Page 28 of Regards, Mia

“I won the bet,” she says. “Forget about me. It's for the best.”

“I tried,” I say. “I can’t.”

“Try harder.”

“Maybe we need a new bet. I think you cheated. Plus, I saved you from that asshole, so you owe me one.”

Her entire body stiffens. “I didn’t ask you to save me.” She strides up the steps and looks down at me. “And I didn’t cheat,” she says. “I’m just better than you.”

Flames of heat sizzle up the back of my neck, and I drop my gaze before she can see all my secrets. Maybe she didn’t mean for it to come out like that, but it’s too late, the words are between us. I know without a doubt; she believes she’s better than me. And not just at shooting targets.

A dozen years stand between me and my jail time, and hundreds of miles separate me from the desolate trailer park where I grew up, but I feel like I am right back there again. I’ll never be good enough for a woman like Mia.

The thought burns in my chest, making me struggle to catch my breath.

Mia stops at Thatcher’s door and turns around to look at me. “You coming?”

I nod tersely. “Just a minute.”

It’s best I put some distance between us and remind myself of the bet Mia had won. She’s right. Forgetting her is best for both of us.

CHAPTER 11

Rethinking My Goals

Istow my jacket and purse in my office and take a cautionary sip of my overly caffeinated coffee. I hardly slept at all last night, thinking about how I’d done everything wrong with Mattson. Then I’d treated Jay like shit, alternately ignoring him, insulting him, and scowling at him all night. My friends had called me out for acting like a bitch, and I had no excuse for my behavior. It’s not like I could tell them what happened with Mattson. They would freak out, insist I spend the night with one of them. Or worse.

I throw myself into my job, spending hours catching up on emails and making calls. The day flies by, and just as I’m getting ready to take a late lunch break, I get a message from Elena. She can meet me tomorrow at Ginger Cake Acres, near the kid’s park.

Adrenaline buzzes through my system at the thought of getting closer to nailing Mattson. After yesterday’s stunt, I’m more determined than ever to make him pay. I forget lunch and keep working. I don’t realize how late it’s gotten until my phone dings with an appointment reminder.

I have a fitting for my bridesmaid’s dress. Oh, joy! Not only will I get a warning from the dress shop about how they can’t let my dress out if I gain weight, I’ll also get to see Chelsea.

On my way out, I stop in to tell Jordan I’m leaving.

I used to dream of having his office one day. It’s the nicest one in the building, with a closet and a window. Lately, I’ve been rethinking my goals. District Attorney James was a title I once craved, but everything changed when Jordan declined to prosecute Warner Mattson.

I’m not sure where I’ll end up in a few years, but I can guarantee it won’t be Jordan’s office—even if it does have a window.

I knock lightly on his door before entering.

Jordan doesn’t look up from behind his mountain of paperwork. His hair is disheveled, his tie is loosened, and there are half a dozen empty coffee cups on his desk. The unmistakable scent of cigarette smoke stings my nose, stirring a craving I fight with every bone in my body.

“Mia,” Jordan says, looking up from his desk. “Come in.” He flicks his wrist for me to enter.

“I’m late for something,” I say, stepping all the way into the office.

Jordan leans back in his chair and loosens his tie. “Another hot date with the CPA?” he asks, raising one brow.

“Real estate agent,” I say.

“Right. That’s what I meant.” He stacks folders on his desk and pushes them aside. “You only date one type of guy.”

It’s true, I tend to stick with safe, predictable men with white-collar professions. Except for Jay…

“I’ve got about five minutes,” I say, shutting off the part of my brain that called up a picture of Jay’s shirtless torso, sculpted to perfection. “If you want to waste it talking about my dating life, that’s your call, Boss.”

Jordan sips from one of the coffee cups, grimacing as he swallows. “Close the door.”

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