Page 30 of The Best Part of Breaking Up

Only my dignity, I think.

“Actually,” I say, trying to match the teasing tone in his voice, “if you count dinner, they paid us.”

“Free. Really.”

“Entirely gratis,” I smirk. “They wanted the story. I think it’s worked out pretty well for them. And for us. You should know I tend to make it a habit of bringing in much more money than I spend.”

He nods, but the way his mouth is pressed into a frown keeps him from saying anything more about it. Erving has never been my biggest fan, nor I his. He has always regarded the women in our office as little girls playing dress up as attorneys. Bernadette warned me my first week not to waste time trying to win him over. I’ve made plenty of strong connections without him, and I’ve always let my work speak for itself. It’s never felt like a liability before now.

“Well, I hope your paddling skills are as formidable as your ability to charm journalists,” Erving says with a twinkly-eyed smile. “Tonight comes with a surprise competition, of sorts.”

“Oh, Mr. Maxwell,” I say. “Don’t tell me you’re betting on races, again?”

Henry gives me a warning look. I take a smug sip of my drink. If I’m meant to be a mindless little girl, I can certainly play the part. I know from office gossip that Erving lost a small fortune on a derby horse last year, and I know he’s still bitter about it. Anyway, if he thinks that the competition aspect of this event is a surprise, he’s forgotten how long I’ve been coming to these things.

“What’s the prize this year?” Henry asks without missing a beat.

It’s the same as it always is, I assume. A chunk of prize money that you’re intended to donate to charity. The winner gets to direct funds to their organization of choice and has their picture splashed all over social media. I’ve only won twice – once at ax-throwing, and another at an inflatable obstacle course – and both times I gladly handed over the funds to Girls Going Places. I’m still damn proud of those wins. And I know how much they could use the money. I’m considering how I’d love to add another when I realize I haven’t been paying attention to the conversation.

“Heidi has a great track record,” I hear Henry saying. “Perhaps you’d like to join her on this one, Erving? She’s recruiting someone for tonight’s winning team.”

If I weren’t wearing sunglasses, Henry could see how my eyes to turn slits. He has absolutely lost his mind if he thinks I’m getting into a canoe with this elderly Sith Lord. The man could break a hip! Or, perhaps more likely, pull a Tonya Harding and knock me out with the paddle to make way for Quentin to secure the promotion.

I’m about to protest when I see Quentin, and my brain does that stuttering thing it seems to every time I encounter him out in the wild. He’s wearing a tailored button-down with his sleeves rolled up, fitted dark khakis, and a pair of leather flip flops. He looks annoyingly good. Smoothly confident. And surprisingly… alone.

“Quentin,” Erving beams. “Perfect timing. We were just talking about how Heidi desperately needs a partner for the race.”

My hackles rise at the use of the word desperately. Erving Maxwell would love to imagine I’m desperate.

“That’s very kind of you, Mr. Maxwell,” I offer. “But I’m actually planning to sit this one out. Give someone else a chance to win this year.”

Henry gives me the look he always does when I pitch a flimsy defense or grasp for a poor attempt at precedent, the one that says he’s going to give me a few moments to come to my own realization why this is simply not going to work. And, as always, I do.

I’m vying for partnership, and I’m going to show up at an event we’re sponsoring and not participate? No. That’s a surefire way to screw myself out of something I want. Events like this are a valuable part of the marketing strategy for the firm. They help us generate fresh leads and keep our name connected with the community. If I don’t get this opportunity, I don’t want to wonder in the back of my mind if it was because I didn’t spend an hour of my Friday night cruising around the lake in a boat-built-for-two. Plus, I actually want to win this.

“Don’t let her fool you,” Henry interjects, bolstering me with a nervous laugh. “You’re looking at the ax-throwing champion of twenty-twenty-two. She’s got competition in her veins.”

“Ax throwing. Really,” Quentin says. His amused gaze dances over my face in a way that makes me very aware of the air against my skin.

I throw an invisible ax, straight at his chest. “Yup. It’s those killer instincts.”

“You’d be lucky to have him, Heidi,” Erving presses on. “Did you know he spent a summer during college as a white water rafting instructor?”

“I may have heard something about that, yes,” I offer tightly.

“Class five rapids,” Erving boasts, as if he’s the one who barreled down a raging river.

“A real thrill seeker, I take it?” Henry says, flashing Quentin a grin that’s fully loaded.

I see an imperceptible twitch in Quentin’s chiseled jaw. His smile doesn’t reach his eyes. “Not for many years now. We all live and learn, right?”

“I certainly hope so,” Henry chuckles. Quentin shifts.

Oh-kay, I think. There’s a definite vibe. I don’t know what this is, nor do I want to. Men swinging their swords around is the least of my concerns, especially when I have more important matters at hand – like figuring out how I’m going to get into a boat with anyone whose last name isn’t Maxwell.

“Canoes sound like an insult to your obvious level of talent,” I tell Quentin now. I give the group a smile. “Plus, we wouldn’t want Quentin to abandon his date.”

I know it’s a low blow, but I need to point out that I’m not the only one who showed up without someone on my arm this evening.

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