."
"Of course."
She stands and I follow, hands in my pockets because apparently that's where they live now when she's in the room. "We're scheduled for dinner at Noctra tonight. Do you want to give it a couple of days and reschedule?"
I won’t say that I’m the one who could use a couple of days. And I thought what happened Friday fucked with my head.
She shakes her head. "No, I'm fine if you are. We should get the public time in since we won't have another chance until the weekend."
"Sure. Then I'll see you tonight."
"See you tonight." She smiles, not the professional one, and walks out of my office.
I stand there for a moment after the door closes, hands still in my pockets, looking at the conference table across the room.
Safe distance, she said.
I'm not sure any amount of distance is going to be enough at this point.
Fuck you, Blaire Alexander.