Practice Makes Perfect(63)

J.D. had no idea what she was talking about, but he couldn’t help but stare. The pen. The lips. In and out.

In and out.

Tyler was a f**king genius.

With a blink, Payton came out of her reverie. Most unfortunately.

“Sorry. What were we talking about?” she asked, a little breathless.

Clearing his throat, J.D. held up the book. “Pride and Prejudice?”

Payton smiled fondly. “Yes. It’s one of my favorites.”

“I caught that. Gotta love that”—J.D. quickly stole a glance at the back cover—“Elizabeth Bennet.”

This seemed to wake Payton up. “Well, of course,” she said, not unlike Tyler, as if only a Neanderthal wouldn’t be in the know. “Elizabeth Bennet is only one of the greatest literary heroines of all time.”

J.D. could see she was beginning to get all riled up and lecture-y again. Not that he particularly minded. “Is that so?”

“Yes, that’s so. She’s clever, witty, bold, and independent. True, she can be a bit proud, some would say she’s far too sassy for her time, and she’s definitely judgmental, but still—that’s why we love her.”

J.D. cocked his head. “Well. I guess that settles that.”

Payton grinned, a little embarrassed. “Sorry. I can get kind of carried away talking about that book.” She paused, remembering. “Weren’t you going to show me the information you pulled on Gibson’s new general counsel?”

Back to business. J.D. handed Payton the file he had compiled and she began to read through it. But after a few minutes of working in silence, she cast a sideways glance in his direction.

“Still . . . it is kind of a wussy read for a guy, Jameson.” With a sly half smile, she turned back to her reading.

J.D. didn’t bother to dignify that with a response. But after a few minutes had passed, he subtly glanced over and watched Payton as she worked.

Proud and sassy, no doubt. And definitely judgmental.

But still.

PAYTON STOOD IN front of the closet in her underwear, scrutinizing her dress for wrinkles. She was relieved to see it had survived the plane trip relatively unscathed because (a) she had absolutely zero skill when it came to using an iron and (b) there wasn’t time to iron anyway because she was supposed to meet J.D. in the hotel bar downstairs in five minutes.

This was business, she kept reminding herself. She and J.D. were here, at the luxurious Ritz-Carlton, Palm Beach, just steps from the white-sand beach and the cerulean blue water of the Atlantic Ocean, on business.

She had stayed in nice hotels before, of course. Plenty of them. One of the perks of working for a top-tier firm was that its lawyers were expected to stay—for image purposes—at top-tier hotels when traveling. It also wasn’t the first time she’d traveled on business on a Friday evening, and it certainly wasn’t the first time she’d traveled with a male coworker.

But.

This time it didn’t feel like business. Or at least, it didn’t feel entirely like business.

After checking in at the front desk, she and J.D. had agreed to meet at seven, a half hour before their dinner with Jasper. This had been Payton’s suggestion—it would’ve been her suggestion had she been with any other associate and she saw no reason to deviate from protocol. Work was still work, Gibson’s Drug Stores were still the firm’s most important new client, and the fact that she just happened to be spending the evening with J.D. was irrelevant.

Similarly irrelevant was the fact that she had snuck in a quick bikini wax after learning that they would be taking this trip.

And one should by no means construe anything from the sexy black lace underwear she had slipped on just moments ago. Honestly. Her fitted dress practically required her to wear a thong and low-cut plunge bra in order to avoid tacky panty and bra lines. And the sexy lacy part? Pure happenstance.

And yes, true, she may or may not have used a bit of dark liner that evening for a smoky-eye look, perhaps she did spend an extra ten or twenty minutes on her hair, and it was even possible that a few dabs of perfume—Bulgari Au Thé Blanc, her personal favorite—had made their way to her skin, a little here, a little there. But she’d only gone through these efforts because she’d had extra time on her hands and didn’t see any reason to idly sit about in her hotel room. And that was her story and she was stick—

Shit!—she was late. Payton suddenly caught sight of the clock on the nightstand. She hurriedly slipped into her dress and slid on her heels. Because this was a business dinner, her dress was black and classic. But a dress nevertheless, and a slim-fitting one at that. She had decided earlier against wearing a suit—it was eighty-five and humid and she would be far too warm wearing a jacket.

And that was her story.

THE ELEVATOR REACHED the first floor and the doors opened. As Payton stepped out, she felt a momentary flutter of—excitement? Nervousness? She never knew what to expect from J.D.—at least not these days, anyway. Sure, they had flirted at times during the plane ride, but on the other hand, they’d talked a lot of business, too.

A question had been raised that night in her apartment, and Payton knew the time to answer that question was quickly drawing to a close. It was a simple question.

What did she want?

She cut through the hotel lobby and found the bar, called Stir, where she was supposed to meet J.D. What did she want? In court, she always trusted her instincts. Maybe she should apply the same philosophy here.