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  The best thing about the heavy workload was that he had next to no time to think about Andrea.

  He spent the next week in a blind stupor. He and Gigi would be the first ones at the office and the last ones to leave every day. Their relationship was, to his utter surprise, completely platonic.

  Ever since they’d reconciled, they’d formed a shaky friendship. It was something strange and new for him—to sit with a woman for hours on end and just talk about work. Of course, he still noticed her clothes…and the fact that she wore less pantsuits. But he wasn’t trying to get under her skirts, and she made no moves toward him.

  It was nice.

  It was like having a friend.

  The second week of silence from Andrea, he started working on other projects Gigi had handed to him now that she kind of trusted him. Cases he rarely would have looked at before—disability cases, domestic violence, housing disputes. But the majority of them were dealing with the orphanage that Cooper & Nielson sponsored ever year at their annual gala event. In some way, these matters took his mind off of his own issues far more easily than big corporate law cases.

  But at night was when it got tricky.

  The breakup was hitting him much harder than he could have ever imagined. Even harder than that because he’d never once even imagined a breakup. Away from work, the only way he could forget the insanity that was now his life was when alcohol would numb the pain.

  “Hey,” Gigi said, sticking her head into his office, “I’m about to head out. You want to get a drink or something?”

  “Yes.” He grabbed his coat as he stood. “I most definitely need a drink.”

  “Why am I not surprised?” She led the way to the elevator.

  “Hey, you invited me. You can’t then insult my drinking habits.”

  Gigi raised her eyebrows as the elevator deposited them into the parking garage. “Oh, I definitely can.”

  “Whatever. You drink like a fish, too.” He clicked the fob for his Porsche, unlocking the car.

  “I never said that I didn’t have a problem,” she said, dumping her purse on the floor of his Porsche and sinking into the passenger seat. “I just said you have a bigger problem.”

  He smirked his classic dimple grin at her. It had been harder and harder to find it since Andrea had left. Fuck, it had already been two weeks. He tried to block the thought from his head, but it just reared up without warning.

  Gigi and he decided on a place a short distance from the office. Nowhere he used to frequent with the guys. Nowhere that Andrea would show up. Just a regular bar that would be happy to serve him whiskey while Gigi downed vodka like a champ.

  “So, tell me what really happened with you and your girlfriend,” she prodded after they were a few drinks in. “You never really said what happened.”

  Clay tossed back his whiskey and shot her an exasperated glance. “I was hoping you’d never ask.”

  “Well, I’m asking now. So, lay it on me.”

  “I don’t know. After we ended up at Yale together, we were in a relationship for ten years. We’d been talking for the five years before that. She has abandonment issues because of her parents’ divorce and I…” He paused, not sure how much he was ready to divulge.

  “You?”

  “I have a lot to live up to,” he admitted.

  “No shit. Your dad and brother are in Congress. No wonder you work so hard.”

  He shrugged. “Whatever. Andrea and I decided we’d have an open relationship. No one would get hurt, but that night when I first met you, I got attacked. I was robbed and beaten to within an inch of my life. I was lucky someone had found me and brought me to the hospital.”

  “Fuck,” she groaned. “That’s awful.”

  “Yeah. I guess Andrea thought that changed shit.”

  “That would definitely change shit.”

  “But then she wanted it to mean things I just wasn’t ready for.”

  “Like what?”

  Clay shrugged. Everything. He hadn’t been ready for anything she was sending his way. She had wanted more than the arrangement they’d had, and he hadn’t been ready to hear that. He knew that now. He’d been spooked. The thought of changing the way things were terrified him. She had gone and changed things anyway.

  He knew that he hadn’t been fully with it since leaving the Supreme Court. Too locked in his own head about moving forward with Daddy’s plan for his life that he’d neglected her and himself.

  He was damn sure that, if he got that second chance, then he wasn’t going to make the same mistake twice.

  “A real relationship. We argued about it, and she thinks I slept with someone else.”

  “Did you?” Gigi asked with raised eyebrows.

  “No. But I told her I was going to.”

  “Why would you do that?” she demanded. “Guys are such idiots.”

  “I don’t know. I was drunk, and we were arguing. I just wanted to make her as mad as I was. Now, she won’t even talk to me.”

  “Well, I wouldn’t talk to your dumb ass either,” Gigi said. “After ten years, and you’re bugging because the girl wants a relationship? That’s madness. I thought Marcus and I were fucked up.”

  Clay laughed. “You and Small Dick were fucked up.”

  Gigi finished off her double shot of Grey Goose and leaned forward toward him. She poked him in the chest twice. Hard. “You know you love her, right?”

  “I…what?”

  “You love her. That’s why you’re totally insane right now.”

  “Yeah,” he said softly. Then, he called for another round of drinks. “Course I love her. Doesn’t mean a damn thing to her right now.”

  Chapter 14

  SNOWBALLS & AVALANCHES

  There was always a moment.

  That one moment that changed everything.

  Clay’s moment was named Candace.

