Practice Makes Perfect

  Back to business. J.D. handed Payton the file he had compiled and she began to read through it. But after a few minutes of working in silence, she cast a sideways glance in his direction.

  “Still . . . it is kind of a wussy read for a guy, Jameson.” With a sly half smile, she turned back to her reading.

  J.D. didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. But after a few minutes had passed, he subtly glanced over and watched Payton as she worked.

  Proud and sassy, no doubt. And definitely judgmental.

  But still.

  PAYTON STOOD IN front of the closet in her underwear, scrutinizing her dress for wrinkles. She was relieved to see it had survived the plane trip relatively unscathed because (a) she had absolutely zero skill when it came to using an iron and (b) there wasn’t time to iron anyway because she was supposed to meet J.D. in the hotel bar downstairs in five minutes.

  This was business, she kept reminding herself. She and J.D. were here, at the luxurious Ritz-Carlton, Palm Beach, just steps from the white-sand beach and the cerulean blue water of the Atlantic Ocean, on business.

  She had stayed in nice hotels before, of course. Plenty of them. One of the perks of working for a top-tier firm was that its lawyers were expected to stay—for image purposes—at top-tier hotels when traveling. It also wasn’t the first time she’d traveled on business on a Friday evening, and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d traveled with a male coworker.

  But.

  This time it didn’t feel like business. Or at least, it didn’t feel entirely like business.

  After checking in at the front desk, she and J.D. had agreed to meet at seven, a half hour before their dinner with Jasper. This had been Payton’s suggestion—it would’ve been her suggestion had she been with any other associate and she saw no reason to deviate from protocol. Work was still work, Gibson’s Drug Stores were still the firm’s most important new client, and the fact that she just happened to be spending the evening with J.D. was irrelevant.

  Similarly irrelevant was the fact that she had snuck in a quick bikini wax after learning that they would be taking this trip.

  And one should by no means construe anything from the sexy black lace underwear she had slipped on just moments ago. Honestly. Her fitted dress practically required her to wear a thong and low-cut plunge bra in order to avoid tacky panty and bra lines. And the sexy lacy part? Pure happenstance.

  And yes, true, she may or may not have used a bit of dark liner that evening for a smoky-eye look, perhaps she did spend an extra ten or twenty minutes on her hair, and it was even possible that a few dabs of perfume—Bulgari Au Thé Blanc, her personal favorite—had made their way to her skin, a little here, a little there. But she’d only gone through these efforts because she’d had extra time on her hands and didn’t see any reason to idly sit about in her hotel room. And that was her story and she was stick—

  Shit!—she was late. Payton suddenly caught sight of the clock on the nightstand. She hurriedly slipped into her dress and slid on her heels. Because this was a business dinner, her dress was black and classic. But a dress nevertheless, and a slim-fitting one at that. She had decided earlier against wearing a suit—it was eighty-five and humid and she would be far too warm wearing a jacket.

  And that was her story.

  THE ELEVATOR REACHED the first floor and the doors opened. As Payton stepped out, she felt a momentary flutter of—excitement? Nervousness? She never knew what to expect from J.D.—at least not these days, anyway. Sure, they had flirted at times during the plane ride, but on the other hand, they’d talked a lot of business, too.

  A question had been raised that night in her apartment, and Payton knew the time to answer that question was quickly drawing to a close. It was a simple question.

  What did she want?

  She cut through the hotel lobby and found the bar, called Stir, where she was supposed to meet J.D. What did she want? In court, she always trusted her instincts. Maybe she should apply the same philosophy here.

  She walked into the bar and was surprised to see such a large crowd already gathered there. Her eyes quickly scanned the room, first the main bar, then the private tables, and found J.D. at neither. Then she spotted an outdoor terrace.

  Payton headed outside and saw that the bar’s terrace overlooked the ocean. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the low light provided by the softly flickering candles that adorned the tables. Through the crowd, she finally spotted J.D. near the back, seated at a table along the balcony ledge. She smiled—of course he would have the best table in the place.

