Brushing that aside, Payton walked over and unceremoniously shoved the glass of water at him. “Here.”
J.D.’s hand brushed against hers as he took it. “Thank you.”
There was something about the way he looked at her, Payton noticed. For years, his expressions had fluctuated somewhere along the smug/haughty you-have-no-idea-what-you’re-talking-about-silly-Clintonite to the more frustrated I-would-strangle-you-dead-except-I-don’t-have-time-to-pick-up-your-workload spectrum. But lately it was different, and she found it very hard to read him.
“Why are you here?” she asked bluntly.
After skeptically eyeing the cloudy glass of Eau du Lac Michigan she had poured him, J.D. took a sip, then paused as if still figuring out the answer to that himself.
“I have questions,” he finally said.
“Questions?” Payton asked, surprised. Whatever she had been expecting him to say, it wasn’t that.
“About the deposition,” he explained.
“Oh. Well, you read the transcript. Was there something you didn’t understand?”
“Yes.” J.D. set his glass down on the nearby end table. He stood up and peered down at her, reminding her just how tall he really was. “Why did you do it?”
Payton cocked her head. “You didn’t really think I would screw up a deposition, did you? Aside from my reputation”— she emphasized this in reference to his earlier insult—“I would never do that to a client.”
J.D. waved this off. “No, I get that part. But I talked to Tyler. He said that you came to him about the deposition. You had me in a corner—if you’d done nothing, I would’ve been screwed. You know how Ben works: there’s no room for error when it comes to his clients.” He paused, coming around to his original question. “So? Why did you help me?”
She held up a hand. “Easy there, buddy. I didn’t do it to help you.”
“Okay, fine. Why then?”
Payton, herself, had thought long and hard about this very question after she had gotten home that evening. So she told J.D. the only logical answer she’d come up with.
“I decided that I don’t want to win by default. If the Partnership Committee chooses me—when they choose me, I should say—I want to know that it’s because I earned it, not because some stupid mix-up edged you out at the last minute.”
J.D. didn’t say anything at first. Then he nodded. “Fair enough.” He hesitated with the next part. “Well, regardless of your motives, the real reason I came here tonight is because I . . .” He took a breath, as if needing to steel himself. “I wanted to thank you. And to apologize. When I found you in the conference room after the deposition, you had this satisfied expression on your face and, well, I guess I assumed the worst.”
He paused.
“Is that it?” Payton asked, not entirely mollified by this apology.
“Oh—I was just waiting for you to say something sarcastic about assholes and assumptions.”
Payton gave him a level stare. “As if I would be that cliché.”
She noticed he was watching her. Again. “What?”
J.D. grinned. “Now I’m waiting for you to do the thing with your hair. The little flip.”
Payton glared. Note to self: invest in hair clips.
“You know, as apologies go, this one could use a ton of improvement,” she told him. “Is there more?”
“Not really.” He shrugged matter-of-factly. “Well, except that I was thinking . . . I don’t want to win by default, either. So maybe we could call a truce.”
“A truce?” Payton asked. “That’s very magnanimous of you, considering the next play is mine. What do I get out of this?”
J.D. took a step closer to her. “Hmm. How about the satisfaction of being the better person?”
Payton paused, highly intrigued by this. “You would admit to that?”
J.D.’s eyes shone with amusement. He took another step closer. “In this context, Ms. Kendall, yes.”
Payton considered the terms of his proposal. Higher stakes for her there could not be.
“All right,” she agreed. “A truce.”
She had to tilt her head back to meet J.D.’s gaze, they were suddenly standing that close. Uh-oh, she thought, this is how it all started last time. She felt that familiar rush and thought about stepping back, but heaven help her if she ever gave an inch to J. D. Jameson.
“I suppose now I owe you.” J.D.’s voice had turned softer.
Payton shook her head. “No, you really don’t.”
He nodded yes. “I read the transcript.”
“You said that already.”
“You were amazing, Payton,” he murmured, his voice husky.
Well.