  It had been a month of radio silence. Andrea hadn’t called or texted. She hadn’t been on any social media accounts. Her life associated with him had essentially been blocked since the inauguration.

  Silence was deafening.

  It was needy and greedy.

  It ate him up from the inside out.

  It cracked him around the edges, broke down his walls, and left room for the Candaces of the world to crawl in and wreak havoc.

  He had promised himself that he wasn’t going to give in. All he’d been thinking about for a fucking month straight was Andrea. He swore, he was going to wait to hear from her. He was going to convince her to come back and make all those promises she wanted to hear…that he feared he would break.

  Other women weren’t the answer.

  Rationally.

  Logically.

  It made perfect sense to him. Fucking a dumb brunette over the sink of the bar restroom wasn’t going to make him suddenly feel better. But there was always the difference between knowing and knowing.

  One head didn’t exactly talk to the other.

  And he’d fucking tried to stay away. He knew what he wanted. But what he wanted didn’t even want to talk to him, let alone fuck him. She wanted to leave him in that long deafening silence without even a sliver of hope. Not even a note on the goddamn table. Not even a single fucking text message proclaiming him a douche bag.

  He’d wanted a chance to explain himself, to fix the shit he’d said. But she wouldn’t give it to him. She didn’t want an explanation. She wanted to get the fuck out of his life and leave him high and dry. That was her right—to be a strong woman and tell him, for all intents and purposes, to go fuck himself. He still hated it—the silence, the absence, the pain.

  So, he’d given in.

  He’d held off all night. All fucking night.

  Ethan and Cash had found it hysterical. Having never really liked Andrea or gotten to know the new incredible woman she’d grown into—another thing that Clay knew was his fault. The guys were stoked that he and Andrea had broken up. Both egged Clay on not to just continue the life he’d been
living, but to also embrace the new freedom to fuck whomever he wanted, whenever he wanted, however he wanted.

  But he hadn’t.

  Until Candace. Until she weaseled her way onto his fucking lap, teased him with filthy fucking words, dragged him hand over fist to the restroom, and begged him to take her like the dirty slut she was.

  Her words.

  It was like an avalanche. It all started with one tiny snowball. Then, as it picked up speed, it cascaded down the mountain, clearing out everything in its path.

  Candace was his snowball. Just one tipped him straight over the edge, like a reformed junkie doing his first line of coke after rehab.

  Like an idiot, he was back at the bar every night, running through women as fast as he could go through them, trying to find an ounce of what he was looking for in any of them. He never found it. It wasn’t there anymore. It was pure unadulterated sex. No feelings, no emotions. Just lust and desire and fucking.

  It was fine for a while since it kept him occupied. Blew off steam from the long workdays. Kept his friends from needling him. Kept him from thinking. Period.

  There was already a girl for tonight. He’d picked her out when he walked into the place. Ethan and Cash hit on her friends, but she’d been eyeing him all night. He hated putting in effort now. It used to be fun—the chase, the game. There was no game now. That, Andrea had completely abolished.

  “Are you going to go talk to her?” Cash asked, nudging him in the direction of the girl.

  “No.”

  Ethan gave him a sympathetic look. Clay was sure he hadn’t been as sympathetic when Ethan’s wife, Terri, had left him in law school. Or maybe he was mistaking the look.

  Fuck, this wasn’t even what he wanted.

  He glanced over at the chick. She caught his gaze and nodded her head to the side. She raised her eyebrows and then started walking toward the side entrance. Subtle.

  “I have to make a phone call,” Clay said, standing.

  “Are you kidding me?” Cash asked. “That girl just invited you to go fuck her.”

  Clay shrugged. “I’ve had better. Why don’t you go get her off?”

  He dropped two twenties on the bar and then walked in the opposite direction of the girl. Silence was getting to him tonight. He’d told Brady that he wouldn’t call. She wanted space. He’d give her space. But, tonight…he just didn’t care about that promise. He wanted to talk to her.

  He dialed Andrea’s number before he lost the nerve.

  He didn’t think she’d answer. He thought she might have even changed her phone number. The locks had changed. What other damage could she inflict?

  But, to his surprise, the line clicked over.

  She didn’t say anything at first, as if she were debating with herself as to why she had picked up the phone. He didn’t have the answer to that, but he’d sure like to.

  “Andrea?” he said.

  Then, after a slow deep breath for courage, she said softly, “Hey.”

  “Hey.”

  “Why are you calling me?”

  He heard in her voice how she was clinging to that hardened exterior she’d built up for years. The snotty bitch who didn’t let anything touch her. He’d broken through to her before. He could do it again.

  “I just wanted to talk.”

  Andrea paused and sighed. “It sounds like you’re at a bar.”

  “What else do I have to do?”

  She didn’t respond.

  “What do you want, Clay?”

  “I want answers, Andrea.”

  She scoffed. “You have answers.”

  “We haven’t spoken in weeks.”

  “And we shouldn’t be talking right now.”

  “You busy? Are you somewhere important?” Clay pressed his phone harder against his ear and moved deeper into the hallway, away from the noise.