  J.D. had his profile to her as he looked out at the ocean. She headed over and—taking advantage of the fact that he had not yet seen her—took her time enjoying the way he looked in his dark gray suit and crisp blue shirt. She watched the ease and sophistication of his movements, the self-assured way he held the rocks glass as he took a sip, the subtle brush of his sleeve as he checked his watch. He certainly had style in spades, no doubt about that, and he was undeniably, incredibly good-looking. It struck her then how funny it was that this was the man she’d worked across the hall from—and fought with—for the past eight years.

  As if sensing her approach, J.D. looked over. When he saw Payton, he turned in his chair and watched as she walked toward him.

  “You look amazing.” His eyes swept over her dress.

  Payton stopped at the table and smiled. “Thanks. I figured it’s too hot for a suit.” Oh, the tangled web we weave.

  J.D. watched her settle into the chair across from him. “You’re also late.” But his look suggested he didn’t really mind.

  “I’m sorry; I know,” Payton said. She crossed one leg over the other so that the slit of her dress revealed a fair amount of her thigh. An old trick, but still a good one.

  “Eager to get down to business?” she asked teasingly.

  J.D. glanced down at her exposed leg, and when he looked up, his blue eyes bore right through her.

  “There is some unfinished business I plan to get to tonight, yes.”

  Wow. Payton literally felt her breath catch at the way J.D. looked at her right then, a look that told her in no uncertain terms exactly what he wanted. No other man had that effect on her; no one else could make her heart race with just one glance and a few simple words. And it was in that moment that she knew without any hesitation exactly what she wanted.

  “I guess the question I have, J.D. . . .” She paused lingeringly as she reached across the table and took his hand. She began to trace soft, slow circles with her fingers. “. . . Is how are we ever going to get through this dinner?”

  She saw the flash of desire in his eyes as he took her hand in his.

  “As quickly as possible,” he said in a husky voice. He lightly brushed his lips against her fingers, his eyes never leaving hers, and Payton could tell that he wanted to kiss her as much as she wanted him to. But Jasper could walk through the door at any minute, and frankly, if she was already getting all hot and bothered from a few smoky gazes, she’d best keep J.D.’s hands, lips, and all his other parts as far away from her as possible until the business portion of the evening’s festivities had officially concluded.

  So she pulled back, eyeing J.D. across the candlelit table. “Perhaps. But for now maybe you should start by buying me a drink.”

  “That’s awfully retro for you, isn’t it?”

  “Can’t I be old-fashioned, too?” she asked. Even if she knew what she wanted, that didn’t mean the games had to be over. Yet. After all, they had at least two hours to kill and she needed something to distract her through dinner.

  But J.D. was on to her. He leaned back in his chair. “So, this is how you want to play this.”

  “Hmm . . . disappointed?”

  With a smile of amusement, J.D. shook his head. “Not at all. Just remember, Payton, two can play at that.”

  More smoky blue eyes.

  Damn. She really needed to devise a countermove to scorching hot sex
looks.

  But until she did, Payton planned to savor every moment of the possibilities that lay ahead.

  “WHAT DO YOU say, Jameson? Another Scotch? Come on, Payton, you don’t seem like the type of girl who’d let a man outdrink her.”

  Jasper was in rare form that evening.

  J.D. watched in amazement as the CEO flagged down their waiter and ordered another round. He’d forgotten how much these good old Southern boys could drink. And Jasper—apparently oblivious to the fact that everyone else at the table still had untouched drinks from the previous two turns at “how ’bout another?”—showed no signs of slowing down anytime soon.

  Richard Firestone, Gibson’s Drug Stores’ new general counsel and one of those—to put it delicately—tight-ass-style lawyers who gave all the others a bad name, leaned in his chair toward Jasper. “Don’t say ‘girl,’ ” he whispered under his breath.

  “What’s that?” Jasper asked loudly.

  Richard glanced in Payton’s direction. “ ‘You don’t seem like the type of woman who’d let a man outdrink her,’ ” he corrected Jasper’s phrasing. “We don’t say ‘girl’ anymore.”

