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What am I thinking?
Day 5: The Trial of the Century
I have trouble sleeping again, and I wake up with butterflies in my stomach as if I’m the one who has a high-profile case to close today. With the potential dismissal of the case, today feels like it should be more formal. I dress in a light blue suit dress that I pair with a black jacket, tights, and stilettos again, and despite drinking coffee at home, my white mocha has to happen. I reach the coffee shop and the line is predictably out of the door, but I’ll get my white mocha and a better mood with it. I’m reading my own column on my phone while standing in line when I receive a text from my literary agent: Loving your coverage of the trial. So is your editor. She wants to contract your coverage as a new book. Are you in?
My mood is instantly better, and I type: Yes, x 1000
My agent answers with: I’ll email you the offer when I get it.
Smiling now, the rest of the line is short, and I wonder if yet another book deal will finally win my family’s support instead of their ire over my career choices. I’ll share the news once I sign the contract. I’m already thinking about how to structure a book, and how today’s happenings might impact my choices, when I finally get to the register. I head to the end of the bar and spy broad, perfect shoulders in an expensive suit: Reese. Reese is here. And I know he’s here for me. I stop walking, and that’s when everything changes. The woman next to him, a pretty blonde, is flirting with him. He looks down at her and laughs that charming laugh of his. Apparently, he likes blondes. Just how many is he pursuing? Asshole. Why did I even think all this interaction we had was about me, rather than the obvious—him getting laid?
Suddenly, Reese and the woman turn in my direction, and the woman is still looking up at Reese as his attention lands on me. The woman starts walking, and her destination is: Into me. Her iced coffee explodes all over me. I gasp with the shock of the cold beverage, and I’m pretty sure some of it just drained down my pant leg. “Holy hell,” Reese murmurs, while the woman panics.
“Oh God. Oh God. I’m sorry.”
Reese hands me napkins while he starts wiping my dress. I grab his hand. “Stop.”
“Cat—”
“Don’t say my name.”
He frowns. “What?”
“Deal with your other woman. She’s upset.” I rotate away from him and into her. “Please move.”
“I—Yes.” She backs up, and I charge past her and down a set of steps that lead to the lower-level bathroom, and there is no question that I have ice between my damn boobs.
I reach the bottom of the steps, and luckily the bathroom is empty. I open the door, step inside, and shut myself in there. I’m a mess. A complete, sticky, horrible mess. I dig the ice from my bra and try to dry off enough to just get me out of here and back home.
Reese
I take a step to follow Cat, but the woman who was talking my ear off while I waited on my coffee steps in front of me. “I’m so sorry,” she proclaims. “Obviously you know her. I want to make this right.”
“It was an accident,” I say. “And I’ll handle it.” I step around her, weave between bodies at the crowded bar, and head down the stairs that Cat had been rushing toward.
At the bottom level, I find the bathroom and knock on the door. “Cat.”
The door flies open and she points at her coffee-stained dress, while I try to focus on the stains, not the curve of her breasts and her discreet but lush cleavage. “You did this,” she accuses, pulling my gaze back to hers, while her verbal attack reminds me that she is hard to get in every way but a good fight.
“I didn’t do this,” I say. “I—”
“You were flirting with that woman and she was staring at you with her panties melting, and she just walked right into me. You did this. Move. I need to go home and change.”
She’s jealous, and I can’t help but be a little pleased about this, but I bite back a smile and a laugh sure to get me hurt. “Panties melting?” I rest my arm on the doorframe above her. “Sweetheart, since I met you, the only panties I want to melt for me are yours.”
“Really?” she demands. “Prove it.”
“Name the time and place.”
Her cheeks huff. “Forget I said that.”
“No. I won’t forget that you said that. Challenge once again accepted.”
“Move. I need to go home and change because you ruined my dress.”
I decide not to point out the inaccuracy of that statement yet again, and settle on a peace offering. “I’ll buy you a new dress.”
“Seriously? You’ll buy me a new dress? Is that supposed to melt my panties? You think you can buy your way past your bad behavior? First you cut in line and want to buy my coffee, and now this. You really are an arrogant ass, and I can’t be bought.”
