Matt dropped his stuff on the floor inside the door and headed back to the office, head down, teeth clenched, and with a strange hollow place in his chest. The morning’s happiness had evaporated.
How dare she? After the things he’d done, the things he’d said, the way he’d acted. Didn’t she understand? How could Courtney possibly think that he’d hook up with Arwen?
Sure, he had become pretty good at picking up women and showing them a good time. But he wasn’t a jerk. He’d never been a jerk. He didn’t cheat on the woman of the moment, even if the relationship was understood to be strictly physical and strictly short-term.
He did not mess around with the women he worked with.
And he would never mess around with the best friend of the woman he was sleeping with.
He was truly insulted by her accusations. Insulted and saddened. How could he possibly continue a relationship with a woman who was that insecure? He’d always be looking behind his back. He’d always be trying to prove himself.
And wasn’t he tired of doing that? All the time?
He bypassed the protest, which seemed to have gained momentum in the last hour, and returned to his windowless office, where he threw himself into his chair and sank his head in his hands.
Damn. He probably should have defended himself. But what was the use? It totally destroyed him to think that Courtney believed he was capable of that kind of behavior. Maybe he should ask Arwen to set her straight. It seemed like the logical course, but that would require him to tell Arwen how much he truly cared about Courtney. And there was still that small matter of trust.
He was sinking into despair when his desk phone rang. It was Marie Coleman, Dad’s assistant, with the summons Matt had been expecting all day.
Well, bring it on. After the fight with Courtney, he didn’t care what Dad had to say. He stalked through the hallways of LL&K, a tight knot of hostility twisting his chest.
Dad’s office was larger than David’s, with an even better view of the protesters marching in front of city hall. The hundred-year-old walnut paneling in Dad’s office had been meticulously restored a number of years ago, and the antique furniture added a sense of decorum and power. The office always smelled faintly of lemon oil and beeswax.
Dad stood at the window, his hands behind his back, staring at the protesters. Their chants sounded faintly through the paneled walls and heavy draperies. Matt took several steps across the hand-knotted Persian rug before he realized Dad wasn’t alone. Brandon lounged in one of the oxblood leather Queen Anne side chairs, looking relaxed with one leg cocked up over the knee of the other.
What the hell?
“Sit,” Dad commanded with a backward wave at the second wing chair.
“Brandon, what brings you out this way?” Matt asked as he crossed the room toward the chairs. He stopped to shake Brandon’s hand.
Brandon, one of his oldest friends, gave him only fleeting eye contact. Matt shook off his concern and focused on the remnants of his fury. He took a seat, crossed his legs, and waited.
Dad finally turned away from the window with a long, exasperated sigh. He settled into the gigantic leather chair behind his desk and leaned forward. “Matthew, I have two words for you: Jerry Beyer.”
“Who?”
Dad rolled his eyes—an expression Matt had seen all his life. When Dad rolled his eyes like that it always meant that Matt had screwed up something that Dad regarded as inherently simple. “You’re kidding me, right?” Dad said. “What kind of idiot are you?”
Matt clamped his teeth together.
Dad turned toward Brandon. “Explain it to him.”
“Jerry Beyer is the CEO of GB Ventures, LLC,” Brandon said.
A few puzzle pieces fell into place. “Oh, okay. I get it. I imagine he’s not happy. So what?”
“Jerry is one of Heather’s biggest contributors,” Brandon said slowly, as if Matt were too stupid to understand. Heather was David’s sister. She also happened to represent Jefferson County in the United States House of Representatives. Last fall, Brandon had rejected a job here at LL&K to go to work on her Capitol Hill staff.
“Jerry is furious,” Brandon added. “He’s threatening to withdraw his support this fall unless David calls his mother-in-law off, which David has refused to do.”
“Maybe not taking money from GB Ventures’s CEO would be a good thing,” Matt said, meeting his friend’s stare. “Come on, Brandon. You don’t want Heather taken down because of the crap that’s going on here, do you?”
