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 micromanaging 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.
Payton grinned. “You must be Chase.” As she extended her hand in introduction, she took the opportunity to give him a more thorough once-over.
He had dark wavy hair and warm brown eyes. Very Pat-rick Dempsey/McDreamy-esque. Good build, not terribly tall, maybe only five-ten-ish, but since Payton measured in at exactly five-three and one-third inch, she could work with this.
Chase took her hand. His grip was firm. “It’s a pleasure, Payton,” he said, still with an utterly genuine, easy smile.
Uh-oh. Payton’s bullshit radar went on high alert. He was
too
nice. She eyed him cautiously as he took a seat next to her at the bar.
But as they talked and ordered drinks, Payton began to have a sneaking suspicion that Chase’s nice-guy routine wasn’t a routine at all. He seemed genuinely friendly and—even more shocking for a blind date—completely normal.
“So, Laney tells me you’re a lawyer as well,” Chase said as the bartender set their drinks down in front of them, a French martini for her, a Tom Collins for him. Payton made a mental note to ask what was in his drink they next time they ordered. (Oh, yes—she had already decided there would be a second round.)
Payton nodded. “I do labor and employment litigation.” She told him a little about her practice, then asked about his.
“I just moved here to be the new general counsel for the Chicago Legal Clinic,” Chase said. “Perhaps you’ve heard of us? We’re a private not-for-profit firm that provides legal services to individuals who meet the federal poverty guidelines.”
Payton was impressed. How altruistic of him. Her mother would love this guy. “General counsel? Laney hadn’t mentioned that.”
Chase grinned. “It sounds like a much more important position than it really is.”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually
disinclined
to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than identifying Harvard by name. And when she asked what he had done prior to coming to Chicago to work for the Legal Clinic, she’d nearly had to pry it out of him that he had been the assistant chief of staff for a certain senator who had run for president in the last election. He didn’t like to name-drop, he told her, mildly embarrassed.
After a while, they moved to a private table in the back of the bar for their second round of drinks. (A Tom Collins, Payton had since learned, consisted of gin, lemon juice, soda, sugar, and—hmm—a maraschino cherry.)
As Chase finished telling a story about the coed softball league he and Laney’s husband played in, Payton cocked her head curiously. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you really don’t seem like the typical Harvard Law type.”
Chase laughed good-naturedly. “That’s what I said myself, every day, right up until I mailed in my acceptance.” He leaned in toward her, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Laney warned me about this, Payton, and I just have to say for the record that we’re not all total assholes, us Ivy Leaguers. Some of us actually go there for the education—not just to be able to brag that we went to Harvard.”
Payton couldn’t help but smile. Point taken. “Now what am I supposed to say to that? I hate it when you Harvard boys are right.”
“Then I promise to screw up plenty on our second date—
if
there is a second date,” Chase added with a wink.
It was the wink that made Payton think of J.D.
More specifically, of her and J.D. in the library. The haughty way he’d told her not to count on making partner. How angry he’d been when they’d argued. The way he’d furiously backed her against the bookshelves. And the way he’d looked at her right before she’d—ahem—been stricken with the high-altitude sickness.
Payton pushed the memory from her mind. She was on a
date
. It was bad enough she had to deal with J.D. at work—there was no way she was going to let him intrude on her personal time, too.
So Payton rested her chin in her hand and looked at the handsome man sitting across the table from her with a blatant come-hither smile.
“
If
there is a second date?” she asked coyly.
Over the light of the candle that flickered in the center of their table, Chase returned the smile.
“
When
there is a second date.”
“SO BASICALLY, YOU acted like a total trollop.”
“Laney!”
“A man isn’t going to buy the cow, Payton, if he can get the milk for free.”
“We didn’t even kiss!” Payton protested, not bothering to hide her laugh. The things that came out of her friend’s mouth sometimes.
They were talking at work, in Payton’s office. She had gotten home too late to call Laney the night before, having done three rounds of drinks with the Perfect Chase. The two of them had talked so much they hadn’t noticed when the restaurant’s kitchen closed. Hence, Payton hadn’t had anything to eat with her three rounds. Hence, the slight headache and nauseous feeling she’d been battling since waking up. She was quickly remembering why she didn’t like going out on weeknights, especially when she had to be in the office by 7:30 a.m.
“Wait, you didn’t kiss him?” Laney’s tone suddenly changed and she eyed Payton suspiciously. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like him?”
Payton dug through the stack of jury instructions on her desk. “Oh—look who wants to gossip now.”
“Tell me, Payton,” Laney demanded. “Nate tells me Chase is a really great guy. I’ve already had visions of the seven of us barbecuing on Sundays.”
“The seven of us?”
“There are the children, of course.”
Payton nodded. “I see. And . . . seven?”
“Nate and I have twins—a boy and a girl.”
“Of course you do.”
Laney fidgeted in her chair impatiently. “So, come on then—did you like him?”
“Of course I liked him,” Payton said. “I mean, what’s not to like? He’s good-looking and nice and successful . . .”
“But?”
“Well, he ordered a drink with a cherry.”
