Stone Cold, page 11
“A wise man once told me dwelling on the past has never done a damn bit of good for anyone,” I feed him his own words.
“Sage advice,” he says.
I check my watch. “We should head out. Ida’s flight lands in thirty minutes.”
Stone hooks Domino’s leash onto his collar and walks us to my car, helping me load up.
“He liked indie movies,” I say.
“Beg your pardon.”
“Jason … I met him at a Sunday matinee showing of Hope Has Two Faces. We were the only ones in the entire theater … he was sitting behind me.” I drag in a breath of humid summer air. “After about thirty minutes, he leaned in, tapped me on the shoulder, and asked if the movie was terrible or if it was just him. I told him it wasn’t him. We ended up walking out and grabbing a drink down the street at this little bar.”
I open the rear passenger door. Domino jumps in.
“He was nice,” I say. “In the beginning. He liked independent films and Wilco. And in some ways, he reminded me of you.”
“After meeting him today, I don’t know whether I should be flattered or offended by that.”
I laugh. “I meant for that to be a compliment.”
“I’m still not convinced that it is …”
“He reminded me of all the things I liked about you.” I swat at his arm. “Anyway … thanks again for taking him in. And I guess I’ll see you around?”
He takes a step back, stopping at the curb, his hands in his pockets and his gaze homed in on me. Something about this moment feels finite and complete, yet at the same time, there’s an ache in my chest. A homesickness of sorts. Like the way I always felt as a kid when we’d leave my grandparents’ farm in upstate Maine; like I was leaving behind a piece of myself.
“Who’s handling your case?” Stone asks before I climb into my car. “Your divorce.”
“Ben Majors. Why?”
“Fire him,” he says.
“Why?”
“If Jason shops hard enough, he’ll eventually land a shark. I want to make sure you’re represented by someone who can handle that.”
“And who would that be … you?” I ask.
“I can’t work with you. Conflict of interest. But I’m going to talk to my partner—who is actually my former law professor,” he says. “Taught me everything I know.”
“You don’t have to do that for me …”
“I’ll be in touch later this week,” he says.
With that, he heads inside.
Domino whimpers when he watches Stone disappear into his home. I reach back and pet the top of his head.
“Same, Domino,” I say with a sigh. “Same.”
Chapter Twenty-Six
Stone
* * *
“I can’t stop thinking about the other day,” Jude says over the phone the next morning. “Running into Jovie … what if it’s a sign? Of all the cities in the world, she’s here.”
“To be fair, it’s not that big of a stretch. She grew up in Kennebunkport,” I say.
“I wonder who she married?” He ignores my comment. “And why it didn’t work out?”
“What’s it to you?”
“What,” he snorts. “I’m not allowed to be curious?”
“How would Stassi feel if she knew you were curious about what your ex is up to?”
Jude exhales. “What Stassi doesn’t know won’t hurt her. I’m just wondering out loud, okay? Don’t make it deeper than it is.”
A rap on my office door steals my attention. Glancing up from my computer screen, I find my partner and former law professor, Mike Delgado, standing in my doorway.
“Your assistant said you wanted to talk to me?” he asks. He’s dressed in his signature corduroy slacks and windowpane print jacket with the suede elbow patches. You can take the man out of the university, but you can’t take the university out of the man.
I cradle my phone on my shoulder.
“Yeah,” I say before telling Jude I’ll call him later. “Come on in.”
Mike takes a seat across from me, unbuttoning his suit coat and settling in. “What’s going on?”
“Need a favor.” I straighten my tie. “I have a friend who needs new representation. Currently divorcing some douchebag who’s trying to rake her over the coals. I don’t think he has a leg to stand on, but I want to know she’s in capable hands.”
“You know I’m scaling back …” He pushes his tortoiseshell glasses up the bridge of his aquiline nose. Earlier this year, he announced he was thinking about retiring after Christmas. Since then, he’s been divvying out his workload and turning down clients left and right. “The last thing I want to do is get my hands dirty with a new case.”
“I realize what I’m asking here.”
“Why don’t you take her on?”
“Conflict of interest,” I say. I use my best poker face.
“I see.” His lips press flat and he nods, knowing better than to ask further questions.
“I wouldn’t ask this favor of you if it wasn’t important to me,” I say. “This town is full of perfectly capable family law attorneys, but she needs a killer whale, not a sand shark.”
Mike’s expression lights at the compliment, his hazel eyes all but beaming from behind his thick lenses.
“I’ll cover all of her fees if I have to,” I add. Though after glancing through those documents yesterday, it would appear that she’s more than capable of affording high-end representation.
Rising from the guest chair, Mike pulls his phone from his pocket. “I’ve got a call to make, but I’ll consider it—and only as a personal favor to you. Get a hold of her and have her come in. I’ll do a consult and we’ll go from there.”
As soon as he’s gone, I pull out my phone and shoot Jovie a text.
ME: I got you a meeting with Mike Delgado—best divorce lawyer in Portland. When are you available?
JOVIE: You didn’t have to do that …
I pull up Mike’s calendar on my computer and search for the next available opening.
