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“See why I didn’t want to tell you this morning?”
“I don’t rattle, Cat. If you have an opinion, share it.”
“I will. I promise.”
“Good.” He glances at his watch. “If we go now, we have time to stop at the coffee shop.”
“Let’s not. I saw Dan there. You don’t need that kind of distraction before the trial.”
“I won’t be distracted, sweetheart, but I have a feeling he will be, and after your closing, that won’t break my heart. I vote for coffee.”
“You’re looking for trouble,” I accuse.
“That’s the name of the game during a trial.”
“We can get coffee but not there. Pick another place.” I grab my briefcase, stuff my purse inside with my MacBook, and head for the door.
Reese joins me, but he doesn’t reach for the door. “Let’s get coffee at our place, Cat.”
“Fine, but let’s set some groundwork. The days you are heading up a high-profile trial, or really any trial, you will get your way eighty percent of the time. The days you are not, I get my way eighty percent of the time.”
“I can live with that. Do you need a coat? Do you have one with you?”
“I brought one, but I don’t want to deal with it in court. I’ll be fine. I’m ready.”
He doesn’t move. He reaches in his pocket and pulls out a key. “For you.”
My lips part. “What is that?”
“You’re staying here,” he says, taking my hand and closing it around the key. “You should have a way to come and go.”
“Reese—”
He leans in and kisses me. “It’s yours, Cat.” He brushes hair from my face. “And don’t go getting spooked on me.”
“I’m not. I’m just—surprised.”
“Then you must not get it yet.”
“Get what?”
“I play for keeps, sweetheart. And I’m keeping you.” He motions to the door. “Come on. Let’s go win a trial.”
He says those words like we’re in this together, and we are. I’m in this with him. I’m holding his key in my hand. He opens the door and we step into the hallway. While he locks up, I stick the key in the zipper pocket of my briefcase and we head to the elevator. Once we’re inside, both our phones buzz with a text. He laughs at his and shows it to me.
I read it: Don’t be a loser, pretty boy. No one likes a loser.
I arch a brow at him. “My sister,” he says.
“She’s brutal, but funny,” I comment.
“Yes, she is.” He sends her a quick message, and I show him my text message that reads: We need to talk. I’ve talked to the publisher on your behalf because I care how this ends for you.
“Your agent,” he says.
“My ex-agent.”
The elevator opens, and we start our walk toward the exit. “Call her while we walk.”
