His phone dinged and he scrambled to pull it out of his pocket with his good hand, praying that it was Jane. Good or bad news, at least it would open communication.
Flipping the phone over, he scowled at the message from Alastair. “Hey. Haven’t seen you at the bar in a month. All work and no play…” At the end was a thumbs-down emoji. God, he hated emojis. He shoved the phone back in his pocket and stood.
Maybe that’s what he needed. A couple of beers to numb the pain in his hand. It beat the hell out of moping outside Jane’s apartment building, anyway. With a grimace, he stood and headed toward the subway station.
Chapter Nineteen
“He got a promotion and I got fired, Gandy.” Jane shoved a handful of popcorn in her mouth and washed it down with half of the chardonnay she’d poured in an NYU tumbler.
“And then he acts like everything’s fine and shows up here.”
She switched channels from DIY to the local news. “And the worst part…” She pulled out an unpopped kernel from the bowl and pitched it across the room into the trash can. “The worst part is, I didn’t really give a shit about not getting the promotion until Dad started grilling me on the particulars of my ‘affair’ with Eric.” She took another swig of wine. “Who even uses words like that anymore…affair?”
After setting the popcorn on the table, she switched the TV station to a movie channel, only to switch back to the news immediately. A kissing scene was the last thing she wanted to see right now.
Gandy jumped on her lap, and she buried her fingers in his thick, gold fur. “Why did he tattle, huh? It makes no sense. Weirder yet, why did Dad approve his promotion? I mean, he said he got the promotion, and Dad clearly knew about us, so…”
A commercial showing a happy couple walking down the beach came on. When she reached for the remote to change it, the Times page Eric had abandoned on Sunday after breakfast caught her eye. At the bottom was an unfinished crossword.
“Eight across: ‘A famous traitor,’” she read out loud. “God, that’s easy. Eric Blackwell!” She rolled her eyes and scanned for the appropriate squares. It began with a B and ended in LD. “Duh.” How could he have not gotten Benedict Arnold? Then she remembered what had happened at breakfast to make him set the puzzle aside, and the mystery was solved. He’d had much better things to work on than a crossword puzzle.
Even knowing what he’d done to her career, even as disappointed and angry as she was at his betrayal, her body heated at the thought of last weekend. Jane crumpled the page in her lap. Her body was turning out to be the biggest traitor of all.
Glancing up, she saw Kim Zimmerman in a news story on the TV. She dropped the paper, snatched up the remote, and cranked the volume. Her jaw dropped in disbelief as Kim and her politician husband held hands and answered questions at a press conference. They had reconciled and were back together.
“Holy shit, Gandy. It worked.” Slumping into the sofa cushions, she stared at the glowing couple on her screen. “She did it. She got him back.” She chugged some wine and shook her head. “If she’d done what I advised, she’d be divorced right now.”
Kim Zimmerman had acted from her heart, which is what Jane had done earlier today in her team meeting. She marched out of that conference room and wrote a resignation letter. She’d planned to hand it in to her dad before her review, but he intercepted her in the hallway, pulled her into an empty conference room, and fired her first.
Burying her face in her hands, she took a shaky breath. Being fired effectively ruined her chances of landing a position at another big firm. Being fired by her own father probably killed her chances at any firm.
She hated practicing law anyway. This termination shouldn’t upset her this much.
Maybe it wasn’t being fired that upset her. Maybe it was the fact that Eric had betrayed her trust. She sniffed and wiped away a tear. “Lawyers suck, Gandy.”
The cat put his chin on her leg and purred in agreement.
“Love sucks.” Because despite everything—lost job, betrayal, humiliation—she was still in love with Eric Blackwell.
…
Alastair replaced the empty beer bottle with a full one. “So, you quit your job for this woman and now she wants nothing to do with you? Brilliant, mate. Really brilliant.”
“I didn’t quit my job for her. I quit it for me,” Eric said.
“Yeah, but really, you did it so that you could be with her without breaking the non-frat…the non frittle…the no fucking each other rule at work.”
