Not That Kind of Guy Read online

  But Hannah wasn’t going to try to sell her on Jesus—lapsed Catholics didn’t do that sort of thing. Hannah was going to try to sell her on love like an ex-smoker trying to pry the ciggies out of her hands.

  It absolutely wouldn’t work. “Don’t even think about it.” Bridget pointed at her future sister-in-law. “I can see what you’re thinking, and I’m not interested in it at all.”

  Hannah held her hands up. “Thinking what?” She even had the audacity to have an innocent look on her face.

  But Bridget narrowed her gaze and stared down both of her friends. “I. Don’t. Want. To. Be. In. A. Relationship.”

  “But don’t you want partnership?” Sasha was still a romantic even though her dating life was a continuing disaster, right underneath issues of national and global importance on the horribleness scale. And if she wasn’t such a genuinely nice person, Bridget would start her point-by-point summary on why it was completely illogical to continue searching for love when a successful conclusion of that search was not supported by any past evidence.

  Instead, she simply said, “No.”

  “Really?” Hannah sounded surprised. “We’re not judging you, but did Chris really fuck you up that much?”

  “Chris didn’t fuck me up at all, but our breakup clarified some things for me.” Bridget paused, like she did before making an argument before a jury. “I just . . . I decided it wasn’t for me.”

  “But that’s like saying you don’t like cheese after trying one—very shitty—kind of cheese.” Hannah did sort of make sense— and yet . . .

  “There is no bad cheese.” At least Bridget had never hated a single cheese.

  “The kind that has toxic mold on it?” Why did Sasha have to choose this moment to make sense?

  “I don’t know if Chris is really toxic . . .”

  Hannah rolled her eyes. “What did he do, anyway?”

  Bridget chewed on her grits along with her answer. She hadn’t told anyone in her family about the real reason she and Chris had broken up. Part of her was embarrassed about it, afraid that they would blame her for putting a perfectly fine relationship out of its misery. And part of her couldn’t really name why they’d broken up. But her growing friendship with these two women made her want to try.

  “He put a down payment on a house.” She paused, and both women’s eyes widened. “I’d never even seen it.”

  “It makes sense that you broke up with him, then.”

  Now that she’d started talking, it seemed that she couldn’t stop. “No, I freaked out because—I just flashed forward to my future and realized that spending it with him would mean that I was tied to his boneheaded choices for the rest of my life. And then he broke up with me when I freaked out.”

  “The nerve.” Hannah’s voice was filled with venom—definitely for Chris.

  “Yikes.” Sasha didn’t look like she had much more to say.

  “I think it’s totally reasonable for you to want to go to the wedding alone.” When Hannah said that, Bridget was glad she’d trusted her.

  “Unless you meet someone great.” Of course, Sasha left room for hope.

  Bridget sipped her mimosa to stop herself from saying something sarcastic.

  * * *

  • • •

  AT LEAST SHE HAD work. There, she exerted control and she never lost. As an assistant state’s attorney in the Special Prosecutions Bureau, she prosecuted sexual assault cases and crimes against children. Although her work dealt with difficult topics, it was deeply rewarding. The people she got justice for were often afraid of seeking it, and being able to give them some measure of peace—sending the people who hurt them to prison—made her feel useful.

  A lot of the friends she went to law school with worked at big firms. Most of them hated their lives, and they rarely got to see the inside of a courtroom. Bridget was in court at least a few times a week. And she was always moving and doing something different.

  She knew she couldn’t do it forever, though. Otherwise, she would end up as an embittered husk, smoking multiple packs of Camels a day. But she didn’t know what she would do next—certainly not a big firm—but she had to find a job that would let her pay her student loans.

  She loved her work, but she was going to be paying off her student loans until she was ninety—since her salary upon which her income-based repayment plan was predicated was way below the median income for lawyers. Like the basement of the basement without the median even in sight.

  Although she could count on her dad to help if she asked— she hated asking. Her new lease on single life included not running to her dad just because she couldn’t afford the same vacations and homes her former classmates now could.

  Despite all the downsides to her job, she looked forward to going into work and rarely had that sinking feeling on Monday morning when she got into the office—except for today.

  Her boss, Jackie, was sitting in her office. Jackie was only a couple of years older than her—even though the job was great, the pace of the under-resourced office burned people out. She was married, with two little kids and constant dark circles under her eyes. Sometimes she even had a tic. Jackie was much more ambitious than Bridget and had her eyes on political office, which meant that sometimes she butted in to Bridget’s cases when the public was particularly invested.

  They got along, but only to a point. And definitely not before coffee.

  “What do you need?” She wouldn’t be here if she didn’t want something.

  Jackie smiled at her. A bad sign. “I need you to take on one of the interns.”

  “Are you serious?” Bridget closed her eyes and put down her bag. “I don’t have time to teach some baby lawyer anything.”

  “He’s—”

  Bridget wasn’t even going to let her finish. “And I’m not bringing a man around my mostly female, traumatized complaining witnesses.”

