Practice Makes Perfect

  “I’m not sure,” J.D. said. “There was a lot of other rambling going on there. Could you repeat it?”

  Payton feigned nonchalance. “Is that necessary? I mean, don’t they say that actions speak louder than words?”

  With a look—probably the one that was constantly getting him in trouble—J.D. took a step closer to her. “And what actions might those be?”

  Payton was suddenly aware that she was trapped between J.D. and the Bentley. This was typically the part where both of them got into trouble.

  “Well, for starters, I wouldn’t have walked out of the firm if I didn’t have at least some feelings for you,” she pointed out.

  “You could’ve done that because it was a smart move for your career,” J.D. said.

  “True, true,” Payton conceded. “But I’m going to Bora-Bora with you—that says something, doesn’t it?”

  “Maybe you’re just using me for sex.”

  “That is a possibility . . .” Payton mused. She held out her hands. “There has to be something I can point to. Wait, I know—”

  She touched J.D.’s face. “What about the fact that, through the good and the bad, you are pretty much the only man I’ve thought about for the past eight years? Does that say anything?”

  J.D. gently tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “I think it does.”

  “Good. Or instead, what if I just told you that I love you?” Payton gazed into his eyes. “What would you say, J. D. Jameson, if I told you that?” J.D. smiled. He touched his forehead to Payton’s, closed his eyes, and answered her with one word.

  “Finally.”

  Read on for an excerpt from Julie James’s next “addictively readable” (Chicago Tribune) novel

  LOVE IRRESISTIBLY

  Available in April 2013 from Berkley Sensation!

  One

  Brooke Parker stepped up to the bar at The Shore restaurant, ready to place her lunch order. The bartender, however, beat her to the punch.

  “Hey, it’s my favorite customer—Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico.” He flashed her a grin. “That’s my nickname for you.”

  Yes, she got that. “I suppose I’ve been called worse,” Brooke said as the bartender moved to the cash register to ring her up. She was indeed a regular, and she took pride in that. The restaurant was only two blocks from her office, right on Oak Street Beach, which made it the perfect midday escape. And it had the best chicken tacos in the city. Not that she was biased.

  Okay, maybe she was a little biased.

  She handed over a twenty-dollar bill. “I’ll take a strawberry-mango smoothie, too.”

  “Ooh, a smoothie. Getting a little crazy today, are we?” In his early twenties, with blond hair and a tanned face, the bartender had the look of a recent college grad who planned to spend a lot of time playing beach volleyball this summer.

  He called Brooke’s order back to the kitchen, and then looked her over. “I’m starting to feel like I should know more about you, Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico.” He winked. “Since we’ve been seeing each other on a weekly basis for nearly a month now.” He took in the tailored gray suit she wore. “I’m thinking that you are a . . . lawyer.”

  “Good guess.”

  “I knew it. I bet you’re one of those ballbuster types in court.”

  Brooke fought back a smile. Really, she should just spare the poor guy the embarrassment, but this was kind of fun. “Actually, I’m not a trial lawyer.” She decided to give him a hint. “I’m general counsel for a company based here in Chicago.”

  He made a big show of being impressed. “Look at you, Ms. Thing. What kind of company?”

  “Restaurants and bars.”

  “What a coincidence. We’re both in the restaurant business.” He leaned his elbows on the bar, giving her a smoldering, sexy look that likely helped him rake in big tips with the female clientele. “It’s Kismet.”

  Or . . . maybe not so much. Brooke raised an eyebrow. “Are you supposed to be flirting with the customers?”

  He brushed this off with an oh-so-cool smile. “Probably not. But for you, Chicken Tacos, Extra Pico, I’ll break the rules. Just don’t tell any of those stiffs in corporate.”

  Brooke had to bite her lip to hold back a smile at that one. Aw, she definitely couldn’t clue the poor guy in now. Then a voice called her name.

  “Playing hooky for the afternoon, Ms. Parker?”

