He just…stops talking.

He stops talking, and I feel the titter go through the rest of the room. It’s more subdued than it might otherwise be—we’re law students, not undergrads—but there’s an undercurrent that stems right from that podium and extends out in a wave, just like a pebble dropped into a pond. A boulder, really.

One heartbeat ticks by, then a second. Heat blooms in my chest, curving around my shoulders and down my back like a winter coat over my sleeveless blouse. It’s hotter than hell out today, but even in the air-conditioned auditorium, I feel like I’m sitting right in the middle of a furnace.

Because Weston Grant’s eyes are fastened on mine.

Because I, like a fool, am sitting right in the center of the front row.

How did I miss this?

The answer is a simple one: I wasn’t paying attention. I knew we were having a guest speaker today, but the only thing that registered on my radar was the fact that they moved the class schedule back an hour to accommodate whoever it was going to be. That extra hour is cutting into my shift time for tonight at the Rose, which isn’t something that Greg is particularly upset about, but I’m missing out on an extra hour of potential tips.

Naturally, I didn’t read the announcement carefully enough to realize that the speaker is Weston Grant himself.

And he’s stopped talking to stare at me.

“What did you do to this guy?” Kathleen, my best friend in law school, whispers into my ear, her red curls brushing my shoulder. “He’s looking right at you!”

I don’t dare turn toward her. I don’t dare do anything except look back into the green eyes I never counted on seeing outside of the Rose. If I ever saw him at the Rose again—he’s not the kind of member who makes regular appearances, and after I told him I wasn’t going to take him up on whatever offer he was making, he’d nodded, a cool look coming into those eyes.

He hadn’t said anything for a long moment as we stood there in the alcove, and I had wondered if he was going to break all the rules and kiss me. “Good night, Juliet James.”

Then he’d turned and walked away, never looking back. 

As for me, I’d fumbled the slips, dropping them onto the floor in my hurry to act as if nothing had happened.

“He’s definitely looking at you.” Kathleen’s voice is filled with awe and disbelief, and if I could answer her, mine would be, too. What the hell does Weston Grant have to do with Anderson Law? Not that the answer would have mattered to me before today. But it does now.

Am I going to have to leave the room? Am I going to have to stand up and walk out in front of all the other first-year law students, leaving them wondering what kind of sordid past I’ve had with Weston Grant?

The answer is none. We have no past. But if he doesn’t do something, and fast, I’m going to have a heart attack. It’s already working overtime in my chest, pumping fresh waves of heated blush to my cheeks. I’m not this kind of woman, damn it.

“Oh, my God, Jules, you’re red as a—”

“It’s an honor to be here,” Weston says abruptly, and just like that, the spotlight of his eyes is off me and back on the notes in front of him on the podium. I sag back into my seat like a puppet released from its strings, just barely stifling the urge to cover my face with both my hands. I don’t have anything to be embarrassed about. My body doesn’t seem to know that. “My family’s involvement with Anderson Law began with my grandmother, Marie Anderson.”

His grandmother. Jesus.

I want to know more—I really do—but his voice washing over the walls of the auditorium captures me completely even as the words become an indecipherable jumble.

Snap out of it.

“She didn’t have the opportunity to become a lawyer, which was her dream as a young woman. She led a very successful life in many other ways, leaving an impact on all who knew her, but she never achieved that dream. Our family, led by my mother, decided to fulfill her wish for new generations of law students.”

So his mother has her hands on the purse strings, too. I shake my head, trying to clear the thought. I have no business speculating on what Weston Grant’s mother does or doesn’t do with the family money. I have no business speculating on Weston Grant. But it’s all I’ve been doing for the past four days.

“Do you know him?” Kathleen is whispering in my ear again. Her voice is full of a bright hope that I might have some truly delicious gossip.

“No,” I murmur back. It’s very nearly true.

“Not even from work?”

“You know I can’t tell you about the people I meet at the club.” I wasn’t strictly supposed to tell her the name of the club, either, but I know I can trust her with that.

“So he is a member at the Rose?”

“Kathleen—”

She gives me a grin, her lips pressed together in a smile that makes it look like she’s about to burst into laughter at any moment. “You don’t have to say another word.”

I look at her with wide eyes, nodding toward Weston at the podium. I have to pretend to be following along, even though my hand is poised over the notebook I brought just in case the speaker had any good insights for first-year law students.

So far, I haven’t written down a single word.

And I don’t write down a single word because I can’t tear my eyes away from him. I can’t stop looking at the way his jade eyes dance in the light, the way a small smile plays over his face whenever he makes a joke, the way he holds his body so confidently, like he owns the room and everyone in it.

I just can’t stop.

He speaks for fifteen minutes, but when President Wilson asks him if he’d like to take any questions, he says something into her ear and walks quickly back into the wings.

“Another round of applause for our speaker, Weston Grant,” President Wilson says into the microphone, and through the applause is the shuffle of fifty people all gathering their things at once.

I make a beeline for the door. Kathleen tries to keep up, but I hear someone calling her name when we’re halfway to the exit. She turns to talk to them and I’m home free.

I just need a breath of fresh air. I just need to calm the hell down for a minute, because every inch of me is buzzing with a strange delight, like a winning lottery ticket has just been dropped into my lap. And all I did was look at Weston Grant. All I did was let his voice fill all of my senses with ridiculous desires, ones I can never make reality.

Not a chance.

I burst out the front entrance of Anderson, looking down at my watch. I have an hour before class, and if I can just get somewhere cool—there’s a little café around the corner—I can—

“Juliet James, you didn’t tell me you were attending my law school.”