Just the Sexiest Man Alive(20)

Game on.

THE NEXT MORNING, Taylor could feel the buzz the minute she stepped off the elevator. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone stopped and stared as she walked through the corridor on the way to her office. Or perhaps it was the gaggle of secretaries who huddled around Linda’s desk, passing a mirror between them as they reapplied lipstick and fluffed their hair. It could mean only one thing.

Jason Andrews was in her office.

Taylor headed over to Linda’s desk. When she got there, her secretary pointed to her office, then raised a finger to her lips to indicate they should be quiet.

“He’s here!” she said in an excited whisper.

“I guessed that, yes.”

Linda looked ready to burst into a million happy pieces as she babbled on. “I showed him straight to your office—I can’t remember anything I said after ‘hello’—oh my god, he’s even hotter in person—and then I shut the door because people were staring.” Then she quickly added for Taylor’s benefit, “Not that I would do anything like that.”

Taylor nodded. She realized then that she hadn’t thought he would actually show up. If anything, she had expected an angry phone call from Sam that morning, asking her what the hell kind of apology involved imitating Jason Andrews to his face.

She turned toward the closed door of her office. Time to face the enemy. She glanced back at Linda, trying to buy another minute or two. “Uh, Linda, could you reserve us one of the mock trial rooms? Maybe—”

“It’s already taken care of. You’re in conference room A.”

“Oh. Good. Lovely.”

Taylor still found herself stalling. By now the entire office was watching.

Linda gestured to the door. “Well, go on. He’s all yours,” she said with a wink. The other secretaries giggled.

Not wanting to draw any further attention to the situation, Taylor grabbed the handle to her door and strode resolutely into her office.

“Mr. And—”

Her words trailed off because Jason, who had been standing in front of her office window checking out the view, turned around when she entered. Like a shot from a movie, the morning sun shone brilliantly around him like a god—his dark hair glinted warmly in the light, and his eyes gleamed bluer than the south Pacific Ocean.

Taylor’s mind went blank. And suddenly, she couldn’t remember why the hell she ever had been angry with Jason Andrews.

But then he spoke.

“Sleeping in this morning, Ms. Donovan?” he drawled.

Moment over.

“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Andrews,” Taylor replied sarcastically. At least he wore a suit this time, she noted. No comment on how he looked in it.

From behind his back, Jason pulled out a medium-sized box with a blue ribbon wrapped around it.

“I brought you a peace offering.”

He held the box out to her.

Taylor looked over, caught off guard by this. After hesitating for a moment, she took the box from him and sat down at her desk. Jason took a seat in one of the chairs across from her.

“I guessed you’re not the flowers type,” he said. Taylor glanced sharply at him, wondering how he knew that from their short interactions.

“This seemed more appropriate for you. I thought you could wear it the next time you’re in court.”

She raised a suspicious eyebrow at this. Oh really? But Jason’s face gave nothing away.

Curiosity got the better of her, so Taylor opened the box. She rifled through the tissue paper until she found a T-shirt. When she pulled it out, she saw two words printed on the shirt in perfect reference to her infamous court argument: SHIT HAPPENS.

Taylor laughed out loud.

She looked over at Jason, reluctantly amused by the joke, and smiled.

“Okay, Mr. Andrews,” she conceded. “Let’s get started.”

Seven

“I DON’T CARE what the script says. That’s not how it works.”

Taylor stood in front of the lawyer’s table peering stubbornly down at Jason. They were in their tenth hour of work. She had been shocked when she checked her watch a few minutes ago and saw how late it had gotten. She supposed things would go faster if he didn’t insist on fighting her over virtually every change she suggested to the script. See, for example, their current debate.

“And I don’t see what difference it makes,” Jason replied defensively. He held his script in his hand, waving it at her.

“It makes a big difference,” she argued back. “While you might think you look ‘pensive’ and ‘unimpressed’ ”—she finger-quoted the words he had used just moments before—“by remaining seated during your opposing counsel’s argument, that’s not the way it works in a real courtroom. You have to stand every time you argue before the judge.”

Then she gestured at the script and said for the umpteenth time that day, “Didn’t anyone talk to a real lawyer before writing this?”

My, my, Jason observed. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was a little cocky.

He watched as Taylor positioned herself at the corner of the jury box farthest from the witness stand. Earlier, she had gone and ruined their lovely “Shit Happens” moment by turning all serious the minute they stepped into her firm’s mock trial room. But Jason figured there had to come a point when her armor would crack again—even if just for the slightest moment. Not that he particularly minded watching her strut sassily around the courtroom for ten hours.