She points at the burly guy I’m just noticing on my front porch. “Damon here says he’s your bodyguard. When did you get a bodyguard?”
He’s huge, a mammoth of a man with tattoos inked down both arms and a full beard that makes him look like a Hell’s Angel.
“At your service, ma’am,” he murmurs in a deep baritone before he crosses his arms and stares back down my front yard.
“I’m sorry, who are you?” I ask the behemoth.
“Mr. Cartwright sent me. I’m supposed to keep those chumps”—he points toward the street—“and anyone not on your approved list off your doorstep.”
I follow his hand and see two media trucks parked on the curb.
Panic permeates my alcohol-saturated body, and I turn to Kendall. “Do I have to say anything? Make a statement?” Please say no!
The urge to puke again is strong. Maybe I can just hurl on the cameraman hiding behind my neighbor’s bush.
“Not yet. Not before we can figure out a few things,” Kendall whispers, ushering me in, but before she can close the door, I yank it open and motion to the man on my doorstep.
“Damon, I don’t need your help. You can tell Mr. Cartwright I don’t need his help either.”
Because fuck Josh, fuck his bodyguard, and fuck all the assholes in the city of Portland.
Maybe I should be grateful Josh sent someone, but I’m pissed that I’ve been so quickly discarded.
And so very heartbroken, I think as I wipe an errant tear. Because instead of coming to see me, he dispatches the help.
Kendall strokes my arm like I’m a stray dog she’s not sure how to approach. “Honey, maybe it’s best if he stays. We don’t know how many people might show up. You can always send him away later if he becomes a menace.”
Damon lifts an eyebrow, never taking his attention away from my front yard.
“You’re not going to be a menace, are you, Damon?” Kendall asks.
“No, ma’am.”
“There ya go,” she says, eyes wide, arms waving, like she just solved the mystery of Bigfoot.
With a huff, she hip-checks me into the house and slams the door shut, which rattles my poor, beleaguered head.
“Can you make sure the curtains are closed?” I mumble as I crawl onto the couch and yank a throw blanket over my head. I don’t want anyone to get a photo of me looking like death. Although… they had ample time while I stood at my front door.
Awesome. Today can’t get any better.
The couch dips with Kendall’s weight, and she gently tugs down the blanket and pets my hair like she used to do after my mom left. I curl up into a ball and close my eyes.
“I almost came over last night, but when you didn’t answer my calls, I thought you might be at Josh’s.”
I shake my head as much as my hangover allows me to. “We broke up, so no, I wasn’t at his house.”
Her horrified screech satisfies the part of me that needs my best friend to be as upset about this as I am.
“That dick broke up with you?” she shrieks. “Are you fucking serious?”
I grab a pillow and smother my head with it. “Don’t yell. Please. If you have any compassion for me at all.”
“Shit. I’m sorry. I won’t yell again.” She reaches over and removes the pillow. “Tell me what happened. You never called me after you met for coffee.”
“The whole day was like being on the Titanic. Gary’s column was the point of impact with the iceberg, but the real trauma—when everyone goes flying off the boat into the frigid water—came later, you know?”
She makes a sound of understanding, and I close my eyes and tell her about seeing Josh with those women at the coffee shop and how I freaked out and fucking cried in front of half of the city.
“That’s understandable, Eves. I would’ve been bawling like a baby too. Please tell me he apologized.”
I nod and relay the rest of our conversation, to the point where he dropped me off at work. When I’m done, she makes this humming sound in the back of her throat.
“What?” I ask, feeling wearier after recounting everything.
“Are you sure he broke up with you? Because why would he go through the trouble of comforting you and assuring you those women meant nothing if he was going to blow you off?”
“Because Josh is a decent human being,” I blurt out. “I’m guessing he was embarrassed by me being hysterical—his family is against making scenes in public—and he wanted me to calm down, so he said what he had to. Why ask for space if he didn’t want to break up? You and I both know ‘taking a break’ is code for breakup, but I don’t think he had the nerve to say that outright. Like he thought I was too fragile, and he wanted to let me down easily.”
“Fuck. I can see your point. Well, damn, that sucks. Because when we went to dinner, I thought he was really into you.”
I sigh, and it’s deep and reeks of despair. “Yeah. Me too.”
Out of the corner of my eye, the light from an incoming text on my phone catches my attention. It’s from Penny and only says two words and an emoji: Sorry, honey! :(
Attached is a screenshot of a letter from Sullivan Montgomery, Josh’s family firm, requesting his client files.
Of course.
That’s all it takes for the floodgates to open, and I can’t help the rush of tears down my face.
“What?” Kendall asks, her face etched with worry.
I wave my phone before I toss it into my bag at the foot of the couch. “Josh is switching law firms.”
“What the fuck?”
Shaking my head, I feel the need to justify his actions. “It’s the smart thing to do. He should be with an attorney who can defend him. I can’t even go to my office.”
Her warm arms wrap around me, and she lets me cry. Because that’s what best friends do. We sit in silence for a while after the tears finally subside, and then she says she’s hanging out with me all day.
“Don’t you have to go to work?” I sniffle. She’s always juggling ten different clients at once.
“Nothing is more important than cheering you up and helping you get through this. You’re my oldest and dearest friend, and if I have to go out there and eviscerate some douchebag photographer with a broken wine bottle, I will totally do it.”
Laughing, I squeeze her. “You’re a little psycho when you want to be.”
“And don’t you forget it.” She buffs her French manicure on her cashmere sweater. “As long as this means you won’t try to set me up with Drew Merritt again, I will totally go Tony Soprano on anyone who messes with you.”
“You have a deal.”
Half an hour later, Kendall’s cut up some fresh fruit, made a veggie omelet, and percolated a pot of coffee.
As she serves me a small plate of food, she asks about work.
“They haven’t fired me. Yet.” I explain how I still have to make myself available for Nathan and Angela and help them “get up to speed” on my cases.
Which makes me wonder if Angela was the one who leaked the story to the press. She had everything to gain—getting me fired means her making partner is a sure thing. Malcolm’s firm desperately needs a female partner, which means without me around, Angela is a shoo-in.
Kendall’s shaking her head with an expression that says she thinks all of these people are vile, when there’s a firm knock at the front door.