Rhyme (Hard Rocked Series, #1)

by Lexy Timms

  “Hello?” Years of controlling her emotions in debates let her keep her tone even, and remarkably civil. Olivia dropped onto the sofa, kicking her heels up to set her feet on the coffee table. There was a run in her stockings, which she found irrationally annoying.

  “Olivia.” Patrick sounded like he hadn’t expected her to answer. “I-I’ve been trying to reach you since last night.” He paused, then rushed on ahead. “I think we should—I mean. Um. How are you?”

  Right. Olivia massaged her temple with her free hand and managed not to snarl at him. “You broke up with me. Over text. And you have the nerve to call and ask how I am? How the fuck do you think I am?”

  Okay, so she hadn’t really stuck with the not snarling thing. The rising anger in her own voice made her head hurt again. Or maybe that was the tension that had settled tight and aching in her chest. She blinked back the stinging in her eyes. He wasn’t going to get the satisfaction of hearing her cry.

  “I...” Patrick paused again, for longer. Olivia tried not to grind her teeth. “It was a terrible thing to do,” he said finally. “I’m sorry. It was impulsive.”

  “Impulsive?” The bark of laughter felt like it had ripped its way out of her throat. “It was a fuck of a lot more than that, Patrick. It was heartless. And cruel. And it was the act of a coward.” She took a deep breath and stopped the next words from rising into a shout, bit each one of them off with the cold precision she used for rough days in court. “You made yourself clear. We’re through. So you don’t get to call now and ask how I am. You don’t get to call at all.” He stuttered out an attempt at a reply, and she cut him off before he could make it into words. “You cut me out of your life. Now you’re out of mine. Don’t contact me again.”

  There was silence on the other end of the line.

  “In fact,” Olivia said, the words spilling past her lips like her tongue had a mind of its own. “I’ve already moved on. There was someone else. And he’s more of a man than you’ll ever be.”

  She hit the end call icon and tossed the phone onto the coffee table. A smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. Sleeping with Logan Graham may have been a mistake, but at least she could put the experience to some good use. Patrick was probably sitting in his apartment, staring down at his phone with that stupid look he got when something happened to fast for him to process. Let him think about that bit of information for a while.

  Rising from the couch, Olivia made her way into the bedroom to slip out of her dress and into pajamas. It was barely two, but there was no way she was going to leave the apartment before morning. She’d dealt with enough. Traumatic times called for drastic measures and being dumped over text by the man you were engaged to marry was definitely traumatic. Not to mention the whole ‘one-night stand with a complete stranger’ thing.

  She tied the sash of her robe around her waist and padded barefoot into the kitchen to open the freezer, moving aside frozen dinners and ice cube trays to unearth a pint of Chocolate Therapy ice cream she kept stashed in the back for just such emergencies.

  Back on the couch, as she dipped into the ice cream, her mind ran back over the previous night. She cringed at the unearthed memories. Never had she picked up a stranger in a bar. And she was certainly no groupie. Her firm represented all kinds of celebrities and she had never fallen for any of them. She’d been a complete professional, even with those who made a blatant pass at her. It was something she prided herself on.

  Now though, she’d gone home with someone she’d only just met. And while he wasn’t someone her firm represented, she was still more than a little annoyed with herself for playing the part of the groupie throwing herself at the closest available rock star.

  It was all Patrick’s fault, she thought, scooping up another spoonful of ice cream. If he hadn’t been such a jerk—hadn’t broken up with her via text, for heaven’s sake, and just after she’d won her first case, on top of that—she wouldn’t have been in a hotel bar drowning her sorrows. Wouldn’t have been an easy mark for Mr. Logan Graham.

  And now, here she was, drowning her sorrows in a pint of Ben & Jerry’s. She licked the last of the creamy chocolate from the spoon, reluctantly put the cover back on, and returned the pint to its accustomed spot in the back of the freezer.

  Men were her downfall, she decided as she went back to her room. Her headache had returned, and she wanted a nap. And ibuprofen. She stopped in the bathroom to tip a couple pills out of the bottle and swallow them down, then curled up in bed.