He buried his face in his hands. “In part, yes.”
Alastair wiped the bar in front of him. “That’s all kinds of screwed up.”
Tell me about it. Eric reached for his third beer of the night and winced when he unthinkingly used the wrong hand.
His friend stopped wiping the bar and leaned closer. “That hand is broken, you know. What did you do, punch a wall?”
Eric shook his head and grabbed the beer with his good hand. “No. Jane shut the door on it.”
Now it was Alastair’s turn to wince.
“It was an accident.”
“You need to get an X-ray. Hospital’s right down the street.”
He set the bottle down and tried to flex the injured hand that still hurt like hell and had grown to twice its size. “Nah. It’ll be fine.”
Alastair leaned even closer. “It’s not fine. You’re not fine.”
“I’ve only had a little over two beers. I’m totally fine.”
“I’m not talking about booze, dumbass. I’m talking about you. Her.”
Her. Eric picked at the edge of the Heineken label. Alastair was right. He wasn’t fine. He was horrible. Never been worse.
“What do you really want, man? That’s the key.”
“I want her. In my life. Every day.” Every night. Every minute.
Alastair folded the towel and laid it over the edge of the sink. “Okay. That’s a start. At least you’re not bullshitting me or yourself anymore about your feelings for her.” He took off his bartender apron and hung it on a hook next to the wine rack. “Here’s a harder one: What does she want? If you can figure that out and make it happen, you’re golden.”
Oh, he didn’t need to figure that out. She’d told him. “Animal Attraction.”
“Nuh-uh. Don’t get weird on me.”
“It’s the name of a business she wants to open.”
“Does this business involve you?”
“No.”
“Do any of her plans include you?”
“I have no idea. After today, I seriously doubt it.”
“Well, you have a starting point at least. You know what she wants. You know what you want, and somehow, you have to make those things fit together.”
“It’s not going to work.”
“That’s the spirit. Keep it positive, dude.” He shouted to the other bartender that he was leaving early and the guy waved him off. “Let’s go.”
“Where?”
“To the hospital.” He pitched the remainder of Eric’s beer in the trash and handed him his briefcase. “We’ve gotta fix your broken hand before we can concentrate on your broken life.”
Eric remained fixed on his barstool. “My hand will mend. My life will mend. While I appreciate your willingness to help, it’s hopeless.”
“Nah. Nothing is ever hopeless.”
This was. He was. And even if she agreed by some outrageous stroke of amazing luck to see him again, there was always the “I don’t date lawyers” thing, along with her dad, who was heartless enough to fire his own daughter.
Only, little did George Dixon know, he’d probably just done his daughter a huge favor.
Wait.
“Come on. You’ve got a date with the ER,” Alastair said from the door.
“Wait.” Eric’s lungs expanded as his body filled with hope, warm, buzzy, and much better than beer any day. No way. He slid off the stool. Maybe he’d read the situation all wrong. Which meant Jane had, too.
Holding on to the back of the barstool, he replayed what George Dixon had said. “Jane hates being a lawyer…” Eric’s grip tightened on the wood. “Her mother and I still don’t understand why she did it—or still does it for that matter.”
Her father hadn’t fired her because he was angry about some inappropriate office interaction, he’d fired her because he loved her and knew how unhappy she was. He could’ve given her a graceful way out, like he’d given Eric. Instead, he burned every bridge she had to ensure she no longer practiced law. To give her a chance at happiness.
“No way…”
“You okay, mate?
“Yeah. I’m…I’m great. Amazing. Holy shit! Let’s go get my hand set. I’ve got a lot of things I need to do.”
The first of which was to give Mr. George Dixon a call. If Eric’s hunch was right, he had a busy weekend ahead.
Chapter Twenty
Jane vowed she wouldn’t cry, and she hadn’t…so far. As long as Eric Blackwell stayed away from her office—her ex-office—she’d be fine. Usually his Mondays were full of departmental meetings, so if she got out by noon, she wouldn’t run into him. She only had a couple more things to pack up and she was done.