  She was so quiet. She clearly did not want to be having this conversation.

  “As a matter of fact, I am.”

  Clay knew just what that meant. “What’s his name?” he drawled lazily.

  “Clay, don’t.”

  “You have a game for me tonight? Is that why you answered?”

  “Clay…”

  “Any real competition?” he asked. He could practically see her squirming on the other end of the phone.

  “That’s not why I answered, and it’d better not be why you called.”

  No, it wasn’t. He’d called because he missed her. Because fucking everything that walked did nothing for him. “I want you back, Andrea.”

  “No, you don’t,” she said firmly. “You keep saying I. I want this. I want that. Well, I don’t care what you want. What about what I want?”

  “Fuck, Andrea, what do you want?” he asked, running a hand back through his disheveled hair.

  “It doesn’t matter because you can’t give it to me.”

  Clay cringed, glad that she couldn’t see him. He hadn’t had enough alcohol for this. “How do you know I can’t give it to you if you don’t tell me what it is?”

  Andrea laughed. “I told you already, Clay, and you made your choice perfectly clear. So, I’m going to go now.”

  “Andrea,” he said, keeping her from hanging up on him in anger.

  “What?”

  “Why’d you really pick up?”

  “I guess I’m just a masochist,” she murmured into the phone.

  “You’ve always been one of those, but that’s not it.” He could sense there was something else.

  “Fine. It’s late, and I still worry about you.” She sighed, as if the admission hurt her. “So, don’t call me again unless you’re really in trouble.”

  The line went dead in his hands, and he felt like chucking his phone across the room.

  Well, that hadn’t gone as he’d planned. He was pissed and frustrated and didn’t know what the fuck to do. Sleeping around hadn’t helped. Drowning in booze hadn’t helped. Talking to her definitely hadn’t helped.

  Maybe it was time to just let the bullshit go.

  “Are you sure you want to do this?” Gigi asked him.

  She held a crisp white envelope in her hand. The Cooper & Nielson logo was embossed on the front. A gold foil sticker had been placed over the flap with a raised C&N. The party invitation was sleek and powerful and the absolute only way to get into the exclusive annual event.

  “I’m sure.”

  “I thought that, when you called me to pick you up the night you talked to Andrea on the phone, you were a real idiot, but this…” She plucked the other invitation from his hand and held the pair aloft. “This is mental.”

  “It’s my chance.”

  “You broke up two months ago, Clay,” Gigi said softly. “I hate to say it, but the likelihood of her, one, being excited that you’re randomly showing up to see her, and two, accepting your invitation to a gala event are pretty slim.”

  Clay shrugged unperturbed. “Big gestures run in the family.”

  “Oh, so, now, you want to be associated with your family?”

  “What do you want me to do, Gigi? Do you think I should just let her go? Wash fifteen years down the drain?” he asked.

  “I didn’t say that, idiot. I just want to make sure you know what you’re walking into.”

  “Well, thanks for your kindness, De Rosa, but I have a feeling that I’m just going to have to be an idiot either way with her.”

  “Not sure you know how to be anything else.”

  “Now that, that’s settled,” he said with a grin.

  He should have been wallowing after that conversation with Andrea. It should have turned him on his head and made him dive headfirst into a drunken pit. That was how he had always reacted to bad situations in the past. He was practically an alcoholic with his drinking tendencies. He never went anywhere without a drink in hand.

  But something had clicked when he talked to Andrea.

  She’d admitted that she worried about him.

  And, if she worried about him, that
meant she thought about him.

  And, if she thought about him, that meant there was hope.

  And, if there was hope, then the shit he’d been pulling the last couple of weeks needed to stop.

  When he’d asked Gigi for her help, she’d looked at him in wide-eyed wonder. He was pretty sure she legitimately thought he was insane. But who else could I ask?

  She was the closest thing he’d come to know as a friend in a really long time. Liz was on Andrea’s side at this point. Brady was too busy with work, not that Clay really wanted to ask for his help. And the guys were against him ever seriously dating again.

  So, Clay had decided to take matters into his own hands.

  He’d cut back his drinking habits. Stopped fucking around. No more revolving door of women.

  And it’d been easy. Well, easy enough at least.

  “Do you want me to go with you?” she asked. She looked nervous for him. “I could drive you.”

  “I appreciate it, but no. I need to do this alone.”

  She shook her head and straightened the bow tie of his suit. “Well, at least you look hot.”

  “That’s a constant.”

  Gigi smacked his sleeve. “Just go get your girl.”

  Clay retrieved the gala invites from Gigi, and she shot him one last anxious look.

  “Let me know how it goes.”

  He shot her a dimpled grin. “Will do.”

  Then, he left the office, took his Porsche uptown, and parked in front of a small modern-looking building. He knew he was in the right place by the other cars he followed into the lot. High-end clients were here to purchase expensive artwork. The pulse of the most privileged and influential in D.C. were in one building. But he wasn’t here for them.

  He was here for her.

  He stepped out of his car, straightened his bow tie one more time, and then walked toward the building with newfound hope to correct his errors.