Page 46 of Any Cowboy of Mine
“Defamation of character. Jewel hit too close to home. I’m sorry, man. I’ll let you know when we know more. Get ahold of that lawyer. And Merry Christmas.”
Brad hung up the phone feeling empty, like scraped-clean-of-all-living-tissue kind of empty. What the eff was he supposed to do now? He couldn’t go into his house like this, or his mom would eat what was left of him alive. She’d never let him forget that she’d been right the whole time, that Jewel was too similar to Julia. He hadn’t cared at the time since she’d been just the sort of female villain he’d needed, that his readers had needed, but now that threatened to collapse everything he’d built. And his publisher recommended he lawyer up, the coup de grace of the whole thing.
Because he knew just who he wanted to call, had been trying to call this whole time. He knew a lawyer, one of the best lawyers in the state, but he couldn’t find her to save his life. For one more reason, he needed to get ahold of Sophie, and fast. Until then, he’d brave his parents’ place if for nothing else than the food he was now in desperate need of.
His last thoughts before he shut his truck off and braced himself against the cold outside—and from his mother—was whether things would really work out this time, or if he’d just had the best, and worst, one-night stand of his life. With a sigh, he set out into the cold, wholly wishing Christmas would hurry the fuck up and end already.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Going Out
Sophie sat inher living room under seven layers of blankets, including the comforter from her bed, and Jackie’s as well. If it had been cold in the apartment, she would have looked semi-normal, but it was a sauna under the bowerbird nest she’d built for herself out of self-pity. She had even gone so far as to pilfer Jackie’s super comfy, super off-limits bathrobe to lounge in.
Surrounding her was an odd collection of things designed and curated to make the pain of her non-breakup less palpable: a now-empty carton of Ben and Jerry’s Phish Food lay on its side, next to at least twenty crumpled and damp tissues from the past two nights of watching chick flicks that had induced tears rivaling preteen-girl levels. To top it off, the cases of DVDs she’d indulged in were still strewn about the nest she’d made. All the great Hollywood men were there, staring up at her with their “we-never-would-have-let-you-go” eyes. Tom, other Tom, Hugh, Matt—all of them reminded her in some way of Brad.
It was pathetic, really, the level of sheer determination she’d given to hiding out and moping for all it was worth. Not as if there was someone who could pull her out of it. Jackie technically still lived there, but she hadn’t been seen in nearly a week.
If Sophie felt better, she might have been inclined to send out a search party. That is, if she didn’t know exactly where Jackie was, the little minx. She’d been shacking up with Steve since the night after Julia’s wedding, and the only time Sophie saw her anymore was when she came to change out the contents of her suitcase. Sophie got so jealous every time she saw Jackie’s shit-eating grin, she’d hide in the bathroom, so she wouldn’t have to pretend to be happy when Jackie visited.
She knew she should actuallybehappy for Jackie, and she was, but she was so damn miserable about her own situation.
Jackie used to be as anti-guy as Sophie. Now, she spouted new-age nonsense about how “everything happens for a reason,” and “it’ll all work out in the end.” Jackie had been replaced by a cheerful cyborg, and Sophie was torn between being delighted and horrified.
Would it? Would it really all work out?Would she like her new job as much as she loved the high-octane world of trial law? Would she find another man she felt as strongly about as she did Brad? Would she ever be able to replace the sister-slash-mother she’d found in Jackie? She doubted she would do any of that, actually.
For starters, her new job was awful, despite only being in the orientation phase of it all. The staff was kind, treating her almost uncomfortably well because of the track record and accolades she’d arrived with, but they were all incompetent, and getting them to organize was like herding cats.
When the small boutique firm outside the city had heard she’d “separated” from Drew’s, they’d made her a pretty damn good offer—close to what she’d been making at her old job when she’d left—but the best, most redeemable part was, she would be able to do some of the type of trial work she loved while helping disenfranchised women with the firm’s 20% pro bono workload they did to give back. It would have been pretty freaking fantastic if they knew how to operate and find pro bono cases, or how to separate them into a distinct case load.
Which it turned out they didn’t. Not even close.
It seemed that they only wanted her on board to turn their shabby practice into a stronger one. She was hired to be a fixer, not a lawyer, and she was pissed. All that and she’d only been there three days. It was exhausting thinking about what to do—stay and be miserable, or find yet another job.
But no matter, tonight was New Year’s Eve.
That meant no more thinking about work for the rest of the night. However, that left her with all the freed up mental space to fully panic about Jackie trying to drag her to Steve’s party. She knew it was coming. Jackie had called her an hour earlier and told her to get ready, and by ready, she meant “ready to go out” kind of ready. Thinking about “getting ready” or seeing Brad sent her right over the edge, most of the way toward another pint of ice cream and Szechuan takeout.
It would feel good to stop brooding and get out and socialize with new people, but she just couldn’t stomach seeing Brad, his perfectly nimble and agile fingers running through his soft, thick hair—fingers that had been exploring all of her just a week ago—his smile that crinkled up his eyes in the corners in a way that made her stomach flip. Plus, what if he brought Julia? All the booze in the world couldn’t help get her past that.
She was being so freaking dramatic—she’d only spent one night with him, for crying out loud. The thing was, she’d spent four years in college pining after Brad. One taste of him made it so that she didn’t think she’d ever be okay with anyone else now.
Ugh.Suddenly Juliet didn’t seem as off-base with her passion for Romeo. Maybe she’d watch the Baz Luhrman take on that story instead of going to the party. She’d be in better company, even though pretty much everyone met their demise in the last three scenes.
Thinking about all the ways Brad could meethisdemise at the party—kiss a girl with herpes, fall into the food table, slip on ice and bruise his perfectly gorgeous back side—had Sophie smiling until she heard the now-rare key-turned lock on her front door. Instinctively, she burrowed down underneath the covers, pure fight-or-flight taking over.
She heard Jackie come in, set down something big enough to make athumpon the wood floor of the entrance, then her friend’s spiked heels trotted right over to where she was buried. Sophie held her breath, but before she could turn blue, the dark cloud lifted. Harsh halogen and her friend’s smiling face shone down.Dammit.
“Did you really think you could hide from me?” Jackie asked, her stupid-sappy smile plastered to her face. “I could smell your desperation from the door.” She sniffed, her nose turned up. “And something way worse. What is that?” Jackie waved her hand in front of her face, and Sophie tried to bury herself again, this time out of sheer embarrassment.
“That must be the remnants of the Ben and Jerry’s,” Sophie quipped, reaching in vain for the comforter which Jackie held just out of her reach.
“Sure,” Jackie said, her face measuring a small level of disgust when she surveyed the wreckage surrounding Sophie. Sophie cringed as she picked up the tissues one by one and tossed them in the empty ice cream carton.
“Don’t do that,” she whined.
“Someone has to. It looks like Chernobyl in here, Soph. I mean, Jesus, you only slept with the guy once. Was he really that good?”
Sophie reburied herself in the folds of Jackie’s robe.