Done.
Finished with Dixon, Rosenbaum & Schoot forever.
As she looked around the office that she’d spent more time in than her own apartment, she felt oddly hollow. She’d expected it to hurt to leave the firm, like losing Eric this weekend had hurt to the point she couldn’t sleep. But where the sharp pain should be in her chest, there was only a dull ache.
With a sigh, she packed the vase from the huge floral arrangement Eric had delivered to her office, setting off this whole “affair.” She rolled her eyes at her father’s use of that word. That day seemed like forever ago.
Nope. No tears. Today was going to be drama-free.
Black’s Law Dictionary and The New York Family Law Code made good wedges to hold the vase in place. Last, but not least, she packed the gold pen and pencil desk set her father had given her the day she’d graduated from law school.
Her chest cramped as if it were folding in on itself as she slid the set into the box. She’d done everything in her power to live up to Dad’s standards, and now this.
A knock came on the door and she cringed, wishing the floor would open up and swallow her whole. She couldn’t face Eric. Couldn’t. He’d destroyed her…her job, her reputation with her family, her heart.
It was her heart that had suffered the worst blow. Losing her job would have been bearable if it hadn’t meant losing him, too. If only he hadn’t gone behind her back and broken their agreement to keep their relationship secret. Betrayal was unforgivable.
But so was cowardice. She’d have to face him eventually. Might as well get it over with. After a deep breath, she strode to the door and swung it open.
“Marcie.”
“Hi, Ms. Dixon. I came by to see if you needed any help…and to apologize.”
Seeing the receptionist and not Eric left her almost giddy with relief. She leaned against the doorframe. “No, I’m good. And no need to apologize, I didn’t have much to pack.”
“Not to apologize for that.” She tugged the collar of her shirt as if it were too tight. “I just…” And then the tears started, making it even harder for Jane to contain her own. The woman needed to stop crying. Now. For real.
Jane pulled Marcie into her office and shut the door to prevent prying eyes. No doubt the news that Dixon fired his own daughter had already made the rounds. This was water-cooler gossip manna from heaven.
She guided Marcie to the chair facing her desk and moved the box of Kleenex she kept for clients within her reach. “It’s okay. It’s only a job.” A prestigious, once-in-a-lifetime job. One that required intelligence, diligence, hard work, and a whole lot of tolerance. Tolerance to endure miserable clients engaged in messy divorces. Clients who would never be happy, no matter how well the settlement went for them. It was a prestigious, once-in-a-lifetime job she detested with a fiery passion.
Maybe in trying to bring her down in order to forward his own career, Eric had done her a favor. The jerk.
Marcie dabbed her eyes with a Kleenex. “I’m so sorry.”
“Never apologize for tears.” How many times had she said that to overwrought spouses across the desk from her? Too damn many.
Marcie blew her nose and met Jane’s eyes. “No. Not the tears. Not the move. I’m sorry for telling Mr. Dixon.”
Jane shoved the trash can closer to Marcie for her Kleenex. “Telling Mr. Dixon what?” That it was a dick move to fire his own daughter? That his daughter is here packing up with her door closed like a coward? What?
The woman stared at her lap, silent.
Oh hell no. This was not the time for the woman to go uncharacteristically quiet. Instead of taking her customary place behind the desk, Jane settled into the chair next to Marcie. “What did you tell my dad?”
“That you and Mr. Blackwell… That you…”
For a moment, the walls blurred out and there was only Marcie. Jane shook her head to clear it. No. Impossible. Thank God she was sitting, or she would have fallen down. The hurt expression on Eric’s face when she accused him of ratting her out flashed through her mind, and she wanted to puke. “That we what?”
“Well, I didn’t know you guys weren’t allowed to date or I wouldn’t have said a word. I mean, I thought it was cute.”
Cute.
“And I didn’t tell Mr. Dixon anything, really. I’d never tell him about what I heard during lunch Thursday.”
