“Oh, but I would much rather enjoy the one I’ve already got.”
I glance at him from the side, frowning. “What’s that?”
“See, there’s this certain opposing counsel who makes the most delicious noises when my fingers are—”
I spin on my heel, hissing under my breath as we come to a stop in front of the large glass doors that lead outside of the courthouse. “I told you,” I grit out. “Last time was the last time.”
“Right.” He flashes me his white, perfect teeth—stark against the deep pink of his lips, and I have to force myself to keep my eyes on his. “But you said that the time before that.” He leans in a little closer, practically looming over me as he lowers his voice. “And the time before that . . . and the time before that . . .”
“I mean it this time,” I argue, trying to convince him or me, I’m not sure. “It was stupid to begin with. You’re an asshole, and I was . . .” Hard up? Horny? Out of my mind? “It was a lapse of judgment on my part.”
“Eight lapses of judgment,” Ezra says with a low whistle. “I think they call that a bad habit, Dani. Maybe you need a hobby. You know, besides me.”
I clench my fists at my sides; I know he’s teasing me, but it hits a little too close to home. Especially because I know that constantly sleeping with Ezra—someone I barely tolerate outside of what we do behind closed doors—is the stupidest thing I’ve ever done. After everything with Grant . . . you’d think I would make smarter decisions when it comes to the opposite sex.
It’s just sex, I soothe myself. Just scratching an itch.
Even if I’ve scratched this particular itch more times than I’d like.
I make a frustrated sound, shoving him away and pushing through the doors as I stalk off quickly. He doesn’t follow me this time, but I can hear his stupid laugh even from halfway down the steps.
Fucking. Ezra. Hart.
* * *
?I feel a little less out of sorts when I’m back at the firm; I’m not thrilled to tell my boss how miserably today went with the Johansons, but at least here I can put the headache of Ezra and my antagonistic . . . whatever we have . . . at the back of my mind for a little bit. I drop my case files in my office, noticing on my way out that Nate’s and Vera’s are empty; I guess they’ve already headed home for the day.
The door to Manuel’s office is cracked at the other end of the hall, however, and I step toward it to update him on everything before I finish up for the day myself. I find him sitting behind his desk poring over a stack of papers, his neat, salt-and-pepper hair swept into his usual perfect style. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Manuel Moreno with a single hair out of place, and since Chicago is known as the Windy City, that is a feat.
“Danica,” he greets as I knock lightly against the open door. “Come in, come in. How did it go today?”
I purse my lips. “Not as well as I would have liked. The guy she was seeing was apparently her ‘spiritual advisor.’?”
The deep wrinkle that lives permanently between Manuel’s brow worsens. “That’s the horseshit they’re spinning?”
“Well, horseshit does happen to be a specialty of Ezra’s.”
“I want to hate the bastard,” Manuel snorts. “But he’s damn good.”
I refuse to even acknowledge how “good” Ezra is.
“I’ve got a lead on a housekeeper who quit a couple of months ago,” I tell him. “I’m trying to get in touch with her. Maybe she saw something between them of a more physical nature.”
“Great. Let me know.”
I’m about to return to my desk when he stops me.
“I actually wanted to talk to you,” he calls.
I turn back. “Yes?”
“We had a potential client call today. A Mrs. Vassiliev.”
I frown. “Why does that sound familiar?”
“Her husband owns Vassiliev Development.”
“Shit.” My mouth parts in surprise. “The real estate mogul?”
“He owns half the city, practically. God knows how many others.”
“They’re divorcing?”
“It appears so. A friend of mine recommended us.”
“That’s great.” I wince. “Well, not for her, but . . .”
“I was thinking that you should take it.”
I blink back at him. “What?”
“You’ve been here for six years now. You mentioned last year that you were interested in a junior partner position, and with Hinata retiring . . .”
“Wait, are you saying . . . ?”
“I’m saying that Mrs. Vassiliev stands to make this firm an enormous amount of money if she comes out on top in her divorce. She claims to have all sorts of evidence of his infidelity.”
“Holy shit.”
“But there’s a catch.”
“There always is.”
“She signed a prenup.”
I groan. “Of course she did. How solid is her evidence?”
“I guess that’s for you to find out.”
“Not making this easy for me, huh?”
“High risk, high reward,” he chuckles before his expression turns serious. “I think winning this case would be the perfect thing to bring to the other partners and prove you’re ready to step up.”
“You’d be willing to go to bat for me?”
Manuel rolls his eyes. “I’ve known you since you were seven. As many T-ball games as I went to with you and your parents, I have ‘gone to bat’ for you plenty of times in your life.”
“That’s corny, but I’ll take it,” I laugh. “I just . . . You already stuck your neck out giving me this job, and I don’t want anyone to think I’m getting special treatment just because you and Dad are old friends.”
“You graduated top of your class at Harvard Law. It was hardly a burden to offer you a position here. Just like it won’t be when you win this case, and I show the other partners what an asset you are.”
“I . . . Wow. Yes. Of course. This is . . . Wow.”
“You have a meeting with Mrs. Vassiliev at the end of the week,” he informs me. “She’s a character, but I think you can handle her.”
I nod aimlessly. “Yes. I . . . Thank you, Manny.”
“Don’t mention it.” He waves me off. “Feel free to loop Nate and Vera in. I’m sure they’ll be foaming at the mouth to be a part of it regardless.”
I grin. He isn’t wrong about that. This is one of the biggest cases we’ve had since I started. I can already hear Nate squealing. “I will.”
“Don’t stay up at your desk all night,” he chides. “You have to sleep sometime.”
I roll my eyes. “Yeah, yeah.”
He gives me a dismissive gesture as he turns his attention back to his paperwork, and I leave his office with a wide smile on my face and a fluttering in my stomach. I’ve been waiting for this opportunity for the last year or more, and now with it so close—I can feel a bubbling excitement humming under my skin.
A buzzing in the pocket of my slacks distracts me as I walk back to my desk, and all the elated feelings simmer out into annoyance as I take note of the message.
ASSHOLE: I’ll be home all night if you change your mind about . . . coming.