Practice Makes Perfect

  But the truth of the matter was, he couldn’t fucking believe this was happening.

  Through the glass on his door, J.D. could see Payton hurrying into her office. He watched as, like him, she immediately shut the door behind her. It provided him no consolation that she had obviously been as stunned by Ben’s news as he.

  After eight years, it had finally come down to this.

  Him versus her.

  The buzz of the telephone intercom, his secretary’s call, momentarily startled him.

  “Yes, Kathy,” he answered in a clipped, brisk tone. He needed a few moments alone to think.

  “Sorry to bother you, J.D.,” came Kathy’s voice through the speakerphone. “Chuck Werner asked that you call him as soon as possible to discuss next week’s deposition schedule.”

  J.D. pinched between his eyes. He felt a headache coming on and was not at all in the mood to deal with his opposing counsel. “Thanks, Kathy. I’ll get back to him.”

  “And one other thing,” Kathy added quickly, seeming to sense his eagerness to get off the phone. “Your father called and asked me to give you a message. He said you would understand.” She spoke slowly, confused by the message. “He said to tell you that he heard the firm was making an announcement today and wanted to know whether your mother just got her new mink coat.”

  J.D. closed his eyes. His headache had suddenly gotten much worse.

  PAYTON LEANED AGAINST her office door with her eyes shut. She slowly breathed in and out, trying to steady herself.

  She wasn’t in her office five seconds before her phone began to ring. She tried to ignore it.

  Then her second line rang.

  Payton opened her eyes and headed to her desk. Glancing over at her computer, she saw that she had twenty-five new email messages.

  There was a knock at her door. Without hesitation, Irma popped her head into the office.

  “Oh, good, I thought you were here—you have Mr. McKane holding on line one, and Eric Riley waiting for you on line two. He wants to talk about the Middleton trial.”

  Payton couldn’t breathe. She felt as though the walls were closing in around her. A third call came in, and the ringing of her phone seemed deafening.

  She needed to get out.

  Now.

  She slid past Irma. “Tell everyone I’ll call them back. I . . . have to take care of something. An urgent matter.”

  With that, she took off in a hurry toward the elevators.

  THE FIFTY-FIFTH FLOOR housed the firm’s law library. With grand cathedral ceilings and sunlit stained-glass windows, the library’s grandeur befitted a different era, a time when—egads—lawyers consulted books for information. In the post-Internet days of online research, however, it was rare to find a living soul amongst the library’s elegant two-story mahogany bookshelves—save for Ripley & Davis’s lone librarian, Agnes, who had been with the firm since its inception.

  Nearly six years ago, getting lost while looking for the accounting floor, Payton had stumbled upon the law library (it wasn’t even included in the new associate tour anymore) and had been charmed by its quiet calm. It was an oasis of serenity amid the chaos and bustle of the firm’s other floors.

  Truthfully, it was also pretty much the only place in the entire building to which an associate could escape without being called, emailed, beeped, sent for, paged, or otherwise hounded by ne’er-do-well partners trying to pawn off emergency TROs at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon. Not that Payton—the highly industrious associate she was—had ever personally utilized the library for such nefarious purposes. She could just surmise that the library would be great for hiding out, if one so happened to be inclined.

  Payton burst into the library, relieved to see that it was empty as always. She hurried past the librarian’s desk en route to her favorite “thinking” spot: the Archives shelves in the far back corner of the library.

  “Hello, Agnes,” she said politely as she breezed by.

  Agnes turned at the sound of Payton’s voice. Eighty years old if a day, the librarian’s vision wasn’t the greatest. She smiled and waved in the wrong direction, addressing the air.

  “Hello, Ms. Kendall!” Agnes called out. “Come to practice another opening statement?” It was the excuse Payton had given her years ago, to explain what she did while hanging out by herself amongst the library stacks.

  “I won’t be long today,” Payton said over her shoulder. She just needed a minute or two to collect herself. Ben’s news had come as a shock. All of her anger was bubbling up to the surface and if she didn’t get a moment to herself to calm down, she might explode.