  “You know that fellowship you applied for last year?” Jackie was referring to a fellowship for public interest lawyers from the University of Chicago, which would have allowed Bridget to pay off her student loans. It would have meant vacations with fruity drinks the size of her head and never having to hit up her dad to make ends meet. It would have meant freedom. But she hadn’t gotten it.

  “I recall.” She was careful not to betray her disappointment to Jackie. They were colleagues rather than friends. “What does that have to do with taking on this intern?”

  “His parents—the Kidos—fund it.”

  Oh fuck. The Kido Family Trust was a big deal and sort of explained why her taking on this intern and getting this fellowship was so important to her boss—it was going to make her look good. Jane Kido’s father was a beloved former senator from Hawaii and had been a decorated soldier during World War II, when many fellow Japanese-Americans were interned. And Jane’s husband, Brian, was the son of a famous Japanese photojournalist who chronicled the end of the war, and a Boston Brahmin heiress. If the United States had nobility, the Kido family would be among them.

  However, Jane and Brian’s son, Matt, had a reputation as a louche playboy. One that even Bridget—with her head perpetually occupied by her caseload—knew about.

  “So, what you’re saying is that, if I take on this little, rich shithead as my intern, I might get the fellowship this year?”

  Jackie held up a hand. “I’m not saying that. I can’t guarantee it, but I think it would go a long way.”

  “I’m not giving him any cases until I verify that he’s not going to fuck them up.” Bridget sat down, knowing she’d lost.

  “Just make sure you don’t call him a little, rich shithead to his face.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  WHEN MATT KIDO WAS ten, he told his mother that he wanted to quit playing soccer. Since they were on their way to soccer practice when he told her this, she didn’t take it kindly. She hadn’t had ti
me to take him to soccer practice; she had carved time from her busy schedule of manipulating global markets. She was not primed to hear that her son wanted to quit his one after-school activity. Then he made the terrible mistake of telling her that he wanted to quit because one of the other kids was making fun of him.

  At the time, he’d been scrawny and short. He definitely wasn’t the only Asian kid at his elite private school, but he was the only one with a war hero and senator for a grandfather on one side and an ancestor who had come over on the Mayflower on the other. Everyone knew who his parents were, which made him a target.

  His mom had taken him to soccer practice and waited him out until he got out of the car and ran onto the field. He hadn’t brought up wanting to quit soccer again.

  For weeks, he’d thought that she’d forgotten all about the kids making fun of him—until they’d seen the main perpetrator riding his bike home from a game. She’d slowed down her SUV to a crawl next to the kid. Then she slowly—ever so slowly—knocked him off his bike.

  The kid never made fun of Matt again. And after word spread about his mom’s reaction, no one else did, either.

  Matt had always been slightly embarrassed by that story—even after he shot up in height and filled out. He wished he had stood up to that bully himself. But he hadn’t. It had always been easier to let his parents fight his battles for him.

  Until recently. Like last-week recently. Like last week when he walked in on his girlfriend of three years having sex with one of their friends. In his condo. Even worse, most of their friends had known about it and hadn’t told him.

  He and Naomi were supposed to be summer associates at the same firm—along with several of their traitorous friends—for the summer. But the thought of spending twelve weeks having to see Naomi every day when he never wanted to see her again was intolerable. It was bad enough that they attended the same law school, that their parents were friends, and that he’d have to see her at alumni mixers and family events for the rest of his life. He just didn’t want to see her when it was unacceptable to have a drink in his hand.

  But he hadn’t wanted to go to his parents for help. Not again, and not with anything having to do with Naomi. So, he took the second-most cowardly route—he ran away under the guise of doing public service. He’d abandoned his coveted summer associate position—the one that had perks like five-hundred-dollar lunches and firm trips to Switzerland—to be here.

  And that’s how he found himself looking at the most stunning woman he’d ever seen.

  Matt had never seen anything like the woman leading the orientation for interns at the state’s attorney’s office. He looked around the room. There were seven women and two other men seated at the desks in the bullpen. The furniture didn’t match, and the walls appeared to have been last painted in the early eighties, long before any of them were born. The place wasn’t much to look at, but he was still excited.

  Everyone else was staring at the woman in the front of the room, and he couldn’t blame them.

  Bridget Nolan had lush auburn hair, piercing gray-blue eyes, cut-glass cheekbones, and a voice that was better than a hand job. Jesus, he was gross. It was the epitome of inappropriate to be turned on by her describing doing interviews with arresting officers. She was trying to teach them to verify facts, not tie him into knots of sexual frustration.

  Matt should be focusing on her words, not how the clacking of her heels against the concrete floor made his heart beat faster. Or the way her lean hips swung with each step she took. He was just lucky to be here and that no one seemed to know who he was yet.

  He’d been prepared to walk in the door and find someone officially designated to pander to him. That’s how it had been at every other “job” he’d ever had. He realized that it was part and parcel of being the scion of one of the most powerful families in the US, but it didn’t exactly allow him to build up his self-esteem the old-fashioned way, the way his grandfather had, through hard work and sacrifice. He felt guilty for resenting the way that his parents had made everything in his life so easy. He felt bad that he felt bad about the fact that his parents were part of what made the world bad in general.

