CHAPTER FIVE
WADE
SHE WON’T EVEN LOOK AT me. Twenty minutes of sitting across from each other in the courtroom, waiting for our cases to be called, and not once has she bothered to even glance over here.
As far as she’s concerned, I don’t exist.
I get paid to sleep with some of the most beautiful and classiest women in Chicago, but the only one I want won’t even look at me. Because I’m a whore.
This is the first time in almost two years I really feel slimy about what I’ve been doing.
And ain’t that a bitch.
“Wheaton vs. First State Insurance Company, case number 17L205.”
My case being called finally breaks what was probably a little bit of creepy staring at Josette. The scheduling conference should only last five minutes.
But I can’t manage to avoid checking Josette out from the corner of my eye while I’m at counsel’s table.
I catch her watching me at least once. That’s a good sign, right? It offers me a little hope that she might hear me out. All I’m hoping for is for her to give me a chance to explain myself and what happened Saturday night. I don’t think that’s asking for much, but given the cold shoulder she’s giving me today, I may have my work cut out for me.
When I finish my case and turn my eyes to meet hers, she blushes then looks down at a paper on her lap and scribbles furiously.
Probably something about what a big douche I am—definitely not “I love Wade Saxon” with little hearts doodled around it.
Instead of leaving, like I should, to get back to the office and do some actual work, I pop a squat on the bench outside the courtroom and wait. I’m gonna make Josette talk to me no matter how much she may be trying to avoid it.
I can’t go through another night like the last two. I’ve barely slept—thankfully, not because I had a date last night, though. Jason wasn’t happy when I cancelled my Sunday “social engagement.” But after Saturday night, there’s no way I could do it. My mind replays what happened on Josette’s front steps on a constant loop. It’s pretty much all I’ve been able to think about, so putting on a game face to go out with another woman, and potentially have to fuck her, just wasn’t happening.
How could it have gone so horribly wrong with Josette?
I thought I’d made it pretty clear throughout the evening how much I liked her, how attracted to her I was.
Maybe my game is off?
It’s possible I’ve grown rusty in the whole “assessing a woman’s interest” thing in the last two years. But I could have sworn she was reciprocating with the flirting.
Maybe she’s just being cautious. If that’s it, then I can’t say I really blame her. She doesn’t know me, not really. All she knows is she paid for a date with “Lewis,” and I showed up on her doorstep. But her aggressive reaction to my attempt to kiss her Saturday night just doesn’t sit well with me. That was more than being cautious. That was flat-out anger. And Josette is not a woman I want mad at me.
I’ve seen her chew up and spit out attorneys who have been doing this for forty years like it was nothing. That earned her my respect well before we ever met. A confident woman who doesn’t let the old boys’ club mentality of the Cook County Courts intimidate her deserves admiration. The fact that she’s breathtakingly beautiful is only an added bonus.
Fuck.
Why didn’t I ask her out? Why didn’t I make a move?
Because she’s older, more experienced, and I thought she certainly had a man wrapped around her finger. It may be too little, too late. But she needs to know how pure my intentions were…not that I didn’t want to get her in bed, but that wasn’t my goal. I just wanted to get to know her and be close to her. She needs to know my interest is real. She needs to know how totally and completely wrong she was. She needs to understand the truth.
JOSETTE
Of all the goddamn courtrooms in Cook County, he has to be in the same one as me this morning.
Fate is one mean bitch.
All I want to do is get through my motion, get the fuck out of here, deny I ever saw him, and forget everything that happened Saturday night.
Jesus…
I can’t believe he thought I would pay him for sex.
What an asshole.
I managed to avoid looking at him while we waited for our cases, but once he was on the record, and I heard that low, gravelly voice, my eyes flicked over to him of their own accord.
Of fucking course he caught me looking, too. The heat spreading across my face only confirmed for him that I’d been scoping him out.
How embarrassing. He doesn’t deserve my attention, not after what he did.
It’s time to push him to the back of my mind, once and for all, so I can concentrate on my work again.
My motion goes smoothly despite my inability to get Wade out of my mind, no matter how much I try. Another mark in the win column. I’m going to need as many of those as possible if I want the partners to forget the fact that Wade isn’t a part of my life anymore.
I fly out the door of the courtroom with plans to hightail it back to the office, but instead, I come face-to-face with Wade sitting across the hall just staring at me.
Goddammit.
Why does he have to look so damn good in a suit?
And be such an amazing lawyer—competent and passionate in the court room. All it does is make me think about how those skills will transfer into the bedroom.
Why? Why? Why? Why?
And why the hell do I have to be attracted to him?
This would be so much easier if he were ugly. And dumb.
But he is a jerk.
He climbs to his feet, his perfectly tailored suit moving with him, clinging in all the right places. “Josette, we need to talk.”
I walk past him without a pause. If I linger even a second, it will mean the end of my resolve. “There’s nothing to talk about, Attorney Saxon.”
His footsteps follow me down the marble hallway. “There most certainly is. We clearly had a misunderstanding on Saturday.”
Misunderstanding, my ass!
Fighting my natural instinct to look back at him when I reply is nearly impossible, but somehow, I manage. “No, there wasn’t. It was perfectly clear what happened.”
He grabs my elbow to stop me and turns me to face him. I’m tempted to slap him again, but there are people bustling up and down the hallway, including several other lawyers who are now eyeing us speculatively.
“Will you stop litigating for a second and just listen to me?”
His eyes plead with me, and despite my anger, I can’t find it in my heart to say no to him.
Pushover.
Something about him draws me, like a moth to a flame. He will burn me, no doubt, but I need to at least give him a chance to say whatever it is he wants to tell me. If I don’t, he’ll never leave me alone, and this awkward tension between us will linger for the remainder of our careers. It could make for some very uncomfortable days in court.
So, with reluctance, I nod. “Fine. But not here. Meet me at my place at seven tonight.”
We’ll put an end to this nonsense then.