  Payton headed to the Archives section, and when she was safely tucked out of sight, she came to a stop. She leaned against the bookshelves and took a deep breath. And another.

  Keep it together, she told herself. It wasn’t the end of the world. Yet. She still had a chance of making partner. She still—

  Oh, hell. Before she could stop it, tears of frustration welled up in her eyes. She looked up at the ceiling. No, no, no, she would not do this. Not here, not now.

  It was at that moment that Payton heard Agnes call out in greeting to someone else. She peered through the bookshelves and saw—shit!—J.D. standing at the entrance of the library. Payton watched as he headed over to Agnes’s desk, saying something she couldn’t hear.

  Payton glanced around, hoping to spot another exit out of the stacks. She really couldn’t deal with J.D. right then. Unfortunately, there was no other way out. Peering through the books, she saw Agnes point to the Archives section where she was hiding. J.D. nodded, then began walking straight toward her.

  Payton quickly brushed away the tears from her eyes, praying that her mascara wasn’t smudged. She needed a cover—fast. She saw a nearby step stool and climbed up. She grabbed the first book she saw off the shelf and cracked it open just as J.D. rounded the corner.

  “Payton,” he said.

  She feigned disinterest, peering up from her book. “Doing a little research, J.D.?”

  “Of course not,” he said. “And neither are you. I followed you here.” He glanced around. “Strange—I thought this was an accounting floor.”

  Payton climbed down from the step stool, still striving for nonchalance. “You followed me here? Any particular reason?”

  J.D. seemed embarrassed by the question. “I saw you run out of your office. After our meeting with Ben, I thought that maybe you, well . . .” he trailed off awkwardly.

  Great, Payton realized. Exactly what she needed—J.D.’s pity. She suddenly felt tears threatening once again.

  “I’m fine,” Payton said, turning her back to him. “Really.”

  She felt J.D.’s hand on her shoulder. “Don’t do this, Payton,” he said in a soft voice.

  It was too much, hearing J.D. speak like that. She needed to make him stop. She forced herself to look indifferent as she turned around. “What do you want, J.D.? Because I was thinking, for once, that maybe you could just back off.”

  J.D.’s face hardened at her words, which unfortunately had come out sounding harsher than she’d meant them to.

  He pulled back and folded his arms over his chest. “Well, somebody sure seems a little tense. You wouldn’t be worried about this decision, would you?”

  Payton feigned confidence. “No.”

  “No?”

  She raised her chin stubbornly. “No.”

  A look of worry crossed J.D.’s face. “You know already,” he stated woodenly. “You know they’re going to choose you.”

  “I know that if the firm goes by merit, they’ll pick me,” Payton said.

  J.D. narrowed the gap between them in one stride. “You really think you’re that much better than me?”

  Payton stood her ground. “Yes.”

  His eyes narrowed. “Please—if the firm picks you, we both know the reason.”

  Payton smirked at this. “What reason is that? My ‘girls’?”

  J.D. shrugged. “You said it.”
>
  “Bullshit,” Payton said. “You, Ben, and pretty much every other man at this firm are all one big team—you all went to the same Ivy League schools; you’re all members of the same country clubs. And tell me, J.D.—how many of Daddy’s CEO friends did you promise you could bring in as clients? I bet the members of the Partnership Committee are just foaming at the mouth at the thought of the money you’ll bring in with your connections. Or your father’s connections, I should say.”

  She was being mean, really mean, and she knew it. But Payton couldn’t seem to stop herself—the floodgates had opened and all the emotions of the last twenty minutes were pouring out.

  She saw J.D.’s eyes flash with anger. “Oh, but what about what you can give them, Payton?”

  “This should be good. Enlighten me.”

  “Diversity. If they chose you, the Partnership Committee can pat themselves on the back for hiring the right demographic.”

  With a loud slam, Payton threw the book she had been holding onto the shelf next to her. Dust flew everywhere, including onto the sleeve of J.D.’s jacket. “Diversity?” she repeated incredulously. “Why don’t you look around this firm sometime—everyone here is just like you, J.D. White with a penis.”

