“I want you two to examine my case. I’ve already made my decision, but whoever comes to the same conclusion as me first, or a better one, gets to take it to court.”
My stomach plummets to the floor. Every other lawyer would be excited to get their first real court case, even if it is only someone refuting a parking ticket. But I have oneteenyproblem. It’s not that I don’t think I can win a case. I’ve won several mock trials through the years. Heck, I even got Crew to eat celery sticks the other day. If I can convince my best friend’s picky child to eat a vegetable, I can convince a jury of anything.
As long as none of them are looking at me.
An audience of one or two is fine, but more than that, and all I can focus on are the judgy eyes. That’s when I panic, making my ability to present the evidence in my favor fly right out the window. In law school, I developed the method of staring directly above or below someone’s eyes while I presented my arguments. If that didn’t work, I’d stare daggers at Connor who always happened to be in the room somewhere, watching and waiting for me to mess up. But I’ve yet to discover how I’ll manage either of those things in an actual courtroom.
“Take this to the conference room and get started. You have until the end of the day.” Mr. Lawrence drops the file onto my desk with a resounding thud. No matter how much it scares me, I snatch it before Connor can. It’s a competition, after all. And I excel at those.
“You sure you want to take this case to court?” Connor asks, casually matching my stride on the way to the conference room.
“Why wouldn’t I?”
He shrugs, a motion that appears innocent enough on anyone besides cast-out archangels. “You don’t seem to enjoy public speaking.”
I make a noise somewhere in the realm of a “pshlsh.“ How? Of all the people in the world, how didhepick up on that?
“I think I’m pretty good at fighting for what’s right.” I flip my hair, grinning when it smacks him in the face. “Why else would I waste my breath on you?”
“I didn’t say you weren’t good at fighting,” he says as we reach the door, and he has the audacity to pull it open for me and let me pass through first. I skim the edge of the door frame to avoid brushing his chest. “In fact, it’s one of my favorite activities to engage in with you.”
I trip over the nonexistent threshold then right myself like nothing happened. He won’t intimidate me with his false seductions.
“It’s the talking in front of other, less annoying people that seems to stress you out,” he continues.
“So, you agree you’re annoying.” I slam the folder onto the table directly in front of me and sit down. I don’t have to share this case with him. In fact, maybe I won’t.
“No more than you, darling.” Connor slides into the chair next to mine, dropping his suit jacket on the chair beside him and rolling up his sleeves.
He lasted a whole two hours in his suit today. Not that I pay attention to how often he sheds his clothes.
He leans closer. “Some people are better at taking the heat than others.”
I can feel his warmth and his smirk, like it’s a bug crawling up my skin. It throws me off kilter and I’m unable to respond with a jab he perfectly set up for me.
“Let’s just get this over with.” I open the file and start pouring over the papers. This is the part I’m good at—sorting through information, finding connections, spotting flaws, and putting together a solid case.
What I’m not good at is waiting. And I’ve been waiting five minutes for the page Connor is reading. Is he purposely reading this slow to annoy me? It’s Conner, of course he is. It’s fine. It doesn’t bother me. There’s not a ticking clock on this or anything.
I tap my pencil on my leg while counting to sixty.
That’s it. That’s all the patience I’ve got.
“Can you read any slower?” My voice echoes through the glass room.
The conference room sits in the middle of the office building. It feels less like a secure meeting space and more like being a lab rat on display. A movement catches my eye, and I see one of my least favorite paralegals, Bri, gawking at Conner on the other side of the glass.
Am I the only one in the universe who sees him for who he really is?
“I could, yes,” Connor mutters. Reading seems to have put him in a foul mood. He makes a show of using his pen to underline something on the top line then slowly skims the page again.
I clench my fists under the table. “I’m not going to let you ruin this for me.”
His eyes harden, an uncomfortable heat radiating from them. “Because it’s all about you, right?”
“Oh grow up.” I push from the table. “I’m going to get some coffee. Try to be done with the first line by the time I come back.” My heels make a stiff click against the tile as I head for the door.
“They don’t keep the tampons in the breakroom.”
