With a sigh, I set down my phone and picked up my scotch, sipping the golden liquid with appreciation. I studied Molly in the dim light of the restaurant. She was lovely—if you were into tall, willowy brunettes with great tits.
Which I was.
But her expression was dissatisfied. Her dark eyes narrowed as she tapped her wineglass with her long nails and regarded me with a scowl pulling down her mouth. I was tempted to remind her frowning causes wrinkles, but I refrained.
“I don’t do relationships, Molly. I was very upfront about that. I’m happy to take you to dinner or the odd social function, even away for the weekend, but that’s all I can offer you.”
“And sex,” she added. “You like sex.”
“Yep. I was upfront about that too. You’ve never complained about it before.” I paused, choosing my words carefully. “I’m not your happily ever after, Molly. I don’t do that shit. You know that.”
“You are the most emotionally unavailable man I have ever met.”
I wanted to roll my eyes. This was hardly news. I didn’t believe in emotions—unless it was anger that I could funnel into winning a case. Fury, frustration, hate—those emotions were useful to me. They were what I built my business on. And they were more truthful than the one emotion I steered clear of. Love. It was the most dangerous one of them all. Four small letters that had the power to destroy everything in their path.
I shook my head to clear my train of thought. Molly was frowning again, obviously pissed off that I wasn’t responding to her words. I picked up my drink again.
I had a feeling I would need it tonight.
“I think if you look hard enough, none of us males are very invested, Molly. At least not the kind of man you seem to like.”
“What does that mean?” She crossed her arms, pressing her already high breasts together, making them even more visible.
“You like rich men. Men like me who buy you things. Take you to dinner.”
She tossed her hair. “And?”
I shrugged. “The kind of man who can afford you isn’t usually looking for an in-depth relationship.”
“You are so rude.”
“I call it as I see it. Besides, you knew all this going in. I take you to dinner, we have sex, I buy you the occasional present. It’s worked so far, so what’s the problem?”
She sat back, crossing her legs, showing off her calves in her short skirt. Her top leg swung quickly, showing her agitation.
“I’ve barely seen you for two weeks. And why do you look so tired? The bags under your eyes are worse than normal. It’s not attractive, Hal.”
I refrained from telling her exactly how hard I worked—it was a concept too foreign for her to understand. So was my constant insomnia. She wouldn’t know about it since I never spent the night with her—or anyone. I kept that stuff private. Instead, I held up my phone. “Work. I’m juggling five cases right now, all of them nasty. I pushed everything aside to have dinner with you tonight.”
“And you’ve been on your phone the whole time,” she whined. Her voice grated on my nerves, and I recalled Rene’s comments. He was right—it was nasal and high, yet somehow, I had never noticed it until now. I studied her a little harder. I also never noticed how much makeup she wore or her rather questionable wardrobe choices. If she bent over the table, I was certain the restaurant was going to get quite the show. Her tits practically hung out of the plunging neckline. Between that and the inappropriate skirt length, she screamed “Look at me!”
What had I been thinking?
Internally, I shook my head. As usual when it came to women, I hadn’t been thinking with the right head. Those great tits had clouded my judgment and led me astray once again.
“I need more attention,” she added. “I want to go away this weekend.” She lifted her chin. “And I want a present to make up for the time you’ve been ignoring me.”
I was done. With a sigh, I set down my glass—it was a shame we hadn’t eaten yet. I was looking forward to my filet. I lowered my voice, using the one I had honed over the years of talking to judges, juries, and clients. It cajoled and soothed, led them in the direction I needed them to go.
“I think what we need is to call this dinner what it really is, sweetheart. Our last meal together. A goodbye.”
I called all the women I dated sweetheart. It saved my ass trying to make sure I called out the right name during sex.
Her eyebrows flew up. “What?”
“We want two different things,” I stated, then launched into my usual exit summary. “You’re great, Molly, and you deserve a guy who can appreciate all you have to offer. Who can devote his time and attention to you. That’s not me. I don’t think we should see each other anymore.”
“You’re breaking up with me?”
“Yes.”
Her fingers tightened on her wineglass, and I could read her thoughts.
“I wouldn’t do that.” I indicated the wineglass she was slowly lifting. “My scotch would burn far more going in your direction.”
“You wouldn’t,” she gasped quietly. She eyed me warily, unsure if she believed her own words.
She was right. I would never throw liquor in the face of a woman, no matter what she had done. I had class and manners.
And I wouldn’t want to waste the scotch.
“Try me,” I taunted.
“You’re an asshole.”
“Guilty as charged.”
Her fingers moved again, and I waited, cursing the fact that I had worn my favorite gray suit today. The red wine was gonna stain it for sure.
Dammit.
Then, in a move I didn’t expect, she picked up her water glass and flung the contents at me. I tilted my head, and thankfully, her aim was awful and most of the cold liquid flew past my shoulder, hitting the wall behind me, the sound loud in the quiet restaurant, the ice hitting the surface and the water running in rivulets to the carpet.
She stood, screeching at me.
“No one breaks up with me!”
I lifted my napkin and wiped at my cheek.
“I think, sweetheart, you’re wrong there. I just did.”
She stamped her foot like a toddler and stormed out of the restaurant, cursing my name in a very unladylike fashion.
I had to admit, this was a first for me. Usually I broke up with them in private and sent flowers the next day wishing them well. Molly had been an exception from the moment I met her. A mistake—a huge error in judgment on my part.
A waiter appeared, removing her table setting. Another waiter made quick work of the mess she had made behind me. “Another scotch, sir?”
I was going to refuse and ask for the bill, but to my surprise, after the initial gawking, everyone around me went back to their meals, not in the least put out.
I was sure I should be more embarrassed than I was, yet I felt only relief. A scene was a small price to pay to be rid of her. I had realized as soon as the words were out of my mouth, I was ready for her to be gone. She was tiresome and taxing. Constantly at me over every detail in her life—most of which I had no interest in. Demanding gifts—of the kind that came in a box and that of my time. The kind I could buy were easier to give, but my time was limited, and I was over it. All of it. I needed to take a break from women completely and concentrate on my career.