  Ignoring this, J.D. pointed to the dust on his sleeve. “Take it easy on the suit, cupcake. This was hand-tailored in London.”

  “Oh—I’m sorry. I guess you’ll just have to pick up another one the next time you visit Her Majesty for tea. Isn’t she another friend of the family?” Angrily, Payton shoved J.D. out of her way and stormed through the stacks.

  J.D. followed after her. “Are you saying I don’t deserve this?” he demanded. “I’ve billed over twenty-nine hundred hours for the past eight years!”

  Payton whipped around. “So have I! And the only difference between you and me is that statistics say you’re more likely to keep it up. The firm doesn’t worry that one day you’ll decide you want to leave at five to kiss your kids good night.”

  J.D. stepped closer to her. Then closer again, literally trapping her against the bookshelves.

  “Spare me the feminist rant, Payton. It’s getting a little tired. I’ve had to work my ass off to get where I am, while you had your ticket written from the minute you stepped into this firm.”

  Payton felt her face flush with anger. “Really? Well, you know what I think, J.D.?” She jabbed his chest with one of her fingers. “I think that you are an uptight, pony-owning, trickle-down-economics-loving, Scotch-on-the-rocks-drinking, my-wife-better-take-my-last-name sexist jerk!”

  J.D. grabbed her hand and pulled it away. “Well, at least I’m not a stubborn, button-pushing, Prius-driving, chip-on-your-shoulder-holding, ‘stay-at-home-mom’-is-the-eighth-dirty-word-thinking feminazi!”

  He had her pressed against the bookshelves, his body against hers, her hand pinned to her side as he glared down at her. She glared up at him right back.

  He was furious. So was she.

  Neither of them moved. And in that moment, the strangest thought popped into Payton’s head.

  She had the feeling that J.D. was going to kiss her.

  And—even stranger—she had a feeling that she just might let him.

  J.D. must have read the look on her face. Payton saw his eyes flash—but not with anger this time—and she felt his hand suddenly reach for the nape of her neck, the strength of his arms pulling her in, his head bending down to hers, and even as she cursed him for thinking she would ever, ever allow it, she closed her eyes and parted her lips and—

  “Excuse me.”

  The shock of the voice hit Payton like a cold bucket of ice.

  She blinked as if coming out of a fog, and both she and J.D. turned their heads to see Agnes standing at the end of the aisle, waving at them. Payton could only imagine how it looked, the two of them wild-eyed and pressed up against each other.

  But the amiable librarian was either extremely discreet or more likely—given the Coke-bottle-sized glasses perched high atop her nose—extremely blind. She smiled at them as they stood there, frozen.

  “I just wanted to remind you that we close in ten minutes,” she said pleasantly.

  “Thank you, Agnes,” Payton said, her breath ragged. Perhaps if they didn’t move, the octogenarian couldn’t see them. Like T. rex.

  “We’ll be just a moment longer,” J.D. said. His voice sounded husky. Sexy.

  Payton had no idea why she just thought that.

  Agnes nodded, then left. As soon as she was out of sight, Payton angrily shoved J.D. off her.

  “Stay away from me, Jameson,” she said, her voice still a little shaky. She cleared her throat and hoped she wasn’t blushing.

  J.D. straightened up and adjusted his suit indifferently. “Not a problem. In fact, it’s my pleasure.” With a nod, he stepped out of her way.

  Payton moved past him, eyes facing forward. But when she got to the end of the aisle, she couldn’t help it—she turned and looked back.

  “Oh, and by the way”—she flung her hair back confidently—“that partnership spot is mine.”

  J.D. looked her over. “Don’t bet your Prius on that.” With a haughty wink, he brushed past her and coolly walked out of the library.

  TEMPORARY INSANITY.

  That was her defense.

  The stress of finding out she might not make partner had momentarily made her lose it, all the marbles, gone.

