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I want to ask how often he’s here, but it feels like that’s a request to see him again that I can’t afford to make. I need to finish climbing my ladder, so for now, I focus on his career. “How does an asshole you won’t defend get your personal cell phone number?” I ask, thinking of his call earlier, and sipping my wine.
“Another asshole gave it to him,” he says, finishing off another bite of his food.
“And how does that asshole have your number?” I ask, rolling cheese around my fork.
“He works in my firm and saw dollar figures and nothing else.”
“And you don’t?” I ask, taking a bite.
“Expensive as fuck, sweetheart,” he assures me, refilling his wine glass and then topping off mine.
“I assumed from this place we’re in right now,” I say. “And I assume that means you’re worth it.”
“Yes,” he says. “I am. Are you going to call me arrogant again?”
“Have you won the cases to back it up?
“Yes,” he says again. “I have.”
“Then it’s fact, not arrogance.”
“And you?” he asks. “How good are you, Lori?”
He’s hit that nerve I’ve been avoiding and I cut my gaze, reaching for the wine and downing a big swallow. “I really don’t want to talk about my career.”
“You lost a case,” he assumes. “Is that what brought you here tonight? You can talk to me about it. I get it. I know this world. I’m a good choice.”
“Tonight isn’t about my career,” I say, but isn’t it? Haven’t I just lied without meaning to lie? What is tonight really about for me?
“What are you trying to escape tonight?” he presses, as if reading my mind.
I down my wine and look at him. “Am I on trial, counselor?”
“If you’re never going to see me again, keep using me. Sex isn’t all I’m good for.”
“We weren’t supposed to get this personal.”
“I don’t even know your last name,” he says. “You don’t know mine. Let’s call it therapy. Quid pro quo. I’ll even go first.” He shoves his plate away. “Ask me anything.”
“I don’t want to play this game,” I say.
“Ask me anything,” he insists.
“How many women have been in this room?”
“None, not with me. My turn. How many one night stands have you had?”
“I already answered that,” I say. “None. Ever. Just you.”
“Why me?” he asks.
“No one else ever made me think I wanted to,” I say honestly, without hesitation. “My turn. Who burned you?”
His eyes narrow. “Who says I was burned?”
“You hate cheaters.”
“Good observation and accurate. My father fucked around on my mother and pretty much ruined her. I was engaged when I was right out of law school and she fucked my best friend. Now they’re married with three kids.”