ME: How does Thursday look for you? Eleven AM?
JOVIE: I’ll be there.
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Jovie
* * *
“So the therapist said that since Chauncy’s love language is touch and mine is words of affirmation, that we need to make more of an effort to make sure the other one is getting what they need,” Monica says Wednesday afternoon as we go for a stroll along the Eastern Promenade loop. “Sometimes I just hate being touched, you know? Like I need my space. But then Chauncy takes it personally and thinks I don’t like him just because I’m not clinging all over him.”
“Relationships are all about compromise …”
“And then if I’m pulling away physically, he pulls away verbally,” she continues. “He kind of retreats into himself and gets all quiet and sulky. And then because he’s not telling me he loves me a million times a day, then I’m taking it personally and thinking he doesn’t like me anymore. It’s this vicious cycle.”
“And this was never an issue before you two were married?”
“No,” she says. “Weird, right?”
“Yeah,” I say. “I don’t really know what to tell you right now other than it’s good that you guys are aware of this now. It means you can work on fixing it.”
“Yeah, no. I know. I just wanted to vent,” she says as we stop at an overlook to check out the view of Casco Bay.
I grab my phone and snap a picture of the crashing waves and the handful of sailboats in the distance.
“Did I tell you Stone’s helping me find a better lawyer?” I ask.
“What’s wrong with Ben Majors?”
“Apparently Stone met with Jason, realized who he was, found out what he’s going after, and now he’s insisting that I go with someone from his firm. He says he wants to make sure I don’t get raked over the coals.”
“Really?” Monica rests her hands on her hips. “That’s … that’s kind of sexy.”
I roll my eyes. “Stop, it’s not like that.”
“Oh, it isn’t?” Her tone is baked in sarcasm. “So you just happened to confess that you used to have a crush on him and now he just happens to be hooking you up with the best legal team in town, but it’s not like that.”
“He’s just being nice.”
“He’s not even getting laid and he’s being nicer to you than my own husband’s being to me.”
“Let’s not compare apples and oranges.” I slide my phone back into my pocket. If there’s anything I’ve learned in my twenty-seven years so far, it’s that love and marriage complicates everything. “Stone’s just doing me a favor.”
“On top of the other favor that he already did for you with the whole dog thing,” she says as we continue on. “I don’t remember him ever being this nice to you back in college? In fact, if memory serves me correctly, it was quite the opposite.”
“People are allowed to change.”
“True.”
“Plus, I was dating his best friend and infringing on all of their guy time. I would’ve hated me too back then,” I say. “Anyway, he already said he’s in love with someone and it’s complicated.”
“Maybe it’s complicated because he’s starting to have feelings for someone else? Someone he never saw coming? Someone he just so happens to be bending over backwards for? Now wouldn’t that be the ultimate plot twist?” Before Monica can say another word, her phone rings. “Ugh, it’s Chauncy.”
“Shouldn’t you be more like aww, it’s Chauncy?”
She chuckles before slapping a love-drunk grin on her face. “Aww, it’s Chauncy!”
“That’s better,” I say.
“I don’t know what he could possibly want. I told him we were going on a hike.”
“Maybe he’s calling to tell you he loves you?” I say. “Words of affirmation and all that …”
“Hey, what’s up? Yeah, no, I need you to sign for that delivery.” she takes his call, and I walk a few steps ahead to give her some space—and to be alone with my thoughts for a minute.
I refuse to read between the lines of Stone’s unexpected kindness and generosity.
The last thing I need is to get sucked into some wishful thinking narrative where everything means something, where the world seems to be conspiring to bring us together like we’re living in the pages of some romance novel.
Happily ever afters rarely exist in real life.
And rarely does anyone ride off into the sunset with their ex-boyfriend’s best friend.
Chapter Twenty-Eight
Stone
* * *
“Hey, hey.” Jovie stands in my office doorway Thursday, shortly before noon. With an emerald green pencil skirt, a starched white blouse, her hair slicked back into a low bun, and her lips shaded dark pink, I hardly recognize her and end up doing a double take. “I have something for you.”
She makes her way across the room, her hips swaying in the skintight fabric, and she places a plate of cookies on my desk along with an envelope.
“These are from Ida,” she says. “She really appreciates what you did for Domino. And I hope you like chocolate chip cookies … she said to tell you they’re the Alton Brown recipe, which is supposedly the best one. I may or may not have snuck one on the way here, so I may or may not be able to confirm that they’re life-changing.”
“I’ve never heard a cookie described as life-changing before.”
“Don’t take my word for it.” She slides the plate closer to me.
“I’m actually meeting a client for lunch today, but I’ll save these for a three o’clock pick me up.”
“That’s an impressive amount of discipline you’ve got there. I wouldn’t last ten minutes with these,” she says. “I do this thing sometimes where I stress bake. Usually when I’m nearing the end of a deadline, I do all kinds of crazy things to procrastinate … I’ll organize all of my closets, I’ll take a trip to the bookstore and come back with a stack of bestsellers that I definitely don’t have time to read, and then I’ll bake at least one cake or batch of cookies—that I end up throwing out half the time because if I don’t I’ll inhale the entire thing in one sitting.”