  “No more men,” she informed the room at large. “Only work.”

  That, at least, she knew she did well. She would dive into whatever her boss gave her, one hundred and ten percent. Bury herself in her client load and put all of this behind her. And one day she’d be rich and well known and utterly free of men.

  Satisfied with her decision, Olivia closed her eyes and let sleep pull her under.

  Chapter Three

  Monday found Olivia at work bright and early. She was already behind her desk, her attention focused on the brief in front of her, when Melissa knocked on her door. Her head lifted.

  “Good morning.” She smiled at her paralegal. “Come in.”

  She cleared a spot at the edge of her desk for Melissa’s usual stack of docket books and case files. Melissa took a seat in the chair across from her, ready to give Olivia the list of the week’s upcoming deadlines.

  “So how was your weekend?” she asked first. “I called you, but you never called back, so I figured you were having a wild time with Patrick...” Melissa trailed off as Olivia’s gaze dropped, her eyebrows drawing together. “Is something wrong? Did I say something?”

  “No.” Olivia sighed. “You’re fine. It’s... Well, it’s Patrick.”

  Talking to her coworkers—especially Melissa—about what had happened was inevitable. Everyone knew she’d been engaged, knew about the wedding plans; she’d been so eager to talk about all of it. She was wishing she’d just kept her mouth shut. But, she supposed it was an opportunity. She’d deal with this head on, get past it, and get back to work. Run toward the monster, she told herself. Not away.

  “He broke off the engagement on Friday night.”

  Melissa’s eyes widened. “What? Seriously?”

  Olivia nodded.

  “Oh shit. I’m so sorry, Olivia.” Melissa reached across the desk and squeezed her hand. “That must have been awful. Especially when you’d been on such a high from winning the Fontaine case. Did he ask for the ring back?” She’d noticed the bare finger on Olivia’s left hand.

  “No. He just... He broke up with me over text.”

  “Patrick?” Melissa’s sympathy vanished under shock. “But he was—he always seemed like such a gentleman. Did he give you a reason?”

  Olivia shook her head. “Just that this ‘wasn’t the right time.’ Vague bullshit.” She really didn’t want to go into detail sitting in her office. Maybe after work sometime. Just then, Patrick was the last thing she wanted to talk about.

  “Wow.” Melissa sat back in her chair. “What an asshole. He really didn’t deserve you.”

  “Tell me about it.” Olivia shook her head, and picked up a pen, changing the subject. “So, what’s on the docket for this week?”

  “Oh. Okay.” Melissa looked like she had a lot more to say, but she thankfully took the cue and opened the red leather docket book, scanning the dated columns.

  “You have three filings due: Benton on Wednesday, Phillips and Monroe on Thursday. All of them are on your desk.” Melissa gestured toward the stack at Olivia’s elbow. “And I see you’re already working on the Benton case. Do you think Benton will settle, or will we have to take it to trial?”

  “I haven’t finished reading through all the materials yet, but I think they’ll settle,” Olivia said. “Neither party wants to drag this out. Not everyone is as stubborn as George Fontaine.”

  That was the understatement of the year. The high-rolling casino owner had been insistent on getting his day
in court, with as many cameras as possible in the vicinity. His favorite quote was ‘Bad publicity is still my name in the paper.’

  “I think Benton just wants to be listened to and feel like he’s being treated fairly.” Which was true of most of the clients they saw.

  “It’s kind of a shame. The Fontaine case made Mr. Marshall pretty happy. And it made you the star of the week.” Melissa’s voice caught strangely over the mention of the managing partner who was Olivia’s boss, but Olivia was looking back down at the file in front of her and didn’t linger on the words.

  “Well, sure. A big case with a win equals a big fee for the firm. And I can’t deny I’m still kind of enjoying the rush of winning my first high profile case.” Even if Patrick had come close to ruining it.

  Melissa hesitated. Maybe the words Olivia didn’t speak had crossed her mind too. Olivia drew a highlighter across a particularly relevant line in the brief.

  “Are you okay, Olivia?”