Goddamn if that wasn’t just about the sexiest thing she had ever heard.
J.D. gazed down at her with a coy expression, as if interested to see what she was going to do next. And from his look Payton realized that somewhere in the middle of all this, the game between the two of them had changed.
It had all started with that stupid fight in the library. Or had it begun before that . . . ? Standing there, looking up into J.D.’s fantastically blue eyes, Payton suddenly wasn’t so sure.
Hmm. He had really long eyelashes for a guy—she had never noticed that before. Almost blondish, like the warm streaks of gold in his brown hair. And speaking of his hair, she kind of liked the way it was slightly mussed that night. Something about it made her want to grab him by that designer tie of his and get him really mussed spending hours doing something she suspected would be far more amazing than this afternoon’s deposition.
Wow—she really needed to get laid.
Not by J.D. He was far too type A for her tastes. She’d bet he’d be all controlling and dominating in bed. Although that could have potential . . .
And now she was blushing.
Seeing she wasn’t backing away from him, J.D. raised an eyebrow. Payton saw the corners of his mouth tilt up in a smile, and if she didn’t know better, she’d swear that he was daring her to make a move. Wanted her to make a move, even. And she wouldn’t have to do much—if she tilted her head a mere inch, they’d be kissing.
Hmm.
She wondered if J.D. had polo ponies on his condoms.
“You have to go,” Payton blurted out emphatically.
J.D. cocked his head but didn’t move, so to hurry him along Payton put her hand on his chest, pushing him to the door—wow, he had a really firm chest for someone so fancy—
“Now—you have to go now,” she said as she opened up the front door and literally shoved him out into the hallway.
J.D. protested. “Hey! Wait a second, there’s something else—”
Payton tried to shut the door, but J.D. blocked it with his arm.
“Jesus, woman, will you just let me speak?!”
“No. You’ve said what you came here to say. Apology accepted, no more sabotage, et cetera, et cetera. And by the way, I can’t believe you actually just called me ‘woman.’ That’s almost as bad as ‘cupcake.’ ”
“I bet there are a lot of women who think it’s endearing to be called ‘cupcake.’ ”
“If there are, they sure don’t live in this apartment.”
J.D. looked ready to tear his hair out. “You know what? Forget it. I changed my mind, I don’t have anything else to say. And seriously, woman—I think you might actually be crazy. Or maybe that’s just the effect you have on me!” He finished his speech in a shout, then turned and stormed off down the stairs.
Payton half shut, half slammed the door behind him—good, she didn’t want to hear anything else he had to say anyway and now at least he was out of her apartment, and by the way, he really needed to come up with some snap-pier comebacks and—
An impatient knock at her door. Then again, louder.
What, did he just think of a better line? Payton threw open the door and—
J.D. immediately held up his hand.
“Don’t. Say. Anything.”
; Payton opened her mouth.
J.D. pointed and shook his head with a firm stare. “No.”
Payton rolled her eyes. But she didn’t speak.
“What I wanted to tell you,” he began deliberately, “was that you were wrong.”
Now there was a friggin’ surprise. Payton glared.
J.D. continued, more calm now, his voice steadier. “I mean, about what you told Tyler.”
His eyes met hers and held them.
“I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat.”
Payton felt it.
The ice around her heart, she felt part of it crack off and melt right then. And for the first time in eight years she had no idea what to say to J. D. Jameson.
He gave her a slight nod. “I just wanted to set the record straight on that.”
With that, J.D. turned and left, for real this time, and Payton slowly shut the door behind him. She resisted the urge to look out the front window and watch as he left her apartment building. Instead, she busied herself by picking up the empty glass he had left behind. She washed the glass in the kitchen sink and put it away, eager to get rid of the remnants of his visit.
She knew that something had changed that evening and, frankly, she wanted to ignore that fact—or at least try to—and get things back to the way they were. A truce was one thing, but—heaven forbid—she really hoped this didn’t mean J.D. was going to start being nice to her or anything. Suddenly being on friendly terms with him could make things complicated. And she certainly didn’t need any complications at work right now.