“Sounds like you have zero self-control.”
“Pretty much,” she says. “But only when I’m writing. When I’m not writing, I’m a pretty average, boring person.”
“I doubt that.”
“Okay, fine. Slightly less neurotic, slightly less manic, a little more in the driver’s seat.”
“Everything go well with Mike?” I ask. “What’d you think of him?”
“Yeah.” Her brows lift. “He’s great. Very knowledgeable … said he’s taken on similar cases to mine in the past …”
“Did he say if he’d take you on?”
“He said he would.”
I exhale. “Good, good.”
“He also told me that you were one of his best students,” she says. “And that you told him you couldn’t represent me due to a conflict of interest …”
“I didn’t want my representation of you to be biased in any way. The court tends to frown on that sort of thing.”
“I see,” she says. “Regardless, thank you. I’m so grateful for everything you’ve done for me lately.”
I nod. “Sure.”
“I should get out of your hair … just wanted to drop off Ida’s thank you cookies …” She glances at the door, though her high-heels remain planted. “Stone?”
“Yes?”
“I’m really glad our paths crossed again.”
“Can you please tell me why you terminated my client’s relationship—” Becca storms through the door, stopping in her tracks when she spots Jovie. Tugging her Oxford top into place, she clears her throat. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize you were with someone.”
It’s Becca’s first day back in weeks, and judging by the wild-eyed expression on her twisted face, I take it she just read my email about Jason.
“Becca, this is Jovie Vincent, a longtime acquaintance of mine,” I say. “Jovie, this is Becca Ratliff, a junior partner here at the firm. Jovie here is divorcing the client I terminated.”
Becca’s gaze skims from me to Jovie before returning.
“I wish you’d have consulted with me before the termination,” she speaks says, ignoring Jovie. Her arms fold tight across her chest. “A little professional courtesy would go a long way.”
“You were away,” I say. “I didn’t want to bother you while you were sunbathing and sipping fruity drinks in St. Croix.”
I saw her Instagram while she was gone—and the series of thirst trap photos she posted showcasing what a wonderful time she was having with her girlfriends. While the captions were definitely directed at me, I found nothing but amusement in them. They were desperate, unoriginal, and had the opposite of the intended effect she was going for.
If anything, they only cemented my decision to cut things off.
Becca’s Pilates body and book smarts are unfortunately overshadowed by the fact that she’s as basic as they come.
“Forgive me for taking a long overdue vacation,” Becca says, her words curt and snipping. “Some of us have actual lives outside the office. Not everyone can be married to their job.”
To which I say, “To each their own.”
“Anyway.” Becca unfolds her arms, glancing at Jovie, who’s staring at the floor like an innocent bystander caught in our crosshairs. “I’d like a minute with you alone at some point this afternoon so we can finish this discussion.”
“I’ll pencil you in,” I say without so much as making a move toward my calendar.
With that, Becca’s gone, leaving nothing but a trail of her department store perfume—the same one she used to spray between her legs before our little entanglements. Knowing her, I can only assume that move was intentional.
“Sorry about that,” I tell Jovie.
“Do you and your partners always talk like that?” she asks.
“No. Becca’s been a little … contentious … lately.” I check the time on my phone. I’m due across town in thirty minutes to meet with a current client over lunch at a restaurant she owns. A restaurant stuck in limbo due to a bitter and costly divorce battle. Unfortunately when married couples undertake a joint business effort, division of assets can get tricky. That’s why it’s imperative that Jovie has the best representation when Jason tries to claim royalties from the book she penned during their time together. There’s no hard and fast rules here. It’ll boil down to who can present the most compelling argument. Things could get particularly dicey if Jason attempts to say he inspired the book—or worse, that he helped write it. It would be his word against hers and given my brief interaction with him the other day, he doesn’t appear to be beneath lying.
“Maybe I was reading between the lines, but I get the hunch that it’s not the client she’s most upset about.” Jovie winces. “That was a lot of animosity packed into a short amount of time.”
I laugh through my nose. “You don’t miss much, do you?”
“Is that … her?” Jovie’s voice is low and her chin is tucked. “The woman you’re in love with?”
I almost choke on my spit. “No. Not even close.”
Becca pales in comparison to Jovie in every way imaginable.
No contest.
Her shoulders fall as she exhales. “Well, I’m still very curious about this mystery girl.”
“Then you’re wasting your precious energy because nothing can ever come of it. We’re at an impasse.” I shut down my computer, grab my briefcase, and head for the door.
“Why not?” she asks, stepping into the hallway while I lock up.
“I told you. It’s complicated.”
“Maybe I’m not the best person to take relationship advice from,” she says as we walk to the elevator. “But I know a thing or two about love.”
We step into an open elevator and I press the button for the ground floor. Subtle floral notes from Jovie’s perfume fill the space, and I drag an intoxicating breath into my lungs, only allowing myself this brief moment to enjoy it.
