But now Matt was so happy with the new twist of his life that he didn’t even mind when Ben made fun of him and Harold was beside himself every time Rebecca stopped by his office.
He didn’t mind that copies of Bride magazine were popping up at his mom’s house, and that on more than one occasion, when he walked into the room, his mother and Bella would suddenly stop talking and pretend that they weren’t planning a wedding. He supposed the thought had even crossed his bachelor’s mind. How could he not think about it? Rebecca was impossible not to love. Her presence was gold—bright and warm and soothing, particularly on those days he bombed in court. She knew instinctively what to do, how to bring peace to him again. He could see why her sisters relied so heavily on her.
He was surprised at how artistically talented she was. One day, she had dragged him out to the old barn to ask his opinion of whether or not it could be converted into a studio/office. That was when he had seen some of her paintings that she had stored there and he’d been stunned by them.
“Oh, those,” she said with a shrug. “I did those a long time ago, before Grayson.”
“You should definitely paint, Rebecca,” he had declared emphatically.
Rebecca had laughed that gentle-rain laugh, kissed him on the cheek, and walked out of the barn. And he knew—because that was the way it was between them now, that sixth sense of knowing another person well—that she would paint again, in her own good time.
Yep, ol’ Matt Parrish, former player and ladies’ man about town, was having a wonderfully new and exciting time in the company of Rebecca. He was discovering new things about himself, as well. Too bad this little epiphany he was having about love and life was not extending to work or Tom’s campaign.
Or perhaps he was experiencing the same sort of epiphany there, too, but without the positive light shining on it. For the first time since Matt and Ben had partnered up, he was seeing their firm differently. It was a slow dawning, happening over time, beginning with a talk he had with Rebecca, when he had said out loud for the first time what he’d known deep inside for a long while—that he and Ben were at opposite ends of the spectrum when it came to their business. Ben was Matt’s best friend, and this dawning reality was a hard one to own up to. Together, they had been through a lot of good and bad times, both personally and professionally. And all of a sudden, it was as if the heavens had opened up and shone a light right on the crux of the uneasiness buried in him—Matt knew he could not spend the rest of his life in a firm that was all about chasing the buck.
Where exactly that left him, he wasn’t entirely sure. He supposed he could begin a practice on his own, which wasn’t so appealing at this stage of his career. Or pursue the DA thing. But even that was beginning to look a little shaky, thanks to his exposure to Tom’s campaign.
Tom had calmed down quite a bit once Rebecca agreed to continue the fundraiser, and now that the legislative session was over, they were heading into the critical late summer months of the race, and Tom was coming on like gangbusters. In fact, he had called Matt at the office one day and asked him to dig up some dirt on the Independent guy, Russ Erwin.
“Why?” Matt had asked. “He’s no threat to you.”
“We’re going negative, I told you,” Tom had snapped. “There’s got to be something in that fruitcake’s background to exploit.”
Biting back a more stinging retort, Matt had managed to calmly ask, “Did I hear you correctly? Did you just ask me to find something to exploit?”
“Yeah, why?”
“Why? Because you know how I feel about that, Tom. I spend my days representing people who have been exploited. I just don’t understand why this campaign can’t be about the issues, not what you can exploit. That leaves a bad taste in the mouth.”
“For God’s sake, Parrish, when are you going to climb down off that ivory soapbox and back off and let me run my own campaign?” Tom had shot back. That had worked, had definitely struck a nerve Matt had not known existed before Rebecca accused him of doing the same thing. Mowing everyone down, she had said.
“I’m not asking you to invent something,” Tom continued testily. “I’m just asking you to take a look.”
And Matt wondered why he was still supporting Tom Masters, and if he hadn’t perhaps exploited himself with the words district attorney dangling in front of him.
The moment he hung up the phone, Harold was at his door, smiling like a Cheshire cat. “What is it?” Matt had asked absently.