  “You know what I say about all this political correctness these days? It’s a load of steamin’ bull crap.” Jasper waved his glass around as he peered across the table. “Payton, you’re my discrimination expert—can I still say ‘girl’?”

  “You can say anything you want to your lawyers, Jasper.”

  “Ha! See—you boys are too uptight.” Jasper pointed at Richard and J.D. “And notice I said boys,” he emphasized proudly, “lest anyone ever accuse me—or my company—of being unequal in opportunity.” He polished off his whiskey on the rocks in one gulp and slammed down the glass with indignant emphasis. Then he glanced around the table. “Okay—so I guess this is as good a time as any—should we get down to business? Talk about this little case of ours?”

  J.D. bit his tongue and fought the urge to check his watch. Now Jasper wanted to talk about the case? That wasn’t a discussion they could’ve started, say, two courses ago?

  He stole a quick glance at Payton, who sat to his left. She either had the best poker face he’d ever seen, or she was awfully damn nonchalant at the fucking tortoise speed with which this dinner was moving, because she actually appeared quite amused by Jasper’s antics. And that, come to think of it, was beginning to piss him off, too. He’d told her earlier that two could play at her game, and indeed for the first two courses of their dinner he’d been as cool as she. But the truth of the matter was, he just wanted to be alone with her. Frankly, he was fed up with all the things that constantly came between them, like work and Chase Bellamy and client dinners. And clothes.

  J.D. watched as Payton nodded along while Richard launched into his introductory take on their litigation strategy. Fine. Whatever. If she saw no pressing reason to hurry things along, then neither did he.

  “. . . So what I’m thinking,” Richard was saying, “is that I’d like each of you to give me a short overview on how you plan to approach your part of the defense. Payton, since Jasper pointed out that you’re the discrimination expert, why don’t you start—tell me your thoughts on how we should attack the substantive issues presented in this case.”

  “Sure, Richard, I’d be happy to,” Payton agreed. Then she chuckled. “You know, I can be a bit long-winded once I get going. I think I see our waiter coming—why don’t we go ahead and order dessert now? Get that out of the way.”

  J.D. suddenly felt Payton’s hand rest on his thigh underneath the table.

  Interesting.

  The waiter set dessert menus down in front of everyone. With her free hand, Payton picked up her menu and casually looked it over. “Now what am I in the mood for?”

  She began lightly stroking her finger along J.D.’s thigh.

  Very interesting.

  “Come on now, Payton—this is Florida. Y’all have to try the key lime pie,” Jasper declared. He took the liberty of ordering for all of them, and the waiter scooted off.

  “In fact,” Jasper said, “did you know that just last year, key lime pie was named our official state pie?”

  Payton’s fingers moved higher on J.D.’s thigh, now approaching Semi-Naughty territory. Two more inches and they would be officially within the limits of Outright Naughty.

  “I didn’t know that, Jasper,” Payton said, never breaking stride. “In fact, I didn’t know that states even had official pies. Did you know that, J.D.?”

  “No.”

  He could give two shits about pies.

  “Oh, absolutely,” Jasper assured them. “It caused quite a stir in the senate, actually. There was a fairly large contingent that lobbied to name another as the state pie. Any guesses? Payton?”

  Circle. Circle. Fingers. Thigh. Higher.

  Payton cocked her head, thinking. “Hmm . . . some kind of pie with oranges?”

  “Nope.” Jasper smiled, clearly enjoying being the only one in the know. He turned to his right. “Richard?”

  “Peach pie?” the general counsel guessed halfheartedly.

  “That would be Georgia, sorry. How ’bout you, J.D.?”

  At Jasper’s question, three pairs of eyes suddenly turned and stared directly at J.D., who, in addition to not giving two shits about pies, had been busy concentrating on the fact that Payton had teasingly stopped her fingers right at the Semi-Naughty/Outright Naughty border.

  “Are you okay, J.D.?” Payton asked with a mischievous grin. “You’ve been so quiet these past few minutes.”

