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,