“Who says there’s any crap going on? The Jefferson County Chamber of Commerce named Jerry Beyer its man of the year last year precisely because of what he’s done to improve things. He’s single-handedly responsible for a lot of the growth we’ve seen the last couple of years.”
“Growth that has displaced people who have lived here for generations.”
“Come on. We’re talking about progress. We’re talking about growing the county’s tax base. We’re talking about jobs.”
Matt shook his head. “I’ll give you the tax base but not the jobs. The people being displaced are the ones who work for Uncle Jamie harvesting grapes and tending apple orchards. Or the people working for Willow at Eagle Hill Manor. Where are those people going to live when every house in Jefferson County costs half a million dollars? And besides that, it’s wrong for the county to help a single developer buy land at less than fair market value. That’s a distortion of the market.”
Dad slapped his hand down on his desk. “Enough! Matthew, I told you weeks ago that I wanted you to drop this issue. Why didn’t you?”
Matt stood up. “Because I cared about my client. The people living in Dogwood Estates have all lost their homes because of Jerry Beyer. And if Heather wants to associate herself with a guy like that, then so be it. But if that’s what she’s about, she isn’t going to get my vote in November.”
Dad stood up. “I don’t give a damn about your vote. It’s your loyalty that I question. I need to know that the people associated with this firm are being honest with me. You and Arwen Jacobs have broken that trust. You’ve given me no other choice but to fire the both of you.
“Get your stuff and leave the office immediately. Marie will escort you out of the building.”
Drinking alone at the Jaybird Café was a pathetic habit—one Courtney would try to break next week, or maybe the week after that, when her broken heart had mended. For now, the Jaybird’s exposed-brick walls and scuffed pine floors were like a second home. And the barstools were surprisingly comfortable, even in the afternoon.
She intended to anesthetize herself before Ryan Pierce showed up and gave her a lecture. She had just finished her first Manhattan when Arwen strode through the front door at 3:00 p.m., pale-faced and red-nosed.
Another wave of fury washed over Courtney. How dare Matt make Arwen cry? Courtney hopped down from the barstool and intercepted her friend. “Oh, honey, I told you not to tangle with that guy. He’s a total jerk. Come over to the bar, and I’ll buy you as many margaritas as you need. I’ve missed you.”
She wrapped Arwen in a big hug, willing to forgive her for kissing Matt because, really, Matt was to blame. How was someone like Arwen going to resist Matthew, especially with all his poetry and romance?
“And I forgive you for everything.”
Arwen pulled back. “What are you talking about?”
“Matt is responsible for everything. I—”
Arwen shook her head and turned her back as she stalked to the bar. “Oh, come on, Courtney. Don’t. You’ve got to stop judging people that way.”
“But…” Courtney’s voice faded out as she followed Arwen back to the bar.
“Where’s Rory?” Arwen asked Steve, the afternoon bartender.
Steve shrugged. “I don’t know. His shift doesn’t start until five thirty.”
Arwen checked her watch. “Damn.”
“Can I get you something to drink?” Steve asked Arwen.
Arwen drummed her fingers on the bar top for a long moment before she spoke. “Yeah, I guess. I’ll take a margarita, frozen, with salt.” Then she turned toward Courtney. “I’m just going to have one, okay? And then I’m going to call him.”
“Call who?”
Arwen took a gigantic sigh and let it out. “I’m sorry, Court. I’ve been keeping something from you. To be honest, I’ve been keeping it from myself because I’m a wuss and a weenie.”
“You are not a wuss. You’re my friend…I think.”
Arwen’s eyes softened. “I’m sorry. I should have called you and had a long talk about this. But I was just so confused. And scared. You know, all I’ve ever wanted to do was write music and sing. But I hate being on the stage, and nobody ever listens. Except Rory, and you, and Melissa when she comes, which isn’t very often. And it’s not just the music. I’m so wishy-washy. Look at me. I have no style. My hair is brown and limp. I’m flat-chested. All these years I’ve just been waiting around, you know, for real life to start.”
