Five Ways to Fall (Ten Tiny Breaths, #4)(69)

Life at work has taken a turn down Dreadfully Boring Street. It’s not that I ever particularly enjoyed it, but the last few weeks had felt different. More lively. Now, my office feels empty and dull. Not for the lack of file folders or coffee cups, though.

It’s because a certain six-foot-three-inch blond guy ensures he’s never in a room alone with me anymore. I’m still focused 100 percent on Natasha’s and his cases, but he has started going to the other paralegals—who aren’t half as quick or efficient as I am—for answers.

For a while there, I was worried he might believe these “rumors” that I have a thing for him and was intentionally avoiding me because he doesn’t want to lead me on. But I catch those blue eyes on me all the time. He’s not embarrassed about it, either. I know because he winks at me every time our eyes connect.

I can’t even corner him in his office, because he’s in meetings with Natasha all the time.

And now I’m starting to get paranoid that there’s something going on between him and the law bot, even though she’s engaged and I’m pretty sure she’d never agree to casual sex. She’s probably as militant in bed as she is with everything else, something I doubt Ben would be into.

I hope he wouldn’t be into.

Unless she’s one of those people who tie their men up and whip them. Ben might be into that.

I hate this.

I don’t even want anything with Ben besides what we already have. I just don’t want him to have that with anyone else.

So now I find myself looking for every excuse possible to stop by Ben’s office. That’s why I’m standing in line, buying a cup of this dreadful coffee—a joke, really—and some scones.

“I’ve seen you here before. I can’t believe I didn’t realize who you were.”

People say that southern drawls are beautiful and relaxing. At nine a.m. and coming from its source, I would describe it more like nails-on-a-chalkboard grating.

I glance over my shoulder to catch Caroline’s sour expression and wonder why she’s here so late. The four times I waited on that park bench outside for her, the girl walked in at eight thirty, like clockwork. Though, by the sharp look in her eyes, I’m starting to think that she may have been doing the waiting today. “Sorry, can’t say I ever noticed you.” I pay for my purchase and step away from the counter. “Have a great day!” I offer in the most annoying, chirpy voice I can manage as I pass by her and head out the door.

A vice-like grip latches onto my arm. “You don’t think I know what you’re doing?” Caroline hisses.

I glance down at her hand and she releases it quickly as if suddenly spotting lesions. “Was that a trick question? Because I’m heading to work. It’s not exactly surreptitious.”

She stabs me with an icy glare. “There are an awful lot of coincidences at play here, wouldn’t you agree?”

“Aside from us having the same taste in men and cafés, I’m not seeing it.” She’s standing so close to me that I can smell her breath. It smells like watermelon. The simulated-flavor gum kind. I hate watermelon. Figures.

Her eyes narrow. “How did your number end up in Jared’s phone again?”

I struggle to hide my surprise. Jared has a thing about his phone and keeping people out of it. Or maybe it was just keeping me out of it, because he was texting his ex.

Her next words answer my confusion. “That’s the thing about knowing someone since you were six years old. They’re pretty predictable. Even with their passwords.”

“What’s wrong, you don’t trust him?” I doubt Jared would be happy having his jealous wife snooping through his things, and she’s jealous all right. I feel the spike of joy deep inside.

“You will never get him back,” she says slowly and evenly, with the kind of confidence that can’t be faked. “Jared has been in love with me all his life. He was so crushed when we broke up that he would have taken anything. Why else do you think he’d marry a motorcycle-riding psycho like you? You were a mistake that he regrets every day. He’s mine and he always will be.”

Emotion erupts inside me—a hazardous mixture of anger and humiliation and hurt that burns at the rims of my eyes and makes me want to dump this scalding coffee over her head. Not for one second have I forgotten the look on her face when I pulled open the shower curtain that day. I swear, I think she was waiting for that moment because she quickly locked eyes with me, a triumphant gleam shining through.

And now she’s throwing down the gloves in the middle of a café, surrounded by baked goods and strangers. I catch a slight tremble in her hand and I have to believe she may be a little bit afraid of me. Seeing as I left a pair of scissors jabbed through her eyes in that picture of her and Jared, she should be. She should probably be afraid that I’m going to hit her right here, in the middle of this crowd. Maybe she’s hoping that’s exactly what I’ll do. That’s exactly what I want to do. She knows I have a temper. She could press charges against me and be rid of me. There’d be plenty of witnesses here.

Clever girl.

“Why are you so worried that he has my phone number then?” I ask in a forced calm voice, feeling the scone in my hand crumble within my tight grasp.

“I’m not,” she sputters out, seemingly caught off guard. “You just need to know that I know and I’m laughing at you. All of my friends are laughing at you. You are pathetic.”