Perfect for You

not?"
    "I—"
    "I just want the truth."
    He raked a hand through his hair. "It's not that cut and dried."
    "Yes, actually it is." She picked up a paperback that happened to be on a small table close to her and chucked it at him. "I think you're a bastard !"
    "Hey!" He ducked the flying book. "I thought you promised no violence."
    "I promised not to hit. I never said anything about throwing."
    In a blink of an eye he was standing next to her, clasping her arms. To keep her from throwing anything else, she supposed.
    Getting in her face so she had no choice but to look him in the eye, he said, "It's not my fault."
    "Yeah, you masterminded it so it'd be Connor's fault."
    He shook his head. "This isn't what you think. Let me explain."
    "I don't need an explanation. I understand the situation perfectly." She struggled to loosen his grip on her so she could step back. The warm scent of him was seriously incapacitating. "I was a challenge you decided to undertake, and by making all the other guys I was dating look bad, you made yourself look so good that I couldn't help but fall in—" she choked on the word and, vowing she wouldn't give him that satisfaction, continued to say—"into bed with you."
    "That's not true," he said firmly.
    "Right." Jerking herself out of his grip, she began to pace again. "I can't believe I fell for it. At least I got some mediocre sex out of all this."
    He grabbed her arm and twirled her around. She felt a surge of satisfaction that she finally touched on a sore spot. Now he looked as pissed off as she felt.
    "This"—with his hand he motioned between them—"was not only about sex, which was pretty damn amazing, and you know it. You wanted me as much as I wanted you. You're just too stubborn to admit it."
    She snorted.
    "But not even you can deny that we were good together. Together we worked ," he said with feeling. "We worked so well you were happy and creative."
    "Is this what you sound like when you're in front of a jury?" she asked dispassionately.
    "I'm a divorce lawyer. There is no jury. And don't use my job to put space between us." He pulled her closer. "Say what you want, but you know I'm not like the greedy lawyer your father had."
    "But that's exactly what you are. You'll do anything to get what you want, regardless of the consequences for other people. You're ruthless and cruel."
    "Is that what you really think?"
    She had to look away from the raw hurt in his eyes.
    "Don't tell me that in all the time we've spent together, getting to know each other, that you haven't noticed how I feel about you," he said in a low rasp.
    "What you felt was the need to win."
    He withdrew, his expression cool. "That's seriously what you think of me? After all this time we've spent together?"
    "What am I supposed to think?" She threw her hands in the air. "All I know is that you got Connor to misrepresent himself. He could have been better for me, but we'll never know, will we?"
    "If Connor was The One, he wouldn't have listened to what anyone else said about you. He would have bothered to figure it out for himself."
    "He didn't get a chance to."
    "He didn't deserve a chance." Greg made a disgusted face. "He thought you were nice ."
    She frowned. "What's wrong with being nice?"
    "Darling, you are anything but nice."
    "What the hell does that mean?"
    "You are stunning, electrifying, incandescent, and even infuriating, but Ônice' is too bland a word to apply to you."
    Freya didn't know what to say to that, so she went back to her previous argument. "So you judged Connor, found him lacking, and sabotaged him?"
    He shook his head. " I didn't sabotage him."
    "You let him sabotage himself."
    "You're missing the point here."
    "What point?"
    He took a deep breath, visibly trying to get a grip on his temper. After exhaling slowly, he carefully replied, "I know this looks bad, but I love you."
    "This isn't the way to show it." She pulled away from him and stomped down the stairs.
    He followed on her heels. "Freya, listen—"
    She waved him off. "Do not call me. Do not try to see me. I want nothing to do with you."
    Fumbling with the lock on the door, and flew out the door and back into her own apartment. She restlessly moved from room to room, not wanting to sit down but also not sure what to do.
    "Enough." She went into her bedroom and grabbed a small travel bag out of her closet. As she threw some clothes and other sundries into it, she picked up her phone and hit speed dial.
    "Hello?"
    "Eve," she sighed