Steve interrupted Arwen’s confused rant. She snatched up the margarita and took a gigantic gulp. Clearly Arwen was trying to anesthetize herself too. How many women could Matt Lyndon slay in one afternoon?
“Honey, you’re not wishy-washy. Have you even listened to your own songs?”
Arwen put her glass down with more force than was necessary. “I am wishy-washy. And you know how I know that? A few weeks ago, someone called me on the fact that I’ve been punting the ball my entire life. Working in a soul-sucking job where no one appreciates me. Walking the straight and narrow in order to avoid rocking any boats. And even though I knew he was right, I didn’t have the guts to face the truth. I ran away. Buried myself. And pretended that everything was great. But it’s not.” Her lower lip trembled, and tears filled her eyes. She picked up her glass and took another gigantic swallow of her drink.
Courtney dug in her purse and offered Arwen a tissue, which she accepted. “Honey, you have a great job. A great relationship with your parents. And a talent for writing killer lyrics. It could be a whole lot worse. Don’t let one guy ruin your self-image. Please.”
Courtney dabbed mascara from her cheeks and hauled in a huge breath. “He didn’t ruin my self-image. He revealed it. And you know what? I couldn’t even see it until Matt showed up. I mean, that guy was scared out of his mind the first time we met with Leslie, but he faced that fear like, I don’t know, a hero. And then he pushed me to organize a clandestine meeting with a source inside the county government, and I felt like I was in the middle of a murder mystery or something. And then, even when he knew he’d been beat, he still fought. And he did all that knowing it would get him in trouble. I don’t think I’ve ever met a braver man. And I figured, if he can be brave, maybe I can too.” She balled up the tissue and hoisted her margarita.
Oh boy, Arwen really had it bad for Matt. And Courtney could certainly understand how that might happen. If you ignored Matt’s womanizing, the guy had some pretty terrific qualities. But how could you ignore his womanizing? Her own heart squeezed in her chest, but she refused to give in to the hurt. Arwen needed her to be strong.
“Let’s get one thing clear,” Courtney said. “Matt’s not a hero. Remember he made you feel wishy-washy. Look at how he’s crushed your self-esteem. This is precisely what Hook-up Artists do, Arwen.”
Arwen choked on her drink.
“It’s okay,” Courtney said, patting her back. “I don’t blame you. Just because he was sleeping with both of us doesn’t have to wreck our friendship. I mean, it’s on him, not—”
“What?” Arwen’s words came out as one-part cough.
“You heard me.” Courtney lowered her voice into a whisper. “I failed to follow my own advice. I…well…the thing is…he moved in next door and…”
“Oh my God, you’re sleeping with Matthew Lyndon?” Arwen said this in a loud voice. Thank God it was a few minutes past three on a weekday afternoon and the Jaybird was deserted.
“Keep your voice down. I know it’s a shock. I mean, I didn’t realize he was two-timing us until I saw you with him this morning.”
Arwen blinked at Courtney for fifteen awkward seconds before she burst out laughing.
“What?”
“I’m not sleeping with Matt,” Arwen managed between belly laughs.
“You’re not? But—”
“But what?”
“You kissed him.”
“Yeah, on the cheek. Because, well, he’s a great guy. He could have punted on those people, Courtney. He could have done what I’ve been doing for years. He could have accepted the injustice and walked away. But he wouldn’t. He kept picking at it. And now he’s created a huge shit storm.” Her voice wavered.
“What kind of shit storm?” The knot in Courtney’s stomach was beginning to loosen, and a strange, almost euphoric sense of relief percolated through her.
“Well, for starters, he’s gotten me fired from LL&K.” Arwen’s voice wobbled.
“What? And you think he’s a hero?”
“Yeah. I do. I would never have left LL&K on my own. He did me a huge favor, Courtney. Now I just need to find the courage to follow through.”
