CHAPTER THREE
JOSETTE
BY DISCUSS THIS LATER, I meant never. Because really, if this is embarrassing for me, it must be ten times worse for Wade. He’s a goddamn lawyer moonlighting as an escort. How the hell does that even happen? He has to know he could be disbarred for this. There’s no way the bar would let this fly. Even if all he’s doing is dates, which I highly doubt given what was told to me about The Meat Market, that’s more than enough to raise questions of ethics.
So, I’ll just get through the night, and we can pretend like this never happened.
Our ride to the party is, thankfully, short and silent. Wade has a nice car, a really nice car. The supple leather hugs my body and the low hum of the engine almost manages to soothe my frayed nerves.
Is he doing this for the money?
He’s an amazing lawyer; he should be making enough to support himself unless he’s one of those douche nozzles who has to have the best of everything so he can show off.
But Wade never struck me as an arrogant man.
Confident, yes. Arrogant, no.
Hell, maybe he’s just doing it to get laid. That wouldn’t surprise me. He is a man, after all.
Wade fucking Saxon. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn’t it have been some perfectly nice guy like Dylan? One who I don’t have to see all the time around the courthouse.
We pull up beside the valet stand outside the Art Institute. By the time the valet has assisted me out of the car, Wade is already at my side offering me a half-hearted smile.
“Shall we?” He holds his elbow out for me. I hesitate briefly.
It’s necessary, Josette.
I never thought I’d have to give myself a pep-talk to take the arm of a handsome man. One who I have noticed more than once around the courthouse. Leave it to fate to fuck with me like this. How many damn men are there in Chicago? Why does he have to be Filet Mignon?
When we reach the stairs, he removes his arm from mine and slides his hand down onto my lower back. A tingle races up my spine at the gesture. He ushers me up, and with every step, the warmth of his palm through my dress is a constant reminder of how long it’s been since I’ve had sex.
With a person, that is.
Wade halts me at the top of stairs with a hand on my shoulder. I turn to him and raise an eyebrow in silent question.
He offers an apologetic smile. “What’s our story?”
Shit, I hadn’t thought about that.
I shrug and check out the area around us to ensure no one is close enough to overhear us conspiring. “What would you suggest?”
His eyes travel down my body before returning to mine. The corner of his mouth quirks up. I’m sure the half-smile is meant to be reassuring, but instead, it sends my already starved libido galloping faster than American Pharaoh.
He takes my hand in his and kisses the back of it.
Who the hell does that anymore?
That half-smile turns into a grin. “I guess, given the circumstances, we met at the courthouse and have been seeing each other for a couple months?”
Easy. Straightforward. Believable.
I nod my agreement to the story and take his arm again.
We’re about to walk into the lion’s den. Thankfully, we’re both trained liars.
WADE
Why the hell does a woman like Josette need an escort for a work party?
Men should be lining up to spend time with her. Every male lawyer I know has a real hard-on for her. Any one of them would have given their left nut to be the man at her arm tonight.
Instead, she’s paying me…
Without need.
I would have gladly accompanied her if she’d only asked. What is so important about this party that she had to spend that kind of money to ensure a date?
After twenty minutes inside, I have the answer. Every old goat in the joint has expressed their surprise to Josette. Apparently, her showing up with a date, a boyfriend, none the less, is a bit of a shock. From the way they talk, I’m surprised a couple haven’t dropped dead from a heart attack at the mere sight of me with my arm around her.
What a bunch of misogynist pricks. No wonder she didn’t want to come alone. They’re more interested in discussing our “future” together than anything else, and they’ve barely let her get a word in. All the attention is on me—my career, my plans for us.
Normally, I wouldn’t mind. A room full of lawyers isn’t intimidating for me. It’s home. But knowing we’re lying and this is all a big scam is making me uneasy. It wouldn’t be an issue if she were some random woman and this were some random work party. But these are my colleagues, people I have to see professionally every day for the next fifty years.
Well, I’ll be practicing for another fifty years to pay off my student loans; these old fucks will be dead in less than ten if their appearance is an indication of their health.
As if their condescension weren’t enough, my empty tumbler only aggravates me more. I need another drink, and given the look in Josette’s eyes, she does too. They’re narrowed at one of the partners, Godfrey Mason, as he rambles on about his “courtship” of his late wife, Justine. He’s just reached the “she was a good little lady who stayed at home, never complaining, barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen” part of his story. Basically, the exact same thing we’ve already heard from every other partner tonight.
How Josette manages not to haul off and slap them senseless is a testament to her self-control. But mine is starting to slip. More alcohol would be a big help.
A hand on my shoulder has me turning away from Josette and the douchebag partners.
Holy shit!
“Dylan? What are you doing here?” I never thought I’d be so happy to see my former co-worker from The Meat Market.
He smirks and hands me a glass I’m praying contains something very strong. “You looked like you could use one of these.”
“You’re right.” He always was insightful. Much to my benefit tonight. I tip the glass back and savor the burn of whatever mid-level whiskey they’re serving at the bar.
“Ginger works for Goldberg, Mason, and Quinley. She’s actually Josette’s secretary.”
What the hell?
I survey the room, and sure enough, Ginger’s in the corner chatting with some other attorneys I recognize from the courthouse. When her eyes meet mine, she winks and holds a glass of champagne up in my direction.
Christ.
“You could have given me some warning, man.”
He chuckles, and I follow him to a less populated area of the room. This isn’t exactly a conversation to have where others can eavesdrop. “Sorry, dude. I didn’t know until we were almost here. Ginger said she gave Josette the menu when she needed a date, but apparently Josette never told her she actually booked anyone until earlier today.”
“You boys better not be talking about me.” Ginger slides her arm around Dylan’s waist, and his goes around her shoulders.
I glare at her, trying to convey just what a shit situation she’s put me in. It’s not that I don’t want to be out with Josette, because I do. I just don’t want her to have paid for it. “Jesus, Ginger, you could have warned me Josette was my date tonight.”
She sighs and tosses her long brown hair over her shoulder before offering an apologetic smile.
“Look, I didn’t even know she had gone through with it until a couple hours before the party, and by then, it was too late for her to find another date. She needs this, Wade. Like, really, really needs it. She’s been gunning for partner and working eighty-hour weeks. And they flat out told her she’s not ‘stable’ enough because she hasn’t settled down yet.”
“Well, shit.” I suspected as much given how they’ve been talking and acting, but for the assholes to actually tell her that to her face…
They have some fucking balls.
Though they are probably shriveled and wrinkly by this point.
Now I understand why she needed me so badly tonight. I just wish I were here with her under other circumstances. She looks fucking smokin’ in that dress.