Do You Take This Man (85)
“When did I say that?”
“When we moved in with Uncle Harold and Aunt Bette.”
Caitlin sounded amused and incredulous. “When I was sixteen? What the hell did I know when I was sixteen? That’s not why you stayed with she-who-shall-not-be-named, is it?”
It was, at least in part. Sarah was a nice person who avoided conflict, and she shied away from drama. RJ wasn’t the opposite of Sarah, but she was different, and the ways I would find myself concerned about being bored with Sarah never existed with RJ. I always felt excited, invigorated, and alive.
Caitlin read my silence as a yes. “Lear, no . . . that’s horrible advice. Nice is good and all, but just nice is . . . flavorless. We need sparks in our lives.”
I pictured RJ’s cutting glare, the way she turned on a dime when I rejected her offer and how she looked like she wanted to slap me. “Sparks I have, but I need to pee, so unless you want to stay on the phone with me, I need to go.”
“What would you do if I said I can stay on the phone?”
“Hang up. Never take me in the bathroom with you.”
She laughed. “Okay. You know I’m here if you need me, right?”
“I know.”
“And you’ll think about talking to someone?” I agreed and we hung up. I set my phone aside and let my eyes fall closed again before climbing out of bed. RJ had been a mistake from beginning to end, and I needed to figure out a way to remind myself of that. I stepped out of the bathroom a few minutes later, determined to fall back onto the mattress and start this day over again. I scrolled through trending news on my phone, eager for the distraction, and stopped short on something a local paper had picked up. I stopped scrolling at the photo of RJ standing next to me. I didn’t understand the connection to the headline, “Mayfield Uncoupling Complicated by Longtime Affair,” but the photograph had captured the moment when she’d asked if I thought it was difficult to love her and I hadn’t said a word.
I didn’t need to see her face in the photo to remember how she’d looked, how I knew the silence would hurt her like she’d hurt me. It had been crystal clear to me in that moment that we were wrong for each other. We weren’t the focus of the article, though. We were only in the background of a middle-aged couple smiling at each other, their fingers linked.
Chapter 45
RJ
I’D SPENT ALL day on Sunday in the office with my phone turned off. Work was predictable, familiar, and something I could manage. It was cold comfort after everything had fallen apart with Lear, but cold comfort in a place where I shined and where I knew the rules. After talking with the team, I’d explored the best potential loopholes, strategies, and angles to get Dina Mayfield what she wanted. I ignored my reaction to seeing her at the wedding, to seeing the intimate gesture between her and the board’s chairman. I’d already known the Mayfields’ attempt to reconnect hadn’t worked. It didn’t matter. Monday came early, and I was in the middle of reviewing the final settlement for a client when Eric poked his head in the door.
His normally easy smile was gone, replaced by a tense line.
“What’s up?”
He took a seat across from me, studying my desk. “I just left a meeting. Gretchen pulled me in with Dina Mayfield and the team.”
A chill slid up my spine. “I didn’t know we had a meeting scheduled.”
He scratched the back of his neck. “It was scheduled without you.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m sure Gretchen will be down in a bit. Did you see the thing in the paper this morning?”
I shook my head as I clicked to open a browser window. I’d buried myself in work so I didn’t have to see messages from Lear, or more likely, no messages.
“I guess you’re still a draw for the press . . . someone attempting to get a shot of you at a wedding this weekend found Dina Mayfield instead.”
I skimmed the results, the emotions from Saturday night feeling raw again at the memory. “I saw her there, but what does that have to do with the case?”
“Photo revealed her there with the head of the Avente Foundation’s board.” Eric leaned forward and glanced at my screen just as I clicked on the article. He didn’t wait for me to finish reading. “The paper got the photo and uncovered a source saying they’ve been having an affair for almost three years.”
I kept skimming and muttered, “Shit.” The article went on to cite a source that said Ms. Mayfield had pretended to reconcile with her husband to gain leverage for their divorce, wanting to be the sole connection to the foundation. I looked up and met Eric’s gaze. “It’s bad, but I don’t understand why you were in the meeting and I wasn’t.”
“She blames you for the photo. You doing the weddings and drawing press interest.” Eric’s expression softened. “Which isn’t fair, but she insisted you not be involved in her case anymore.”
That chill expanded from my spine to my entire body, and I returned my gaze to my screen, ashamed. I’d poured so much time into this case, invigorated by the complexities, interested in the couple, and felt proud Gretchen had picked me, and now the client blamed me. On some level, I knew that was bullshit, but on another level, I still knew I was off the case.