Practice Makes Perfect(69)

Payton decided she had better push her feelings aside. Since she didn’t know what J.D. was thinking, it was best to keep things light and flirty.

“ ‘Hate’ is such a strong word,” she teased J.D. “And actually, when we first met, I didn’t dislike you at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Payton pushed herself up on one arm. “Do you even remember the day we met? It was our first day of work, at the firm’s welcome orientation.”

J.D. toyed with a lock of her hair between two of his fingers. “Of course I remember. I saw you sitting at the table with the other litigation associates, and I walked over and introduced myself. You said—quote—‘So you’re the infamous J. D. Jameson.’ ”

Payton grinned. Before starting with the firm, she had heard things about J.D. from the associates and partners who had recruited him. “And you said, ‘I’ve heard stories about you, too, Payton Kendall.’ ”

She still vividly recalled what had happened next. “Then they told us to take our seats, and you sat next to me, and just as they began welcoming us to the firm, you leaned over and asked if I was really as good as people said I was.”

J.D. smiled as he remembered. “And in response, you gave me this sly little look over your shoulder and said, ‘I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, J. D. Jameson.’ ”

Payton laughed. “It sounds so much more scandalous when you say it.”

“I was intrigued. To say the least.” J.D. paused. “But then you turned on me.”

Payton studied him carefully. That was the second time he’d made a comment like that. “What do you mean, I turned on you?”

J.D. gave her a look. “How interesting that you don’t remember that part . . . It was about a week later.”

“Actually I recall that about a week later, I was still trying to flirt with you,” Payton said. “Unsuccessfully, I might add.”

J.D. sat up with an expression of pure skepticism. “Really? And when, exactly, was this alleged attempt to flirt with me?”

Now Payton sat up, too. “Not that I expect you to remember, but it was in the elevator. You jumped in right before the doors closed, and I noticed you were wearing glasses that morning.”

J.D. jumped off the bed and circled around it. He pointed, as if to say she was busted now. Not that she was particularly intimidated, considering he was in his underwear. Then again, so was she.

“Oh—but I do remember that conversation, Payton. Every word. I had just gotten those glasses and you mocked the way I looked in them.”

Now Payton was off the bed, also circling. “What are you talking about?” She turned on the light next to the bed to see him better. “I never made fun of the way you looked in your glasses.”

J.D. pounced. “Aha! See—you don’t remember. Allow me to refresh your recollection, Ms. Kendall. You looked over at me and said—and I can quote you directly here—‘Nice glasses, Jameson. You look like Clark Kent.’ ” He folded his arms across his chest. So there.

Payton stared at him. “Yes, I know. That’s exactly what I said.”

J.D. held out his hands. “Clark Kent? The meek and awkward alter ego of Superman?”

Payton shook her head. “No, Clark Kent, the guy who seems all intellectual and restrained on the outside, but really he’s got this . . . power and all these . . . muscles hidden underneath that tight, buttoned-up shirt that make you want to just grab him and muss up that perfect hair of his and find out how hard the Man of Steel can—”

J.D. held up his hand. “I think I get the picture.”

Payton fanned herself. “Anyway, when I said you looked like Clark Kent with your glasses on, that was a compliment.”

J.D. sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh.”

He had the strangest look right then.

Payton walked over and stepped in between his legs. She put her arms around him. “It doesn’t matter now, J.D. That was a long time ago.” She pushed him back onto the bed, straddled him, and slid her hands up his chest. “You don’t happen to have those glasses with you, by any chance?” With a wink, she reached over and shut off the light.

Through the darkness, J.D. spoke. Still sounding troubled. “It’s just—I thought you were insulting me, Payton.”

“But now you know I wasn’t. So what’s the big deal?”

Silence.

“Wait a second . . .”

The light came back on.

Payton stared down at him. “Please don’t tell me that’s how this whole fight between us started.”

J.D. sheepishly made an attempt to smile. “Um . . . the next day, I kind of gave you a hard time when you made your presentation at the group meeting about the new amendments to the federal discovery rules.”

“I remember that!” Payton poked him in the chest. “You were a total ass**le to me, asking all these questions about whether I had bothered to read the Advisory Committee notes and other bullshit like that.” She poked him in the chest again, harder this time. “That was why? Because I said you looked like Clark Kent?”

“Um . . . yes?”

Payton climbed off him. “I don’t believe this—that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” She grabbed her dress and shoes off the floor. “Eight years, J.D.! Eight years! At least I assumed we’ve been fighting for some legitimate reason, like politics, or socioeconomic issues, or at the very, very least because you’re rich and my family is from the wrong side of the tracks.”