I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat.
Payton’s thoughts lingered over those words. And despite herself, she smiled.
Not that it mattered.
Really.
Sixteen
“FOR EIGHTY DOLLARS per person for brunch, there better be diamonds stashed in that omelet.”
It was the fifth comment that morning about the stupid omelet. Payton knew she just should’ve gone with the Belgian waffles. But resolved to have a pleasant brunch, she ignored the remark and gestured to her mother’s plate.
“How’s the fresh fruit and granola?” In NoMI restaurant’s entire 100-plus-item buffet, they were the only two things her mother had deemed acceptable to eat.
Lex Kendall was in typical form that morning. And not about to be sidetracked so easily.
“You’re trying to change the subject,” she said.
“Yes, I am.” Payton took a sip of her mimosa. At this rate, she was likely to need a second one, so she raised a finger to the waiter. Service, please. Quickly.
Sitting across the pristine white-linen-covered table, Lex shook her head in frustration. Her long brown hair fell over the sleeves of her floral peasant blouse in kinky, unstylized waves. In her faded jeans and animal-cruelty-free clogs, she was a bit underdressed for brunch at the Park Hyatt hotel’s premiere restaurant. Not that Payton ever would’ve dared to tell her that.
“Come on, Sis,” Lex urged, “you know that the poultry industry is more concerned with financial shortcuts than providing humane conditions for the birds they carelessly mistreat. I don’t see how you can ignore that.”
Payton resisted the urge to rise to the bait. She knew she’d been pushing it, bringing her mother here. But there were only so many vegetarian restaurants in the city, many of which she had already taken her mother to on prior visits, and she had wanted to try something different, something more upscale. She knew Laney was right—if she made partner, being around money was something she’d better get used to, because she certainly would have enough of it. Last year the most junior partner at her firm earned 1.1 million dollars. And while Payton certainly was never one to throw money around—frankly, she’d never had any to throw around before starting with the firm—on that salary she could afford to treat her mother to a decent brunch.
With this thought in mind, instead of arguing with her mother, Payton smiled amiably. “Maybe—since we have so little remaining time together this weekend—we could save the debate over the virtues of a vegan diet for another time. Let’s just have a pleasant meal, shall we, Mom?” She gestured with her glass to the restaurant. “When I asked around at the firm, people said this was the best brunch in the city on Father’s Day.”
While it might seem odd to some people, the fact that she celebrated Father’s Day with her mother gave Payton little pause anymore. It was something the two of them did every year, alone, even continuing the tradition after Lex and her husband had moved out to San Francisco when Payton started college.
Payton had virtually no memory of her father—he and her mother had split up shortly after she was born and he had come to visit her sporadically for only a couple of years after that. And while her father’s lack of interest in maintaining a relationship was something that had upset her earlier in life, at thirty-two years old she was pretty much over it. Her mother rarely spoke about Shane—as even Payton referred to him—and as a result she felt wholly disconnected from him. She didn’t even share a last name with her father, since he and her mother had never married.
Apparently, however, they had one thing in common: she had her father’s eyes. At least that’s what her mother used to tell her, in sort of a wistful way, when she was younger.
In response to Payton’s comment about the restaurant, Lex looked around with a critical eye. Per Payton’s request, they had a table by the window overlooking Michigan Avenue. As one of the few parties of two that morning, it had been an easy request to accommodate.
“Sure, it’s a nice place. If you’re into the whole brunch scene.” She turned her scrutinizing eye to Payton. “You fit in here.”
Payton sighed. “Mom—”
Lex held up her hand. “It’s not an accusation, Sis. I’m just having one of those ‘mom’ moments where I wonder what happened to the little girl who used to dress up in my old clothes as a gypsy for Halloween.” She smiled fondly. “Do you remember that? You did it five years in a row.”
