Total pages in book: 179
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 173733 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 869(@200wpm)___ 695(@250wpm)___ 579(@300wpm)
“There’s more to my story than you know, little girl.”
“Little girl?” I laugh. “You really do speak great asshole.”
“You have a smart mouth.”
“Thank you. My mama taught me. She’d be proud.”
“You were hell on me in your write-ups.”
“And now we get to the reason you’re standing here. Do better. I’ll do better. I’m fair.”
“You were hell in a courtroom, weren’t you?”
“Yep, but I hated every minute of it. I think you do, too.” I lean forward. “And you will never do better if you hate what you do.”
“Maybe I’ll retire and write books.”
“If that’s what you want, then you should do it. Don’t keep losing cases when the result is no one going to jail. Because like you said, no one went to jail. And Jennifer deserved better than that.”
“Bitch.”
“Asshole.”
He turns and walks away.
I watch him exit, and Reese walks in the door, his dark hair a rumpled, sexy mess, his tie loose. Dan grunts at him and disappears. Reese frowns and walks toward me, all loose-legged swagger and hotness and just seeing him still makes me warm all over. He stops at the table and pulls me to my feet, and he doesn’t seem to care that we’re in public. The fingers of one of his hands tangle in my hair and he’s kissing me—no, drugging me is the only way to describe how this man’s tongue makes every nerve ending in my body tingle.
“Hi,” he says, stroking hair from my face.
“Hi.”
“You having an affair with Dan?”
I laugh. “No. Believe it or not, I’m not attracted to assholes.”
“Good thing I’m not an asshole. How do you feel about pizza, champagne, me, and bed?”
He assumes I’m going home with him, when I’d assumed—nothing. I didn’t know what we were doing, but now, with him, I think I was living in the past again. Seeing the ghost of Mitch who is long gone. “Yes to all,” I say. “Please.”
We both start smiling when I say please.
I decide that call he took in private was nothing, while he’s becoming everything.
Chapter thirty-one
Reese
Iwake Saturday morning to Cat curled next to me, that sweet floral scent of her clinging to me and the sheets, pretty much sealing the deal on morning wood. Unfortunately, my phone is also buzzing on the nightstand, and appears to be the reason I woke up. I grab it and note the seven a.m. hour and my sister’s number on the display. My cell stops ringing and she immediately sends me a text. Answer your phone, superhero. Glad you won your case, but the rest of your life calls. She means my parents’ marital problems, and that isn’t a situation I’m prepared to deal with in front of Cat, at least not until Cat and I have the “my fucked-up family” conversation. Which, to be fair, I need to have this weekend.
Knowing Stacey, she’ll call back another ten times. I ease away from Cat, careful not to wake her. I snag my pajama bottoms and T-shirt from the floor and pull them on but I don’t walk away. I stand beside the bed, staring down at Cat, fully aware that my invitation for her stay through the end of the trial has ended.
No. My excuse to have her stay. Only, I still want her here, and it’s time to have that straight up conversation. She needs to know that I don’t want to wake up or go to sleep without her next to me. I’m not letting her leave.
I round the bed and walk into the bathroom, brush my teeth, and splash water on my face. Since the meetings I set up for today when I was on my way to pick up Cat last night aren’t until after lunch, I decide coffee and Cat are on the menu. I exit to the bedroom again, and find Cat has snuggled deeper into the blankets, completely content and sound asleep. Coffee first, I decide. Cat later. I smile and head downstairs, flipping on the fireplace in the den, which is off the kitchen, before I brew a cup of coffee and set up my computer on the island. I grab a barstool at the end cap of the island, with a good view of the stairs, where Cat will eventually travel.
After keying my MacBook to life, I scan the headlines about the case and pull up Cat’s column with the intent of reading it. I also plan to make this my new morning ritual now that the trial is over and the millions of cameras are off. Now, I can admit that was a hell of a lot of pressure.
My phone rings, which I expected. I glance at caller ID and answer the call. “Hello, sunshine.”
“Answer your phone when I call,” my sister snaps.
“I was asleep. I do that occasionally.”
“Mom and Dad had a huge fight.”