  Although his parents had been puzzled by how he’d chosen to spend his summer, the move garnered him some grudging respect because it would look good for the family. But the more he listened to Bridget Nolan speak, the more he thought that some good might come of his summer in purgatory. He needed to prove that he wasn’t some pointless trust-fund kid who had been shepherded through prep schools and the Ivy League, doing the bare minimum so that he could take over his parents’ holdings and run them into the ground. Maybe performing well at this internship would give him a way to do that.

  Maybe there was some purpose in blowing up his plans and finding himself sitting at a shabby desk in the open space where he and the other nine interns would work for three months under unforgiving fluorescent lights.

  And maybe there was a reason that he was sitting here gobsmacked by the most gorgeous woman he’d ever seen. But that reason didn’t have anything to do with his dick. He had to make sure that he was clear on that.

  The dude sitting next to him leaned over and whispered, “Stop looking at her like that.”

  Matt looked over at the whisperer. In a rumpled white shirt and pleated-front trousers, he had the air of a slightly frazzled professor even though he couldn’t have been more than twenty-five. Matt liked him immediately. Still, he couldn’t exactly admit that he’d been ogling their boss. “Stop looking at who like what?”

  “Bridget Nolan.” The other guy rolled his eyes at Matt, which made Matt even more inclined to like him. He enjoyed it when people busted his balls because it didn’t happen very often. “She’s got the highest conviction rate in the office. She’s a rock star—and a total fucking hard-ass who will eat you for lunch if you try to hit on her with your whole rich, pretty-boy thing you have going on.”

  Matt had to stifle a laugh. The Nerdy Professor next to him had him pegged and had given him valuable information about Bridget. “What’s your name?”

  “Brent Reisz.” He extended his hand for a surreptitious shake. “And you’re Matt Kido.”

  “Are you stalking me or something?”

  “Nah, I just do my research so that I don’t end up looking like an asshole on my first day.”

  When Brent said that last thing, Bridget’s searing gaze snapped over to them. Matt felt his face heat, knowing that he was about to get eaten alive. And he didn’t mind a bit.

  “Something more interesting than what I’m saying up here, gentlemen?”

  Brent stammered until Matt said, “Sorry, Ms. Nolan.”

  Bridget rolled her eyes at him, and Matt probably fell in love right then and there. “It’s only Ms. Nolan if you’re nasty—or if you’re trying to interrupt my spiel.

  “Each of you will be assigned to work with one prosecutor over the next three months.” Bridget paused in front of him, and he stopped breathing. “You’ll have a special student admission to the bar so you’ll be able to conduct preliminary hearings and take testimony in front of the grand jury. You’ll have a few cases going at once so that you can get some experience, but you’ll be closely supervised.”

  Then she smiled at the group. It hit him like a punch in the nuts, even though it wasn’t directed at him. He’d never had such a powerful reaction to anyone before. Other than the fact that she was drop-dead gorgeous, he didn’t know why this woman in particular made him feel as though his skin was too tight for everything inside. There was nothing about her that was overtly sexy or provocative. And this was the most inconvenient time and circumstance for him to develop a crush.

  He couldn’t exactly ask out a woman who was in charge of his internship program for the summer. Not only was it creepy, but she couldn’t say yes. And he couldn’t use any of his usual methods for impressing a woman. She didn’t seem like
the kind of girl who would care about a sexy car—of which he had many.

  Besides, the last thing he needed was a new girlfriend before his old relationship had even gotten a proper burial. If circumstances were different—maybe if she wasn’t his boss—she might be the perfect candidate for a rebound.

  But he wasn’t going to let himself think about that.

  Having a hard-on for the head of his internship program when he couldn’t do anything about it wasn’t ideal. But he could try to avoid her. He’d work with another prosecutor all summer who would report to Bridget on his progress. He’d steer clear of her at social events, and he’d get a great evaluation at the end of the summer. By then, this crush—along with the feeling that he’d reverted back to a hormonal state prevalent in middle school—would pass, and he would never think about whether Bridget Nolan had freckles everywhere ever, ever again.

  She looked at him as he had that thought, and his stomach sank. She smiled directly at him and said, “Matt Kido, you’re with me.”

  After the orientation session, Matt had to race to keep pace with Bridget as she showed him around the office. They were about the same height with her in heels, but she moved much faster—with a purpose. He, on the other hand, had always been what could be generously termed a slowpoke. Methodical and thorough, but slow.

  He tried to keep up with what she was saying, but he would most definitely have to ask someone where the bathroom was.

  * * *

  • • •

  MATT FINALLY FOUND THE bathroom before lunchtime—or what would be lunchtime if this office actually seemed to have a lunchtime. Here, it appeared that the attorneys shoveled food they’d brought from home into their mouths while their eyes stayed glued to case files—if they were in the office at all.