Payton didn’t have the heart to tell her mother that the reason she had dressed up as a “gypsy” was because she had known even as a little girl that they couldn’t afford to waste money on store-bought costumes.
“Now you look like you should be on a runway in Paris or something,” Lex continued, gesturing to Payton’s outfit.
Payton laughed. Hardly.
“They’re just work clothes,” she said. She wore tailored black pants, heels, and a V-neck sweater. It was unseasonably cool for June that day, even by Chicago standards.
“Well, normally I would point out that your ‘just work clothes’ could probably feed ten of my girls for a week,” Lex said, referring to the women who temporarily lived at the crisis shelter at which she worked in San Francisco. “But since we have so little time together—and in the spirit of having a pleasant meal, of course—I will bite my tongue and say only that you look very stylish. Very fancy, big-time lawyer-y.” With that, Lex tipped her mimosa to Payton and took a sip. Cheers.
If Payton had ever wondered how she’d gotten to be so sarcastic, well, consider that question answered.
Lex looked up from her drink at Payton’s silence. “What?”
“Sorry. Now I’m having one of those ‘daughter’ moments, wondering when, exactly, I turned into my mother.”
Lex smiled. “Aw, Sis, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me. Because of that, I won’t point out that a cow had to die in order to make your purse.”
Payton glanced up at the ceiling. The woman went through eighteen hours of labor to give her life, she reminded herself. Drug-free.
“Let’s talk about something else,” she told her mother. She inquired about Steven and his daughters, who were around the same age as Payton and lived in Los Angeles with their husbands. Her mother talked about her work at the shelter, the circumstances that had brought in some of her newer residents, and then—in a rare expression of interest—actually asked Payton a question or two about how things were g
oing with the firm. Payton answered in generalities, seeing no reason to go into the whole partnership issue since there wasn’t any news yet on that front. Instead, she talked about her cases, even getting a laugh out of her mother when she told her about the six-foot penis photo that was Exhibit A of her current trial.
“A six-foot penis, huh? That puts to shame any I’ve ever seen.” Lex threw Payton a sneaky look. “Although, did I ever tell you about this guy I met at Woodstock—”
Payton cut her off with a hand. “No. And you never will.” Her mother’s “free-spirit” open-door discussion policy was something she could do just fine without when sex was the topic at hand.
Lex sat back, disappointed in being unable to tell her story. “Wow—when did you get to be such a prude?”
With a shock, Payton realized what had just happened.
She had become Laney.
“I don’t think it makes me a prude just because I don’t want to hear about my mother’s back-in-the-day free-love sexual antics,” she retorted.
“Fine, we’ll talk about you instead,” Lex threw right back at her. “Are you seeing anyone these days?”
Payton had debated all weekend whether to tell her mother about the Perfect Chase. He was out of town, visiting his parents in Boston, and when he got back in that evening, he had plans with his friends, so whether to introduce him to her mother had not been an issue.
It was strange, because for once she was dating someone with whom even her mother would have trouble finding fault, yet still she hesitated to bring him up. Perhaps she just didn’t want to jinx things.
“Actually, I just started seeing someone a few weeks ago,” Payton told her mother. “You’d love him.” And as she went on, describing Chase, it struck her once again what a great guy he really was. And she—being the logical, pragmatic person she was—knew that he was one of those men that no woman should let get away, even if the timing wasn’t the greatest. Even if she was presently sidetracked with other things.
Meaning work, of course.
ON THEIR WAY out of the restaurant, Payton and her mother stopped at the coat check. The unseasonably cool weather had provided the perfect opportunity for Lex to go off on another of her diatribes about the politics and economics of global climate change. Payton nodded along distractedly—yes, yes, suppressed scientific reports; certainly, the government had undermined efforts; of course, hidden agendas over oil; indeed, the planet was headed toward imminent catastrophe—as she collected their jackets and tipped the attendant with one hand. In her other hand she held the daintily wrapped but sizable box of food her mother had insisted they take for the “unhoused” people (her mother refused to say “homeless”) that they had passed on their way into the hotel.