“Follow through how?”
Arwen pulled her purse from the hook under the bar and dug around in it for a moment before withdrawing a small folded piece of paper. She held it up. “By calling the number on this Post-it note.”
“Okay, and whose number is it?”
Arwen blushed a spectacular shade of pink. She leaned in and whispered, “Rory Ahern’s.”
“Rory?”
She nodded. “He listens to my music.”
He was also covered in tattoos, had a bad-boy vibe and a dangerously sexy Irish lilt to the way he spoke. Not the kind of guy Courtney would have chosen for Arwen. But then again, who was she to do the choosing? Wasn’t that the lesson she needed to learn here?
A huge wave of remorse and guilt hit her bloodstream. She’d screwed up. Big-time. What an idiot she’d been. About so many things.
“So, ah, you and Rory?” Courtney managed to ask through the ache in her chest.
Arwen shrugged. “I don’t know. I’ve been running from him for a couple of weeks. And really, we only hooked up for a few days.”
Courtney refrained from suggesting that running from Rory might be a good thing. Maybe it was time for her to quit passing judgment. “So you’re going to stop running?” she asked instead.
Arwen nodded. “Yeah. I am. And if he breaks my heart, at least I won’t have any regrets. Maybe I’ll pull up stakes and move to Nashville the way Rory wants me to.”
Another shaft to the heart. “I don’t want you to leave. Everyone’s leaving or getting married or…”
Arwen patted Courtney’s back. “I’m not going to hop on his bike and run away. He might have suggested that, but I’m not that crazy. If I moved to Nashville, it would be something I plan. But I’m not ruling it out, okay?”
“Okay. And I’m, uh, sorry about the—”
“Damn,” Arwen said. “Tell me you didn’t accuse Matt of sleeping with me.”
“Uh, yeah, I sort of did.”
“Oh my God. You need to go talk to him. He needs you. I wasn’t the only one fired today.”
“Matt lost his job?”
Arwen nodded. “His own father canned him. He was marched out of the office like he’d committed some kind of high crime or misdemeanor.”
Matt sprawled on his couch watching MSNBC without paying much attention. The drone of the commentator helped him to keep his emotions distant, which was fine with him because he didn’t want to parse through them. He didn’t want to open himself up and try to examine what had just happened.
Besides, dissecting his feelings would do nothing to change them. He’d never wanted to be a country lawyer, so it was no surprise that he’d failed so spectacularly. He’d never wanted to be Don Quixote either.
Tilting at windmills had its downsides. Linda’s protests wouldn’t change a thing. Not when Jerry Beyer could reach out with his influence and twist the world. People said blood was thicker than water, but that wasn’t true in the Lyndon family. Jerry Beyer gave money to Heather, and Heather outranked him because she was smarter and more accomplished.
So he sat alone in his living room, waiting. Always waiting. But for what? The answer came to him when Courtney knocked on his door and said, “I need to apologize.”
Yes, she did. But did he want her apology? Somehow the apology meant less than the trust he longed for. The trust she couldn’t seem to give. Maybe part of that was his fault. But who knew?
He couldn’t let her stand in the hallway, so he dragged himself from the couch and opened the door to find her standing in the hallway with Dr. Doom cuddled in her arms. Everything about her posture screamed regret, from the slope of her shoulders to the glimmer of tears in her eyes.
“I just had a long talk with Arwen,” she said in a trembling voice. “I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have jumped to conclusions the way I did, and I understand why I’ve lost your trust. Here’s Dr. Doom.” She held the cat out to him. It was one hell of a peace offering since she’d brought over her favorite cat—the cuddly one. And yet some stubborn part of him still wanted more.
“Don’t you want him?” Her voice seemed ready to crack open.
His chest tightened with a swirl of emotion he wanted to keep at bay. He couldn’t answer her question because he was too confused, angry, lost.