  Words pressed on her tongue, the events of the weekend ready to come spilling out, but they were still at work. Olivia set the highlighter down and reached up to rub a circle against her temple where a headache was forming.

  “Not really,” she admitted. “But I will be. Eventually.”

  Melissa’s expression softened. “You know if you need anything, I’m here.”

  “I know. And it does mean a lot.” Olivia forced a weak smile. “I’m just not sure I’m ready to talk about it, to be honest.”

  “Yeah. Okay. I get that.” Melissa stood, clutching her stack of notebooks and folders. “Back to work, then. Drop the Benton file on my desk when you’re ready.” She offered Olivia one last concerned look and hurried out the door.

  Olivia spent the rest of the day immersed in her work, trying to push everything that had happened since Friday night out of her head. But fleeting images of Logan Graham kept cropping up unexpectedly, pushing their way into her consciousness. Images of him as he held her, kissed her, did things that drove her crazy. Images of herself as she gave in to him. She shook them off and kept going.

  It was well after lunch when she heard a knock at her door. She dragged her attention up from the case notes she was working on to find her boss leaning against the doorframe.

  “Hey,” Ryan Marshall said, flashing his white, lawyer’s grin at her. “How’s my star today? I’ve been meaning to drop by, but the partners’ meeting ran longer than I expected.”

  Olivia blew out a breath, waving Ryan toward a chair. “I’m fine. Back in the thick of it. Did you want an update on my cases?” She shuffled the case files on her desk, trying to restore some semblance of order.

  “No. Not today. I checked with Melissa on your docket, and you have a fairly light week. Nothing new on the foreseeable horizon. But we all know that can change with just a phone call.” Ryan stepped into her office, closing the door behind him as we spoke.

  “She told me about Patrick, by the way. I’m really sorry, Olivia. I know how much you love him. How much you were looking forward to getting married.” He shook his head, sighing sympathetically. “You must be absolutely devastated.”

  Olivia cringed. She’d wanted to avoid the conversation with Ryan, or at least be prepared for it when it happened. It wasn’t like Melissa to go spreading tales at work. Especially not to Ryan, of all people. Olivia had long suspected that he had some kind of feelings for her, but that his consummate professionalism had kept him from acting on them. He’d certainly seemed tense around her after she’d announced her engagement. Part of her worried he’d take advantage of the breakup to make an announcement.

  Ryan just looked at her, seemingly sincere concern in his expression, and Olivia relaxed.

  “Thank you,” she said, toying with the edge of the paper she’d been reading. “It... I’m not really ready to talk about it. So.” She smiled, and Ryan took his cue, rising from his chair.

  “I understand. I’m here for you, Olivia. Whatever you need. Even if it’s just to talk. Or not talk...” He laughed. “You know what I mean. I value your contribution to the firm. But I also value your friendship, and I hope you know that. My door is always open.”

  He left. Olivia idly tapped her pen against her teeth as she watched him go, already lost in thought again. Too many emotions were trying to force themselves into her awareness, chief among them the rising regret over her night with Logan Graham. And still there were those annoyingly persistent visuals of him, his dark hair sex-messy, his eyes watching her in the throes of passion. It was the alcohol. That damned Macallan. But she knew, even as she tried to convince herself, that it was hardly true. She’d been sober enough when she went upstairs with him.

  Olivia shook her head, trying to dislodge the images. “Work, Olivia. Just do your work.”

  But over the next several days, Olivia found it no less difficult to forget her night with Logan. She’d be blindsided at odd moments by the thought of him. She’d hear a voice that sounded like his, or catch a glimpse of a tall, dark-haired man and for an instant be sure that it was Logan. One morning his latest song had started on the radio, and it had nearly pushed her over the edge.

  Why was it so hard to forget him? He’d been nothing to her, and she’d probably been even less to him. The only thing between them was a single night of sex. And yeah, it had been good—really good—but it hadn’t meant more than that. If it had, he would have called. That note on her pillow had probably just been meant to placate her so she wouldn’t run up a tab in candy bars. Besides, even if she hadn’t been drunk, he’d taken advantage of her emotional state; she never would have fallen into bed with him if Patrick’s text hadn’t left her so devastated.

