that his ex-wife was the actual devil, he had days like this to remind him. There was no other explanation for why he’d been thrust into a situation where he’d be tormented. Tempted, day in and day out, for three solid weeks, with what he absolutely, without a doubt, could not have.
He walked his client, Travis Allen, out of the Starlight Haven Inn, schooling his features as he kept a tight leash on his irritation, despite anger crackling beneath his skin. For years, he’d been able to separate what his clients did and said from what he needed to fight for on their behalf. So then, why was he letting Travis’s dick comments get to him?
“What do you think of Red in there?” Travis elbowed Cole in the stomach and nodded back toward the inn. “Think it’s natural?”
Clenching his hands into fists, Cole locked his jaw and reminded himself that his relationship with Travis—both personal and professional—would soon be coming to an end. And then he was done doing favors for old friends. He was still feeling the chill courtesy of his last one.
He clapped Travis on the shoulder, much harder than necessary, and barely bit back the smile at the guy’s sharp Oof. “Just so there’s no confusion,” he said, his tone low but firm, “I absolutely will not represent you in a sexual harassment case.”
Travis chuckled and shook his head. “Aw, c’mon, man. I was just playin’ around. She’s hot, though, isn’t she? A little young and innocent for my usual tastes, but I can definitely work with that. Dirty her up, know what I’m sayin’? Think she was just givin’ me a line about havin’ a boyfriend?”
Cole refused to look back at Sadie Rollins—aforementioned “young and innocent,” his undeclared nemesis, and possibly the most idealistic, not to mention gorgeous, woman he’d ever met. Also, one of a very few people in Havenbrook responsible for keeping him in business.
After all, without marriages, there wouldn’t be divorces, and he’d be out of a job.
Sadie might be there to set those couples up with the illusion of their happy ending, but Cole was the one who was around to pick up the pieces when it inevitably fell apart.
“I don’t know, and I don’t care,” Cole said, concealing all emotion in his tone. With a firm hand, he guided Travis toward his ostentatious truck—the one Cole liked to refer to as Travis’s Small-Dick Express—eager to put an end to this interaction. “And you shouldn’t either. If you want that laundry list of demands from your wife, you better not get caught fucking around in town.”
Travis held up his hands. “All right, man. Point taken.” He shot finger guns—complete with sound effects—in Cole’s direction before opening the door to his jacked-up F-250 and climbing up. “I’m so damn glad we rushed the same fraternity back in the day. I wouldn’t be gettin’ fuck-all if it weren’t for you.”
Without another word, Travis slid into the driver’s seat before starting the overdone beast and peeling out of the driveway.
“Yeah, that’s the problem,” Cole muttered to himself as he ran a tired hand through his hair.
Working with people like Travis hadn’t always been so exhausting. Ever since his ex-wife—the she-devil—had blindsided him with the one-two punch of sleeping with his former best friend and then serving him with divorce papers after he found out, he’d gladly slid into his role as take-no-prisoners divorce attorney, able to move past that deception by representing men in similar situations and making sure they got their revenge in court. And he’d made a name for himself by doing so. Enough that it was no longer only wronged men who sought him out.
But somehow, revenge wasn’t enough anymore. He didn’t know what had changed in the past few months, but lately, he’d felt…unsettled. Though, his current upheaval certainly wasn’t helping things. Cole didn’t do well with change, and he was presently living in a constant state of it, thanks to his temporary home.
He inhaled a few lungfuls of the crisp December air as he pressed his thumb and forefinger to his closed eyes and mentally counted down how many days he had left in this hellhole.
“What’re you doin’ out here in the cold, sugar?” Edna, Havenbrook’s mail carrier, called from her old Jeep before stepping out with a package in tow.
“Afternoon, Edna.” He tipped his head at the older woman currently decked out in a flashing holiday sweater that read, Come deck my halls, Santa. “How’s your day been?”
“It’s about