She took a step into the room. “I know you lost your job. I’m so, so sorry about that. And I know my behavior this morning was…I don’t know…unacceptable. I probably can’t ever get your trust back. And deservedly so. But I do care about you. Can we talk about this?”
He shook his head. “Look, I’m too angry right now. I’m not even sure what happened, not just with you and me but with my father. And—”
“I should never have encouraged you to give all that dirt to Linda Petersen. I mean, I should have realized that getting Linda involved would create huge problems for you. Willow even warned me about it.”
“Warned you? How?”
She shrugged. “Just that the Lyndon family is sometimes…” Her voice faded out.
“Yeah, my family.” A painful bolt of fury struck him in the chest. His family. His father in particular had done his best over the years to mold him into someone he had never wanted to be.
“I’m sorry.” Her voice got thin, and a tear escaped one of her eyes.
He couldn’t stand to watch her cry, so he turned his back and took a couple of steps into the room. “You’re not responsible for my family. They’ve always been difficult. And living up to the Lyndon ideal is impossible.”
“So don’t.”
He stopped and turned. Goddammit, she was so beautiful. Despite the pain she’d inflicted this morning, he still admired the way she could cut through the bullshit and speak the unvarnished truth. He didn’t have to live up to their expectations. He could be like Amy or Daniel or David, all of whom had rebelled at one time or another.
But was that what he needed? It sure wasn’t what he wanted. What he wanted was something else altogether.
“Look, I’m exhausted,” he finally said. “And I’m angry and disappointed and kinda lost, if you want to know the truth. I don’t need your commentary on my life. I don’t need you to dissect me or inspect me or shove me in a pigeonhole. I don’t need your advice about how to live or how to be or how to deal with my family. What I want is…you. All of you. Right now.” His little speech was so utterly inarticulate. How could he put this feeling into words? All he wanted was a place to rest his head. A place where he didn’t have to perform. Where he didn’t have to be anything. A place to call home. He bit down on his back molars to keep from saying more. He’d screw it up if he kept talking. And besides, how could Courtney give him what he truly wanted when she couldn’t even trust him?
Courtney put Dr. Doom down and moved to stand in front of him. He stifled the urge to reach out to her. The last time he’d truly opened up to a woman, she’d manipulated him in the worst way. And he’d trusted Allison. Courtney, not so much.
Still, when she wrapped her arms around him and pulled him close, he let himself sink into that warmth. Just for tonight, he told himself. Just for this moment, when the world had unraveled. Making love to her wouldn’t solve any of his problems. She didn’t have the answers he needed to find himself. But it was enough just to be with her, in her arms, forgetting about the father who had never believed in him. About the world he couldn’t change. About the woman he couldn’t trust and who clearly didn’t trust him.
Their lovemaking was excruciatingly tender, as if they had reached a deeper connection somehow. And when he left her breathless and spent, she almost said the words she’d been holding back.
Thank goodness her instincts for survival kicked in before she opened herself up completely. Because the minute they were done, he rolled away, presenting his back to her and driving home the point. He didn’t love her.
And she didn’t blame him.
She’d learned her lesson. Maybe there was value in pinning labels on people if all you wanted was an excuse not to care, not to love, not to get too involved. But she’d crossed that line a while ago with Matt. She’d been hoping that he wasn’t like the stereotypes on her list, but she’d gone right ahead and pigeonholed him anyway.
Stupid woman. If she couldn’t trust him, she couldn’t love him. And vice versa. His solid back said it all. In one foolish act of jealousy, she’d destroyed whatever trust they’d been building together over the last couple of weeks.
For the first time in her life, she had no one to blame but herself. And it mortified her to think that she’d hurt him so badly that he hadn’t even been able to accept her apology. The sex had been about comfort, not love and not hate. It had been sweet and kind, but it was the last time. She knew that now.
She lay in his bed for a long time fighting her tears. She had no right to cry in his presence. When his breathing evened out in sleep, she gathered her clothes, dressed in the darkness, and left him.