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“Are you okay? Did you burn yourself?”
She held up a hand to stop me from stepping closer. “I’m fine.” Her tone was frustrated, and she brushed at her skirt again, all the while muttering expletives under her breath. “I’m fine,” she repeated after taking a deep breath. “Do you have paper towels or something?”
I realized I’d been standing still and also distracted by her hands moving over the wet fabric of her dress and, damn, did I wish she didn’t despise me, because I’d never been that turned on by a coffee spill before.And I just haven’t gotten laid in a while.“Yes, of course. The bathroom is down the hall,” I said, pointing to the entrance of the office. “I’ll clean this up.”
“Thank you.” RJ expressed the sentiment like she wasn’t used to forming the words, at least not in my presence, and she turned on her heel.
“Oh, and, RJ?” She paused and glanced over her shoulder. I should have left well enough alone. “You’re welcome to join us for the choreography planning. Do you want to dance in to ‘I Want It That Way’ by the Backstreet Boys or something slower?”
She didn’t stop walking and held up her arm, flashing me a middle finger. Her walk was stiff—probably from the wet fabric clinging to her body, but she was clearly agitated, and I wasn’t sure why I’d pushed it.
“Slow it is!” I called after her, turning to find paper towels in the small break room to clean up the coffee and the sad pastry on the floor.
Chapter 11
RJ
I POPPED THElast Life Saver from a pack into my mouth and glanced at the dry-cleaning bag hanging on the back of my door. Luckily, I’d been able to wipe down the coffee spill before any actual harm was done to the dress. Shame rose on my cheeks at the entire incident, because I’d been right about the dancing and he knew it, but I’d gotten distracted by his stupid chest, which looked extra broad and firm in the shirt he’d been wearing, and I’d always been a sucker for that. I shook my head, dragging my gaze back to my screen.I have no time to think about Lear Campbell and his annoyingly hot body.Of course he’d been a total asshole immediately after, giving me a hard time about the stupid dance.And that’s the memory that should be sparked from looking at the dry-cleaning bag.
It was nearly eight and my stomach grumbled. The Life Saver wasn’t going to cut it, and I should have let my assistant order me dinner when he’d offered. Now, two hours later, I was looking at another hour or two of reading, and a break to get food would just extend it. Dina and Andrew Mayfield had started Avente together, and what began as a small company supporting small-business web hosting had turned into a multinational tech powerhouse.
I hit play on the interview I’d pulled up, Dina and her husband sitting side by side a few years earlier. “We started this together.We’ve been in this together our entire marriage.” Her husband took her hand as if they’d done it a million times, and I tilted my head, wondering what had happened between them. It didn’t really matter. We were going to make sure Dina Mayfield walked away from the marriage with as much as possible, but I was curious.
He had a serene smile. “She’s always been the brains of the operation. It made so much more sense for her to be the face of the company. I have always been very happy in the background.”
The interviewer continued asking questions about the scholarship foundation they’d started, one to rival the Gates Foundation, and their work helping high school students of color earn degrees. Andrew especially beamed when he talked about the program, and I made a note to look into it further. The interviewer closed by asking, “So what advice do you have for viewers about maintaining a happy marriage through the years?” I paused then, catching Dina’s eyes looking so much like they wanted to roll, and Andrew’s eyebrow quirking. It was a millisecond, a tiny peek into things gone wrong, but it was there.
I paused the video and rolled my shoulders, releasing some of the tension across my back. Those milliseconds added up, but sometimes one person didn’t notice them. I never paid much attention to my parents’ marriage—Dad screwed up, apologized; Mom forgave him; and the cycle continued until he left us both. My ex-boyfriend, Case, left, too. It wasn’t as dramatic as with my dad—we weren’t married, there wasn’t a kid, but off he went. This case was bigger and more complex than others I’d worked on, but there was no reason it should have gotten to me, rankled me like it did. Andrew Mayfield hadn’t left—the two of them had stayed together, living and working closely through their marriage, raising their children, but the milliseconds didn’t lie. I hit play again.
His hand fell over Dina’s again. “Advice? I think the best we ever received was that you both have to show up or nothing gets resolved.”
Dina had alleged that her husband cheated, and he’d alleged the same, but everything was cloaked in secrecy, NDAs, and some history they weren’t revealing. Publicly, they’d been a model couple for decades, making even me question if their love story wasn’t something special. That level of public pretending wasn’t uncommon when this amount of money and power was at stake. My stomach grumbled, and I paused the video. I was just hungry, that’s why this case felt personal.
Before I could open an app to order something, Eric popped his head in my door. “I’m out of here. I’m going to be in trouble if I’m here any longer.”
“Aww, Tyson doesn’t want to be away from you?”
Eric snort-laughed. “No. I’m solo on darling daughter duty tonight. He plays some video game on Wednesday nights with his best friend.”
“That’s sort of adorable in a preteen way,” I joked, rubbing the back of my neck.
He shrugged. “I don’t get it, but they’re happy. You going to be here much longer?”
I pointed at the screen, where I’d minimized the video. “Need to get through this research.”
He winced. “Been there.” Eric knocked twice on my door frame. “Take care of yourself!”
I gave him a wave and returned to the screen, scrolling and making notes.
“Ruthie.” Eric was one of very few people who even knew my real first name, let alone who I allowed to use it. He walked back in and handed me a box. “Ran into a delivery person on my way out who said these were for you.”
The box was pink with a sticker from Sid’s, the bakery I went to most often when I didn’t just grab something from the building’s lobby.
“Pastries for dinner is a choice... Do you need me to bring you meat and vegetables?”
“Bite me,” I said, running a finger over the box. “I didn’t order these. Must be a gift. I helped the owner with a custody thing last month.”
Eric nodded. “I’m out for real. Night, Ruthie.”