  Ha. She was going to pay for that later.

  J.D. paused. Then—

  “Pecan.”

  Payton blinked, then smiled as Jasper smacked his hand on the table and shouted.

  “Yes! With all the pecan farms in Florida, there was a push to make that the state pie. Good going, Jameson,” Jasper said, impressed.

  “What can I say? I work well under pressure,” J.D. replied, with a smug look in Payton’s direction. “Now—if we’re through with the games . . . I think Payton was going to give us her overview on the substantive ways in which we should attack the plaintiffs’ claims.”

  “Yes, I was—thank you, J.D.”

  “No problem, Payton—the floor is yours.”

  Three sets of eyes turned to Payton. Just as—underneath the table—one of J.D.’s hands moved to her knee. How convenient it was that the slit of her dress parted at her thigh, giving him easy access to her bare skin.

  Payback could be such a devilish little bitch sometimes.

  Twenty-two

  SHORTLY AFTER TEN o’clock, Payton and J.D. stood in the lobby with Jasper and Richard, waiting for the valet to pull the car around front.

  “I’m really glad we got a chance to do this,” Jasper said, shaking their hands warmly. Richard did the same, saying how much he enjoyed meeting them.

  “Didn’t I say you’d be impressed with these two?” Jasper gave Richard a jovial slap on the back, nearly knocking the poor guy right into the heavy mosaic urn that sat atop the oak table next to them. J.D. had a sneaking suspicion the new GC wasn’t going to last more than a month.

  “Now normally I don’t like lawyers,” Jasper drawled with a chuckle, “and I definitely don’t like it when somebody tries to sue one of my companies for two hundred million bucks, but with you two”—he squinted one eye, taking aim with his fingers at Payton and J.D.—“I’ve got a good feelin’ here. I think I’m in good hands with y’all.”

  That had been the only negative part of the evening.

  J.D. watched as Payton tried to keep her expression impassive, but he could see it in her eyes. She hated not telling Jasper the truth just as much as he did, that because of the firm’s—to coin Jasper’s colorful phrasing—load-of-steamin’-bull-crap decision, one of them wouldn’t have anything to do with his case in about five days. Not for the first time, J.D. resented Ben and the other powers that be for putting him and Payton in this position. That being said, he had to acknowl
edge his own shortsightedness; perhaps he had jumped too quickly at the opportunity to go to Palm Beach, before really thinking through the fact that going would also mean he’d have to be deceptive, in part, to Jasper. But candidly, it wasn’t Jasper he’d been thinking of when he had agreed to the trip.

  Not that J.D. regretted his decision to come to Palm Beach—far from it. True, the under-the-table hijinks between him and Payton during dinner had never crossed the Semi-Naughty/Outright Naughty border, but in reality, he never really believed they would. Without having to say a word to each other, they both knew exactly where to draw the line with the fun and games. Although at one point during dinner, J.D. had briefly worried that Jasper had seen something.

  They had just finished dessert, and the waiter had finally brought the check. Payton and Richard had both excused themselves from the table to go to the restrooms and, after sliding his credit card into the check folder, Jasper turned to J.D. “Would you mind if I ask you a personal question, Jameson?”

  J.D. grinned. “Sure, although I can’t promise you that I’ll answer. And remember that you’re a gentleman, Jasper.”

  Jasper chuckled at that. “Fair enough. I’ll put this in the most gentlemanly of terms: Are you courting Ms. Kendall?”

  “That definitely is a question I’m not going to answer.”

  “Because I get a vibe.”

  “We can’t have this conversation, Jasper. Sorry.”

  “Something about the way you look at her.”

  “Hmm.”

  When J.D. remained absolutely, firmly silent, Jasper laughed. “Wow—my whole life, I don’t think I’ve ever seen a lawyer shut up so fast. You guys are normally happy to shoot your mouths off about anything. All right then—I know when to back off.”

  J.D. had simply smiled, and as quickly as possible, steered them onto another topic. Because if there was one thing he knew, it was to never make the same mistake twice.