  Not to mention the high-altitude sickness. Her body simply wasn’t used to the lower oxygen levels of the fifty-fifth floor.

  But all that had now passed.

  Payton thankfully was once again clearheaded and focused. She had come this far, she would not lose now, she would not let these last eight years all have been for nothing. In other words—

  This was war.

  She called Laney during the cab ride home from work. She told her best friend everything. Everything about her meeting with Ben that is, about the Partnership Committee’s decision to name only one litigation partner. She did not, however, see any point in discussing her argument with J.D. Whatever that little blowout was, it was over. She had a career, one potentially in jeopardy, to focus on.

  At the end of the conversation, Payton checked her voice mail and discovered—to her pleasant surprise—that she had a message from the Perfect Chase, asking to meet her for a drink later that week.

  Payton decided to meet him. She needed the distraction.

  By the time she arrived home, she had managed to convince herself that the only thing she needed distracting from was work.

  J.D. WAS THE last person to leave the office that night.

  About twenty minutes ago, he had glanced up from his computer and seen Payton packing up her briefcase for the evening. She hadn’t once looked in the direction of his office as she left.

  Good, J.D. thought. He preferred it when they weren’t talking. Things were much simpler when they weren’t talking.

  He still didn’t understand why he had followed Payton to the library in the first place. Clearly, that had been a mistake.

  Stay away from me, Jameson.

  As if he ever had any intention otherwise. Sure, their argument in the library had gotten a little out of hand. And there was that moment when . . . well, that was nothing. And even more important, in light of her reaction, he most definitely would not be interested in ever trying nothing again. He—J. D. Jameson—could easily find more amiable trysts to divert his attention than that angry shrew of a woman.

  Oh, and by the way . . . that partnership spot is mine.

  Hmm . . . let’s think about that. He was one of the top lawyers in the city, she had said so herself. Should he be scared? Should he throw in the towel, toss eight years of hard work down the drain and cede the partnership all because of some woman in a fitted skirt and high heels?

  Not bloody likely.

  Nine

  PAYTON ARRIVED AT the restaurant ten minutes late.

  She blamed this primarily on Laney, who had been microm
anaging the date ever since Payton had spoken to the Perfect Chase and set it up two days ago. Thankfully, Laney had approved of her choice in locale, SushiSamba Rio, which was upscale (“no feminist BS, Payton—let him pay”) although not overtly flashy (“but don’t order anything over twenty-five dollars; you don’t want to look like a materialist hussy”) and had a separate lounge and dining area. This way, Payton figured, she and Chase would start with drinks and, if things went well, could stay for dinner.

  Now anyone who has ever been on a blind date is well familiar with “The Moment”—that moment where you first walk into the bar or restaurant or coffee shop and scan the crowd and suddenly your heart stops and you say to yourself: oh, please—let it be him.

  And then you immediately think, wait—it can’t be him, why would anyone who looks like him be on a blind date? But you allow yourself to hope anyway, until—inevitably—some equally gorgeous woman comes back from the rest-room and sits down at his table, and you realize that—lucky you—your date is the schmoe at the bar with the lame blue button-down shirt and high-waisted khaki pants who obviously just finished his shift at Blockbuster.

  Which explains why, when Payton first walked into the restaurant that evening, she immediately noticed the guy at the bar in the dark shirt and jeans, but then just as quickly turned her attention elsewhere, having written him off as far too delicious.

  Seeing no other likely prospects, Payton figured the Perfect Chase was at the very least not so perfect by running even later than she, so she took a seat at the bar to wait. She hadn’t even had the chance to order before she felt someone tap her on the shoulder from behind. Payton turned around and had to stifle her gasp.

  Sweet Jesus.

  It was The Delicious in the dark shirt and jeans.

  “Payton, right?” The Delicious asked with a friendly smile. “Laney asked Nate to call and tell me what you were wearing. That girl thinks of everything, doesn’t she?”

  Wow.

  Laney—that sneaky little Republican—had knocked it out of the ballpark with this one.