  Brooke turned and saw Kurt McGregor, one of the managers of The Shore. “Unfortunately, no. Just sneaking out for a quick break.”

  Kurt gestured to the bartender. “I hope Ryan here is treating you well.”

  “Ryan has been most charming,” she assured him.

  The bartender pointed between them. “You two know each other?”

  Kurt chuckled at that. “You could say that. Ryan, this is Brooke Parker from corporate. She’s general counsel of Sterling.”

  The grin on the bartender’s face froze, replaced by a look of panic. “Oh, shit. Sterling Restaurants. As in, the people who sign my paychecks?”

  “The one and only,” Brooke said.

  The bartender looked like he’d swallowed a bug. “I just called you a stiff.”

  “And Ms. Thing.”

  “Please don’t fire me,” he whispered.

  Brooke pretended to think about that. “It’s tempting. But firing someone involves a lot of paperwork. Not something I want to do on a Friday afternoon. I’ll hold off until Monday instead.” She saw his eyes widen. “I’m kidding, Ryan.”

  Kurt cleared his throat pointedly. “Ryan, maybe this would be a good time to check on Ms. Parker’s order?”

  The bartender straightened up, clearly relieved to be dismissed. “Good idea. One order for Chicken Tac—uh, Ms. Parker—coming right up.” With that, he bolted for the kitchen.

  Kurt turned to her after the bartender left. “Okay, seriously. Should I fire him?”

  “Nah. He sneaks me extra pico on the side. He’s a keeper.”

  Kurt chuckled at that, then gestured to the terrace. “Are you sticking around? I’m sure I can finagle you a table with a view of the lake if you want to eat in.”

  Brooke looked out at the umbrella-covered tables on the sunny terrace, tempted by the idea. It was gorgeous June day, and the view from the terrace was undeniably one of the best in Chicago: skyscrapers towering majestically against the shimmering blue of Lake Michigan. Today, however, duty called.

  Actually, duty called every day. Duty had her on speed dial.

  “Wish I could. But I’ve got a conference call in”—Brooke checked her watch— “yikes, twenty minutes.”

  Ryan the bartender came out of the kitchen with a carryout bag and a smoothie. With a sheepish look, he set both on the bar in front of Brooke and scurried off.

  “By any chance would this conference call have anything to do with a certain deal you’re negotiating with the Staples Center?” Kurt asked in a sly tone after Ryan disappeared.

  Brooke’s face gave nothing away. “I can neither confirm nor deny the existence of any such deal.”

  “Spoken like a true lawyer.”

  Brooke winked as she grabbed her smoothie and tacos and headed for the door. “Always.”

  * * *

  Brooke briskly walked the two blocks from Oak Street Beach to the elegant eight-story building on Michigan Avenue that was home to Sterling’s corporate offices. Tacos and smoothie in hand, she pushed through the revolving doors and waved hello to Mac, a retired Chicago police officer who manned the front security desk, as she passed through the lobby and headed toward the elevators.

  When Ian Sterling, CEO of Sterling Restaurants, had approached her two years ago about coming on board as general counsel—or “GC” as the position was commonly called—he’d been very candid about his vision and plans. He’d started the compan
y with one restaurant, an American bistro in the heart of downtown Chicago, and within eight years had opened six more restaurants that ran the spectrum from summer hot spot The Shore, to an Irish pub on the south side of the city, to Sogna, the company’s “crown jewel” that had just this year earned a coveted three-star Michelin rating.

  Many restaurateurs would’ve been satisfied there, but not Ian Sterling. He was aggressive, he was driven, and he had plans. Big plans.

  A friend of a friend knew the owner of the Chicago Cubs, and Ian convinced the owner to consider letting Sterling Restaurants take over the food and beverage service for the Stadium Club and skyboxes at Wrigley Field.

  “Should you choose to accept the position,” Ian had said to Brooke, à la Mission Impossible, on the evening he’d formally offered her the job over dinner at Sogna, “your first task as GC will be to close the Wrigley Field deal.”

