Girls' Guide to Flirting with Danger. Kimberly Lang
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boiled in her stomach. Julie and Alice were feigning attention to their lunches, but she could feel their pity and it tossed fuel on that fire. She fiddled with a pencil, focusing on it as she forced herself to remain outwardly calm.
“I understand. I’ll work with Alice to get everything rearranged after I finish with my anger-management group this afternoon….” She trailed off as Dr. Weiss shook her head.
“I’ll handle your group.”
The pencil snapped.
Dr. Weiss’s eyebrows went up. “Perhaps you might wish to join the group this afternoon.”
“No.” She forced her jaw to unclench and tried to smile. “It’s okay. I’ll start getting everything together. Alice, when you’re finished with your lunch, will you have a few minutes to look at my schedule?”
Alice nodded, and Dr. Weiss looked pleased—or maybe not. It was very hard to tell.
“This isn’t a punishment, Megan. As you say, this will die down soon, and you can work on those journal submissions while we wait for it to pass.”
“That’s a wonderful idea, Dr. Weiss.” And I’ll get right on that, right after I kill Devin Kenney.
Megan managed to walk out of the break room with some small measure of dignity, but she couldn’t get her fists to unclench. Her nails were digging painfully into her palms by the time she made it back to her office and shut the door.
Trying to focus on something other than Devin, she checked her calendar and started pulling files and making notes for Julie and Nate, the other therapist, who’d been with a client and missed the fun. But she was sure he’d be brought up to speed about thirty seconds after his client left.
I’m not fired. I’m not being punished. This will blow over.
Damn Dev. How many more times would she have to reorganize her life because of him?
This will blow over soon enough.
She kept repeating that phrase until she heard the soft knock and looked up to see Julie and Alice tiptoeing in.
“We’re so sorry,” Julie said.
“There’s nothing to be sorry about. This will pass.”
Julie sat in the chair across from her desk as Alice took the files from Megan’s hands. “We all know hate is a very negative emotion,” Julie began, “but I think we’d all agree that it’s not an inappropriate one in this situation.”
“Thanks, Jules.” She sighed. “You know, I’ve never hated anyone before in my entire life.”
“Not even Devin?”
“Oddly enough, no.” At Julie’s obvious disbelief, she tried to explain. “It wasn’t like that. I was bitter and angry and hurt, but I didn’t hate him. I was disappointed, disillusioned, heartbroken … but it never crossed over into actual hate.” She shrugged. “And then I moved on. Dev’s obviously the one with lingering issues.”
“Sounds like he could use a good therapist.” Julie smirked. “Know any?”
“Sadly, I’m off the clock for the foreseeable future.” She rested her head on her hands. “All that time patting myself on the back because I’d moved on. Now I’m angry. The man is dead meat if I ever get my hands on him. Like I could,” she scoffed. “I’m sure he’s unlisted these days, and I doubt his firm would let me in the front door.”
“You could just go to his book signing, you know,” Alice offered.
That caught her attention. “His book signing?”
Alice nodded. “There was an ad in the paper today. He’s signing books downtown today from three to five.”
“Really. Hmm.” Devin was in town—not off doing the talk-show rounds in New York or L.A. “Interesting …”
“Megan …” Julie’s voice held a warning tone. “Do not make this worse.”
Megan was already running a search on Google for the bookstore. “How could it possibly be any worse? He’s already destroying my career, my reputation, my life.”
“Nothing’s in complete ruins just yet. Let’s not build a bonfire in the rubble prematurely.”
“I’m a professional, Julie. I think I can confront my ex-husband in a positive, appropriate manner.”
Julie snorted. “You really think that?”
Megan lifted her chin. “I do.”
“You know that means you can’t kill him, right? Or even throw a punch?”
She leaned back in her chair and closed her eyes. “Unfortunately, yes. But I’ve got to put a stop to this somehow. Before it gets any more out of hand.”
“You, Devin Kenney, are a force of nature, my friend. Incredible. You need anything? Water? A soda? By the way, love the shirt. It looks great on you.”
Devin wasn’t even slightly bolstered by Manny Field’s exuberance or insulted that Manny bolted off before those words were fully out of his mouth. It was just part of the job. Manny saw everything in terms of his 15 percent, and Devin knew he was the biggest cash cow in Manny’s herd at the moment; therefore, he was worth milking. And sucking up to, as well, he thought darkly. But Manny was his agent, not his friend—the kowtowing notwithstanding—and as his agent, Manny had made Devin a hell of a lot of money.
And vice versa—hence the pandering.
The last person in line approached. He scrawled his name one more time and handed the book over with a nod, trying to ignore the overbright smile and overenhanced cleavage of the woman gushing at him. She looked as if she was in the market for a husband—not looking to leave one. Just as the feeling registered, her next words confirmed that hypothesis.
“You know, Mr. Kenney—or can I call you Devin?—even after my last divorce, which your book would have helped me considerably with, I still think I’m a bit of a romantic at heart.” She smiled coyly and leaned forward, offering him another view right down the front of her blouse. “What about you? Are you still looking for true, lasting love?”
His on-air persona of Bitter Divorced Guy helped—a little—to avoid situations like this, but some women saw that as a challenge instead.
“If I—or anyone else—really believed in true, lasting love, I’d be out of a job.”
That should have shut her down midflirt, but instead she leaned closer and murmured huskily, “Maybe you haven’t met the right woman yet.”
Maybe Manny needs to get his ass back over here and run some interference. He heard the quiet whir of a camera and knew this woman and her breasts were about to make the front page of someone’s blog. Great. He didn’t want to insult a fan with his rebuff, but he didn’t want to hear the next offer either. Where the hell is Manny?
He scanned the store until he found Manny engaged in a conversation with a small blonde. Her back was to him, so he couldn’t see her face, but Manny certainly looked aggravated. The woman spoke animatedly, the motion causing a long ponytail to sway against her shoulders. She was casually dressed, the white T-shirt skimming over a lovely back and narrow waist before it disappeared into the waistband of faded jeans. Those jeans hugged her butt in a way that got his body’s attention—much more so than the cleavage nearly under his nose.
The woman hitched a battered brown bag over her shoulder, and something about the movement seemed oddly familiar. A moment later she turned to look in his direction and pinned him with a stare.
Megan.
Aware she now had his attention, she turned to face him, crossed her arms over her chest and tilted her head to one side. As her weight shifted onto her back leg, two