glass with indignant emphasis. Then he glanced around the table. “Okay—so I guess this is as good a time as any—should we get down to business? Talk about this little case of ours?”
J.D. bit his tongue and fought the urge to check his watch. Now Jasper wanted to talk about the case? That wasn’t a discussion they could’ve started, say, two courses ago?
He stole a quick glance at Payton, who sat to his left. She either had the best poker face he’d ever seen, or she was awfully damn nonchalant at the fucking tortoise speed with which this dinner was moving, because she actually appeared quite amused by Jasper’s antics. And that, come to think of it, was beginning to piss him off, too. He’d told her earlier that two could play at her game, and indeed for the first two courses of their dinner he’d been as cool as she. But the truth of the matter was, he just wanted to be alone with her. Frankly, he was fed up with all the things that constantly came between them, like work and Chase Bellamy and client dinners. And clothes.
J.D. watched as Payton nodded along while Richard launched into his introductory take on their litigation strategy. Fine. Whatever. If she saw no pressing reason to hurry things along, then neither did he.
“. . . So what I’m thinking,” Richard was saying, “is that I’d like each of you to give me a short overview on how you plan to approach your part of the defense. Payton, since Jasper pointed out that you’re the discrimination expert, why don’t you start—tell me your thoughts on how we should attack the substantive issues presented in this case.”
“Sure, Richard, I’d be happy to,” Payton agreed. Then she chuckled. “You know, I can be a bit long-winded once I get going. I think I see our waiter coming—why don’t we go ahead and order dessert now? Get that out of the way.”
J.D. suddenly felt Payton’s hand rest on his thigh underneath the table.
Interesting.
The waiter set dessert menus down in front of everyone. With her free hand, Payton picked up her menu and casually looked it over. “Now what am I in the mood for?”
She began lightly stroking her finger along J.D.’s thigh.
Very interesting.
“Come on now, Payton—this is Florida. Y’all have to try the key lime pie,” Jasper declared. He took the liberty of ordering for all of them, and the waiter scooted off.
“In fact,” Jasper said, “did you know that just last year, key lime pie was named our official state pie?”
Payton’s fingers moved higher on J.D.’s thigh, now approaching Semi-Naughty territory. Two more inches and they would be officially within the limits of Outright Naughty.
“I didn’t know that, Jasper,” Payton said, never breaking stride. “In fact, I didn’t know that states even had official pies. Did you know that, J.D.?”
“No.”
He could give two shits about pies.
“Oh, absolutely,” Jasper assured them. “It caused quite a stir in the senate, actually. There was a fairly large contingent that lobbied to name another as the state pie. Any guesses? Payton?”
Circle. Circle. Fingers. Thigh. Higher.
Payton cocked her head, thinking. “Hmm . . . some kind of pie with oranges?”
“Nope.” Jasper smiled, clearly enjoying being the only one in the know. He turned to his right. “Richard?”
“Peach pie?” the general counsel guessed halfheartedly.
“That would be Georgia, sorry. How ’bout you, J.D.?”
At Jasper’s question, three pairs of eyes suddenly turned and stared directly at J.D., who, in addition to not giving two shits about pies, had been busy concentrating on the fact that Payton had teasingly stopped her fingers right at the Semi-Naughty/Outright Naughty border.
“Are you okay, J.D.?” Payton asked with a mischievous grin. “You’ve been so quiet these past few minutes.”
Ha. She was going to pay for that later.
J.D. paused. Then—
“Pecan.”
Payton blinked, then smiled as Jasper smacked his hand on the table and shouted.
“Yes! With all the pecan farms in Florida, there was a push to make that the state pie. Good going, Jameson,” Jasper said, impressed.
“What can I say? I work well under pressure,” J.D. replied, with a smug look in Payton’s direction. “Now—if we’re through with the games . . . I think Payton was going to give us her overview on the substantive ways in which we should attack the plaintiffs’ claims.”
“Yes, I was—thank you, J.D.”
“No problem, Payton—the floor is yours.”
Three sets of eyes turned to Payton. Just as—underneath the table—one of J.D.’s hands moved to her knee. How convenient it was that the slit of