God, could it get any worse? “What did you hear?”
She shrunk in the chair. “Um. One of you must have hit the intercom button on Mr. Blackwell’s desk while you were…um…”
Yes, it could get worse. Much worse. Jane groaned and covered her face.
“I muted it right away. Nobody else heard.”
Her mind traveled back to the shenanigans on his desk, and she groaned again.
Marcie twisted in the chair to face Jane. “All I told your dad was how happy it made me to see you guys together. He grinned and seemed all happy, too. And then he must’ve remembered it was against the rules or something, because he got all grim and huffed back to his office. Next thing I knew, Mr. Blackwell resigned and you…well, you…” And then the sobbing started again. “You guys were my favorites around here. I didn’t know I’d made a mistake until one of the other attorneys told me that relationships weren’t allowed.”
Prickly chills crawled up Jane’s spine. Eric hadn’t broken his promise not to tell. In fact, he had resigned. No, no, no, no, no. “Wait. What? When did Mr. Blackwell resign?”
“I assume it was during his review. He came out and gave me a copy of his resignation letter and said Mr. Dixon was preparing a letter of recommendation for him and asked me to mail it to him at the address on the top. He was all cleared out of his office before you were out of your team meeting on Friday.”
And he hadn’t told her. No, she never gave him the chance to tell her. The man quit his dream job and came to her apartment, where she straight up accused him of sabotaging her life.
Oh my God. She covered her mouth as her stomach did a somersault. She’d slammed his hand in the door. And even after all that, he’d rescued her cat.
“Oh, Marcie. I’ve screwed up so bad.” There was no way she could fix this. She’d treated him terribly. She was the type of person who couldn’t even land second dates. No way could she convince him to give her a second chance, and she didn’t blame him. This was a guy who had done nothing wrong. He’d been forced out of his dream job because of her. He had a lot more reason to be angry than she ever did. And yet, he’d come to her apartment. He’d texted over and over about meeting up after he’d resigned.
Surely his resignation was the result of her father making accusations.
But what if it wasn’t? What if he’d left for her? For them?
So they could be together.
She buried her face in her hands and squeezed her eyes tight. He would have told her, wouldn’t he?
A knock on the door made them both jump.
“I’ll get it,” Marcie said, practically running to the door.
“Delivery for a Ms. Jane Dixon?” Jane could only see the guy’s brown pants because an enormous bouquet, practically identical to the one Eric delivered all those weeks ago, covered his top half. “There was nobody at the front desk, so I just looked for the name on the door,” he added.
“Oh dang. I’d better get back to the desk,” Marcie said with a wave good-bye, leaving Jane alone with the flowers on her bare desk.
Fingers trembling, she opened the envelope, heart hammering as she read out loud the words she dreaded most.
“Dear Jane…”
Chapter Twenty-One
Jane turned the card over expecting there to be a “It was fun,” or “Sorry we don’t connect,” or “It’s probably best we not see each other again,” like she’d received in letters and texts before. But the back of the card she’d pulled from the floral arrangement was blank. “Dear Jane…” was all it said.
Never in a million years would she have expected something this mean from Eric. Not that he was wrong to ditch her after the way she’d treated him, but still. Not like this. Of all the people in the world, he knew how much this would hurt.
She stumbled around the desk and sat where she’d met with so many clients who were ending relationships, and for the first time, she understood their misery. She’d never cared for a man this way. The pain in her chest was so overwhelming, she couldn’t get a full breath.
She repeated her vow from earlier. “I will not cry.”
Another knock came on her door and Marcie stuck her head in. “Hey. When I got to my desk, these were there. She placed a smaller bouquet next to the huge one and grinned. “I love romantic stuff like this!” She did a little happy dance and skipped out of the room.
Romantic. If she only knew. This arrangement was all yellow roses with little sprays of baby’s breath. Jane rose, using the edge of the desk to steady herself, and walked around to the other side. With trembling fingers, she slid the card out of the flowers and opened it.
Dear Jane Page 9