  “And then what?” Brooke had asked.

  “You’ll be part of a team that will build an entire sports and entertainment division of Sterling,” he’d said. “Ballparks. Arenas. Stadiums.”

  Brooke had to admit, she’d been impressed with his ambition. She’d been working at a law firm at the time, in the corporate department, and had been the associate with primary responsibility over Sterling Restaurants’ non-litigation matters. Having known Ian for several years by that point, she’d been aware that he’d contemplated hiring an in-house attorney. What she hadn’t realized, however, was that he’d planned to ask her to fill the position. “You’re not concerned that I only have five years’ experience?”

  “I’ve seen you in action many times, Brooke. You’re tough when you need to be, and you can charm the pants off men who have three times your experience.”

  “Well, yes. Although I try not to take advantage of that too often. Very awkward negotiating with people who are sitting around in their underwear.”

  Ian had grinned. “I like your style—and just as important, I like you. So the better question is, do you think you can handle the job?”

  A direct question. Luckily, Brooke had never been one to mince words, either, and Ian’s enthusiasm and drive were infectious. It was an opportunity to take a chance, to get involved with a young company that was on the rise. So in answer to Ian’s question, she’d looked him right in the eyes. “Absolutely.”

  Because Brooke Parker was a woman who was going places. She’d made that promise to herself a long time ago.

  Two years later, she had zero regrets about taking a chance with Sterling. The company had grown steadily since she’d come on board as GC, most notably in their sports and entertainment division. After finalizing negotiations with Wrigley Field, Brooke and the other two members of Ian’s “dream team”—the VP of sales and the VP of operations—had spent a lot of time schmoozing and wining and dining prospective clients. And when they’d landed a contract to take over the food service at the United Center—home of the Chicago Bulls and Blackhawks and the fifth-most-profitable sports venue in North America—they’d all partied like it was 1999 at the Sterling corporate office.

  A few months after that, they’d headed down to Dallas, where Brooke and the two VPs had given their best sales pitch and negotiated a deal with the Cowboys. A short while later, they landed the contract for Dodger Stadium, too.

  During the Dodger negotiations, the general counsel, a woman with whom Brooke had formed a friendly relationship, just so happened to let it slip that she’d heard whispers that the folks at L.A. Arena Company—who owned the Staples Center, aka home to the Los Angeles Lakers, Clippers, Kings, and Sparks—were also unhappy with their food and beverage vendor and looking to make a change as soon as their current contract expired.

  So the dream team had struck while the iron was hot.

  And now, assuming there were no hiccups in the deal Brooke was finalizing today with the lawyers representing L.A. Arena Company, Sterling Restaurants would soon be adding the Staples Center, the number-one most profitable sports venue in the country, to their roster.

  In a word, they were hot.

  Sterling was an exciting, demanding, absolutely exhausting place to work. Sure, that meant long hours for Brooke, but she believed in the company and her role there. Whether negotiating a multimillion dollar contract with the GC of the Dallas Cowboys, or investigating an internal complaint that one of their pastry chefs had a problem playing grab-ass with the waitresses, there was never, ever a dull moment.

  After exiting the elevator at the third floor, Brooke turned down the hallway that would take her to Sterling’s offices. She pushed through the frosted glass doors and said hello to the receptionist. According to the clock on the wall, she still had fifteen minutes to eat lunch before her conference call. Plenty of time.

  “I’m back,” she told Lindsey, her assistant, who sat at the desk outside Brooke’s office.

  “A couple of calls came in while you were out,” Lindsey said. “The first one was from Justin. He asked that you call him back as soon as you get in.”

  The message took Brooke somewhat by surprise. She and Justin, aka the Hot OB, had been dating for a little over four months now, and she could count on one hand the number of times she’d talked to him at the office. Both of them were always so busy during the day, it was simply easier to e-mail or text him on her way home from work. “Uh-oh. I hope he’s not calling to cancel tonight. We’ve got reservations at Rustic House,” she said, referring to a nearly-impossible-to-get-into restaurant on the north side that was not in the Sterling family.

