Burden of Proof

I walk into my office with a caution I had never had before my mother and aunt took over my space. But I learned my lesson the hard way one early morning when I strolled in, assuming everything was where I left it.
It wasn’t, and I ended up ass over tea kettle on the floor, where Dylan and Tom found me a few minutes later. I had been too dumbstruck to move until the two of them started cackling like dicks.
And good thing I came in here slowly today, looking around, and turning on lights because Margo and Marcy—the meddling duo—were at it again. Wood signs, over-sized clocks, knickknacks I’m not even sure what they are, lamps, area rugs…the list goes on. It’s like an interior design store instead of a law office.
The thought of a certain interior decorator brings an unpleasant memory to mind, and I push all thoughts of my London tryst to the back of my brain for the millionth time. It’s what Connor calls ‘avoiding’. Connor, my youngest brother, is BFFs with the girl I’ve spent two years not thinking about.
Campbell Calloway is happily cohabiting with New York’s favorite hockey player, Bec Tanner, who she reunited with after our one night together. I wish I could hate the dude, but there’s no denying his talent or the title he’s about to win for us. Connor also insists he’s a cool guy and deserves an apology from me, followed by my respect.
None of what went down between Campbell and me was Bec’s fault, anyway. If I’m being honest, most of the blame probably lies on my shoulders. Or Libby Lincoln’s, if I’m being completely honest. My fucked-up head is all her fault.
Speaking of messed up heads, Campbell’s had been that way over Bec Tanner, and I seized the opportunity to have the girl I spent weeks lusting over, so now I really feel like a dickhead.
Now, standing in my office, looking at the nonsense purchases my mother and aunt splurged on—with my credit card—Campbell on my mind, I realize it truly wasn’t her fault and maybe Connor is right, and I need to get past the thing with Libby, forgive Campbell, and apologize to Bec. Maybe Connor should be a therapist because I think he’s getting into my head.
Connor and Campbell see each other often and he’s grown close with Bec. He insists he and Campbell have put London and what we did there behind them and they ask about me to be courteous. He thinks that courtesy extends to them wanting to strike up a friendship, but what he isn’t thinking about is no man wants to hang out with another dude that’s fucked his girl. Especially not while he was still into her.
But as I look around the mess of my office, I know I need a professional to step in before my mother and her sidekick drag in more things, I’m sure aren’t necessary to make my office warm and welcoming—their words, not mine.
It’s a fucking law office, for God’s sake. How fucking inviting is it supposed to be? We offer our clients coffee, and when appropriate, alcohol. What the fuck else is needed while we plan and plot their cases?
Anyway, Connor has been pressing me to address the root of my problems with women.