  It wasn’t until nearly two weeks had passed that Olivia forced herself to think about what had happened. She’d been avoiding it, binging episodes of trashy reality TV in the rare moments she wasn’t busy with work. Melissa had tried to get her to talk about what had happened, but she wasn’t sure she was ready to face judgement for her actions—or, worse, Melissa’s glee over the fact that she’d met Logan Graham in person. The younger woman had a good head on her shoulders, but even she might want to live vicariously through Olivia if she found out what had happened. Surprisingly enough, it was Ryan who finally made her face the memories of the encounter.

  He’d invited her out for drinks after work, and despite the urge to spend another night curled up alone in her apartment with a bowl of ice cream, she’d accepted on the condition that Melissa come too. Ryan had seemed a little annoyed by her addition, but when they’d actually arrived at the bar he’d been good-natured enough about her company.

  Over the course of the evening, he’d continued to be his ever-charming self, attentive to Olivia and generous with the drinks. When Melissa left, he seemed even more pleased to be there, his smile wider, his laugh frequently answering her. But after a couple of drinks, Olivia couldn’t focus on him. Her thoughts kept going back to Logan and their night together. It didn’t take Ryan long to pick up on the distance.

  He leaned across the table, eyebrows drawn together. “Is there something bothering you, Olivia?” His mouth tightened. “Is it Patrick?”

  Olivia winced. Patrick was the least of her worries, honestly. She hadn’t thought about him in days. Honestly, it surprised her how easily she had been able to just push the whole thing out of her mind. But between work and Logan, well... He’d called a few times, once asking for the ring back as Melissa had predicted he would. She wasn’t sure what that said about their relationship. Or lack thereof.

  “Not so much Patrick as... I guess I did something kind of rash.” Olivia took a sip of her drink, playing with the little plastic sword that had come with a cherry speared on it as part of her order. She was probably a little drunk.

  “I can’t imagine you doing anything all that terrible,” Ryan chuckled, watching her closely. “You’re the epitome of clear thinking.”

  Olivia snorted. “Clear thinking. Right.” Yeah. She was definitely drunk, but tha
t was fine. Everything was totally fine. Except Logan. Which was the problem in the first place. “I had a drunken one-night stand with a complete stranger.”

  There. The words were out. She had admitted her foolish mistake. Ryan was quiet for a moment, looking at her with a serious expression on his face.

  “Okay. Rash is a good description. But still...” He reached out, his hand resting on hers, and squeezed her fingers briefly. It was kind of nice, the touch warm and solid. “It’s not like it’s a pattern, Olivia. I’m sure it was just an extreme reaction to an extreme situation. You’re hardly some wanton woman.” Ryan smiled. “Besides, I’m sure it won’t happen again.”

  A flash of memory struck her just then, and Olivia winced. Never leave the Macallan, Logan’s low voice said in her head. Not even for a beautiful, wanton woman.

  Damn Logan Graham anyway.

  “It was...” Definitely extreme. She didn’t want to share details with Ryan, but she’d kept everything bottled up for so long the words just seemed to tumble from her mouth. “It’s just that I can’t forget about it, you know? Saying it was life-changing is- is pretty overdramatic. But it was...” Olivia frowned down at her drink, poking the already mutilated cherry with the plastic sword. She really couldn’t explain how intense the night with Logan had been, especially to her boss.

  “Sounds kind of like you’ve fixated on this guy, whoever he was, instead of dealing with Patrick.” There was something in Ryan’s voice that Olivia wasn’t sure she liked, but she couldn’t put her finger on exactly what it was. “You haven’t said anything about how that’s affected you. That must have felt like a terrible betrayal, being left by someone you trusted like that. Someone you loved...”

  Ryan’s hand had moved to her arm, his fingers sliding over her skin. They brushed over the side of her breast. She turned sharply, but Ryan had picked up his drink, nothing in his expression saying he realized what had happened. Olivia shook her head. She was way too jumpy, and more than a little tipsy. Ryan had tossed back a few drinks himself. His hand had probably just slipped.