Laney sighed. “I see. Okay, whatever. I tried.”
“What does that mean?” Payton asked, going on the defensive.
“Clearly, you’re trying to find something wrong with him,” Laney said. “His beverage selection? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”
Payton took issue with this. “Wait a second—why would I try to find something wrong with Chase?”
“Good question. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. As we already established from the ‘trollop’ comment, he and I are going on a second date.”
“I’m just putting it out there that you really might want to give this guy a chance,” Laney lectured.
“I told you, I like him!”
“Good.”
“We have a lot in common—we talked for hours.”
“Glad to hear it.” Laney said nothing further; she just stared at Payton with the faint trace of a smile.
“You are just all over me with this,” Payton said, semi-annoyed.
“I know. I’m really bored with work these days.”
“I’d be happy to assign you a few of my cases, if you need things to keep you busy,” Payton grumbled.
“As if any lawyer could ever handle your cases as skillfully as you,” Laney declined smoothly.
Payton sniffed at this, partially mollified. How true.
“Let’s hope the Partnership Committee agrees with you on that,” she said.
“Any further word on that front?” Laney asked.
Payton shook her head. “No. Just that Ben said that J.D. and I should give it all we’ve got these next few weeks.” She gestured to the stack of files on her desk. “For starters, I better win this trial.” She sighed, resting her chin in her hands. “I can’t lose this, Laney.”
“You won’t,” Laney told her matter-of-factly. “You’ve never lost anything.”
Payton glanced through her window to J.D.’s office across the hall. She could see him working diligently, as always.
“I know. But neither has he.”
FOR THE NEXT two days, Payton had little time to worry about J.D., so engrossed was she in the final preparations for her trial. She and Brandon, the junior associate working with her on the case, bunkered down in her office from dawn till dusk, running through the trial from jury selection to closing arguments. The trial was scheduled to last just under two weeks, which meant it would be essentially the last assignment upon which she could be judged by the Partnership Committee before they made their decision. A victory would be a tremendous feather in her cap; a loss would be disastrous.
Payton knew that J.D., too, had a lot on his plate. At their monthly litigation group luncheon, she overheard him mention to Max, a senior partner who “just happened” to be on the Partnership Committee, that he was juggling two class certification oppositions, both of which he was confident he would successfully wrap up by the end of the month.
Standing nearby, Payton was certain J.D.’s comment was primarily for her benefit. So she turned to Helen, another senior partner who also “just happened” to be on the Partnership Committee, and said she had heard that Helen’s daughter was applying for law school at the University of Illinois, Payton’s alma mater.
“It’s a wonderful school, and such a good bargain with in-state tuition,” Payton said.
Helen nodded, agreeing with this. “I’m just keeping my fingers crossed that she gets in. She didn’t do quite as well on the LSAT as she had hoped.”
“I’d be happy to write your daughter a recommendation,” Payton offered.
Out of nowhere, Laney was suddenly at Payton’s side.
“You definitely should take her up on that, Helen—they
love
Payton at that school. She’s too modest to tell you this, but did you know that Payton graduated first in her class
and
set a new record for the most perfect scores earned on final exams by any one student?”
Payton could’ve kissed Laney right there.
“Wow,” said Helen. She turned to Payton. “I
am
impressed. Maybe we could have lunch sometime this week, Payton? We could talk about that recommendation for my daughter. And who knows? Perhaps someday soon I’ll be able to return the favor . . .” She winked.
A few moments later, after Helen walked away, J.D. sauntered over to Payton and Laney. He clapped sarcastically.
“Well played, ladies.” J.D. looked Payton over. “But I wouldn’t book that flight to Bora-Bora yet, Kendall. It’s going to take a lot more than the vote of the one female on the Partnership Committee to win this.” He smiled. “I had already conceded that one to you, anyway.”
With that, he turned and confidently strolled out of the conference room. Payton and Laney watched him go.
Laney shook her head. “Unbelievable.”
Payton gestured. “See—I
told
you.”
“That man has such a great butt.”
“Laney!”
“What? I’m conservative, Payton, not blind.”
SOMEWHERE AROUND FIVE, the evening before her trial began, Payton reached her saturation point. She had prepared all her direct and cross-examinations, had practiced her opening statement, reviewed and taken notes on every witness’s deposition transcript, and had thoroughly prepared her client’s own witnesses for their testimonies. Now there was nothing left for her to do except to accept the fact that there was nothing left for her to do. Not an easy task, considering what she felt was riding on the outcome of this trial.
She needed a distraction. Left to her own devices, she would either drive herself crazy, worrying over insignificant minutiae, or she would start calling Brandon with questions, thus driving
him
crazy.
Laney was busy, Payton knew. Tonight, unbeknownst to Nate, her friend had prepared a PowerPoint presentation for her husband—complete with estimated income graphs, cost of living analyses, and a fertility projection—logically detailing all the reasons why they needed to start trying to have a baby
now
. And as for her other friends, Payton knew better than to call them—nothing was more annoying to a nonlawyer than to be stuck with one the night before a trial. Every sentence tended to start with, “So, if you were a juror on this case, what would you think if . . . ?”