Her eyes go from mine to the key and back again. “Right. Tulip is at your house.” Charlie doesn’t move, but instead pulls her arms in closer to her body. “I’ll, uh, I’ll stop by on my way home and take care of her.”
“You can stay,” I offer. “I won’t be home until two or three, depending on how easy it is to clear out the bar.”
“You really don’t mind?” She’s asked me if I mind a dozen times. She knows I don’t. She’s trying to convince herself that she shouldn’t mind.
“I wouldn’t have offered if I did.”
Taking a tentative step forward, she holds out her hand. “Maybe I will.”
I put the key in her hand and close my fingers around hers. Stepping closer, our hips touch and Charlie’s eyes flutter shut. Lips parting, she tips her head up, looking right at me when she opens her eyes.
I bring my other hand up and rest it on the small of her back. My heart skips a beat in my chest, and I swear Charlie’s starts to beat faster.
“I miss waking up with you in my arms,” I whisper, bending my head down so my forehead rests against hers. She brings her free hand up and rests it against my chest, splaying her fingers.
“I’m sorry,” she says back so quietly it’s hard to hear her.
“Why are you sorry?”
“I’m sorry that it won’t happen again. It can’t, Owen.”
“Why not? We’re good together, Charlie. We always have been.” I pull her tighter against me until my cock is up against her pelvis.
She takes in a shaky breath and balls my shirt in her hand. Her eyes fall shut again and her jaw tenses.
“We haven’t always been good.” She pushes away, and not having her against me is like someone ripped my oxygen mask off and I can no longer breathe. “If we were, we wouldn’t have broken up.” She turns the key around in her fingers.
“I made a mistake,” I blurt, heart in my throat again. It won’t take much for it to come tumbling out, bloody and bruised on the floor.
Charlie’s eyes get glossy. “I know you did. And now I’m trying really hard not to as well.”Chapter 22CharlieThe door to the conference room opens behind me. I whirl around, blinking back my emotions. I’ve been out here waiting to come in and be briefed on the case. Jack Richards, our client, is old and sexist and “didn’t trust a woman” to do his legal work. Being old and sexist is exactly why he’s a regular client.
“I need to go,” I tell Owen. Closing my fingers around the key, I walk forward trying to block Owen from my dad’s point of view.
“Owen Dawson,” Dad says, and I know I’m too late. “I haven’t seen you in years. How have you been?”
Gritting my teeth, I step into the conference room and let go of everything else around me so I can focus on the client and case at hand. In New York, I specialized in real estate law. Here, I’ll be more of a Jack-of-all-trades when it comes to counseling clients, and right now I want to tell Jack Richards he’s a big bag of dicks and deserves to be sued for firing a flat-chested cashier from his store after telling her she should consider getting breast implants. But I also like to win, and I know that my strong desire to win every case comes from a subconscious need for control.
There is no controlling Owen Dawson, and that freaks me out enough on its own.
I know you can’t control another person. Hell, I wouldn’t want to have that sort of control. It’d be wrong and weird and would go to my head. But knowing what’s going to happen—to an extent—it’s always been my safety net.
Going back to Owen’s place tonight…I have no idea what that will bring. He says he’s changed and after last night I’m starting to see it.
“Are we going to get started or what, sweetheart?” Jack grumbles.
Narrowing my eyes, I look down at him. “I am not your sweetheart. I will be your lawyer once Timothy retires, and you will treat me with respect. Yes, I’m a woman, and yes, I am younger than you, but I graduated with honors and spent the last few years representing some of New York’s biggest real estate moguls in court. And my record? It’s impressive. Very impressive. I’ll show you the numbers if you so desire to see them, but trust me when I say I’m good. I like to win.” I put my hands on the table and lean forward.
“We both know you are guilty as hell. What you did to those women makes you a grade-A scumbag. But like I said, I like to win and I hardly ever lose.” I hold Jack’s gaze for another second.