  “Traitor,” Lindsey said with a grin. She handed Brooke a piece of paper with a phone number on it. “And you also received a call from Cade Morgan at the U.S. Attorney’s Office.”

  Now that got Brooke’s attention.

  Just about anyone who followed the local news knew who Cade Morgan was. One of the top assistant U.S. attorneys in Chicago, he’d made a name for himself by prosecuting several high-profile government corruption cases—and, a little over a year ago, the famous “Twitter Terrorist” case that had garnered international attention. He had a reputation of being smart, disarmingly charming in front of judges and juries, and tough as nails against opposing counsel.

  And what he might possibly want from Brooke, she had no clue.

  “Did he say what this was in regards to?” Brooke asked.

  “No. Only that he’d like you to call him back as soon as possible. He was very firm about that.”

  This unexpected message from the U.S. Attorney’s Office had Brooke feeling a bit . . . uneasy. Cade Morgan was a prosecutor who handled big cases that got a lot of media attention. Whatever this was, it wasn’t a social call. And as general counsel for Sterling Restaurants, her hackles were up.

  “Thanks, Lindsey.” Brooke went into her office and shut the door behind her, trying not to get too rattled by Morgan’s message. She didn’t know what he wanted, she reminded herself, so there wasn’t anything worth worrying about. Yet.

  Never a dull moment, she thought again to herself as she settled in at her desk and unwrapped one of the tacos. Double-tasking per usual, she took a bite while dialing Justin’s number on speakerphone.

  “Hey there,” she said when he answered his cell phone. “I wasn’t sure I’d actually catch you.” She could picture him looking cute in his scrubs right then—an easy image to conjure up since she’d seen him wearing them a few times late at night after one of his shifts.

  “I stepped out of the office for a short break,” Justin said. His obstetrics practice was located a few blocks from Brooke’s office, which was nice if they wanted to meet for lunch. Although come to think of it, they’d only met for lunch once, back when they’d first started dating.

  He sounded apologetic. “I just sent one of my patients to the hospital to be induced. She’s only a half-centimeter dilated, but she’s forty-one weeks with gesta
tional diabetes. Since it’s her first baby, this could be a long night. Sorry to have to cancel on you like this.”

  “Darn babies. Somebody needs to explain to them about date night,” Brooke said jokingly. While she was disappointed not to see Justin tonight, she understood that work conflicts sometimes came up. Heck, she’d had to reschedule two dates so far this month because of last-minute emergencies she’d needed to handle at the office.

  “Yeah. Right.” He cleared his throat as if hesitant about whatever it was he wanted to say next. “You and I sure seem to be missing each other a lot these days.”

  Aw, the Hot OB missed her. And he was right; it had been a busy month. She’d been in Los Angeles for nearly a week, working on the Staples Center deal, and then had been swamped trying to catch up with everything at work after that. Lately, it seemed the only times she and Justin were both free was between eleven P.M. and five A.M. “So let’s not miss each other tonight, even if we can’t do dinner,” she suggested. “Why don’t you text me when you’re finished at the hospital and come over to my place?”

  “That’ll probably be around two A.M.”

  “I know. But since that’s the only time we both seem to be available, it’s either that or nothing,” Brooke said.

  “Yes, that certainly does seem to be how it works with us. Heaven forbid we ever go on an actual date.”

  When she heard the frustration in his voice, Brooke got a sinking feeling in her stomach.

  Not again.

  She tried to smooth things over. “Look, I know that things have been crazy for me with these back-to-back deals in Los Angeles. You’re a doctor, you know how it is—your schedule is just as bad.” Admittedly, she was feeling a bit defensive right then, and felt the need to note that for the record.

  He sighed. “I know. Tonight is my fault. And then next time, something will come up for you.”

  “We talked about this when we first met.” Given her less-than-successful track record with relationships, she’d been up-front with him from the beginning about the demands of her job.