“I find it truly scary that you know that. I suppose I shouldn’t even bother to ask if you’re having any fun out there?”
“Before you start lecturing me, just know that some of this busyness wasn’t my fault. I was temporarily sidetracked by—”
Taylor stopped, realizing that telling Kate she had met Jason Andrews would result in hours of conversation, retelling every moment in excruciating detail. Not to mention, out of fairness, she would then have to call Valerie, too. And that was a discussion that could go on for
days
.
“Never mind,” Taylor said instead, covering. “I’ll tell you about it some other time, over a drink.” Or maybe two, or three, she thought. It would take her that long to forget how brilliantly blue Jason’s eyes were when they’d fixed on her.
Whoa.
Where the hell that particular thought had come from, popping all uninvited into her head like that, she just didn’t know.
Not that she denied the fact that Jason Andrews was handsome. Tall, lean but built, with the aforementioned cobalt-blue eyes and chiseled features—she knew full well that this was the stuff that women dreamed of. But
come on
.
The man was a total penis.
Taylor forced her attention back to Kate, who was asking whether she possibly would have any free evenings in the near future.
“I don’t know. Why—what’s up?” she replied distractedly.
Kate hesitated. “There’s someone in L.A. that I want to set you up with.”
“No.”
Her tone couldn’t have been more definitive.
“It doesn’t have to be a date, just someone to hang out with once in a while,” Kate pressed. “They’re not all assholes like Daniel, you know.” She suddenly fell silent, presumably not having meant for that last part to slip out.
Taylor turned quiet, her expression softening at her friend’s words.
“I know, Kate, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mind momentarily drifted back to Chicago.
But then she pulled herself together. This simply was not something she was going to think about at work.
“I appreciate the offer,” she told Kate, striving for a light tone. “But I’m swamped right now, you know? It’s just not a good time. Speaking of which, unfortunately, I’ve got to run—we’re filing something tomorrow and I’m running way behind.” She mumbled a quick good-bye and hung up.
After hanging up the phone, Taylor leaned back in her chair, suddenly feeling very tired. But right then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Linda hesitating in the doorway.
Seeming to sense she had caught Taylor at a bad time, Linda smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. But Mr. Blakely wants to see you. Immediately.”
A slight pit formed in Taylor’s stomach. “Immediately” never boded well for an associate at a large law firm. It generally meant you had either royally screwed something up or were about to be assigned an emergency TRO.
With that in mind, Taylor nodded. She put her game face back on and quieted the butterflies in her stomach. She stood up and gracefully smoothed out her skirt.
Then she headed down the hallway to the head partner’s office.
Six
SHE COULDN’T DO it.
It was late that evening, and Taylor sat in her car, the silver Chrysler PT Cruiser she had rented for her stay in Los Angeles, outside some bar called Reilly’s Tavern. She tried to figure out if there was any chance she could finesse her way out of her current situation. Thinking back to the stern look Sam had given her, she seriously doubted it.
From the moment she had walked into Sam’s office earlier that afternoon, she could tell they weren’t there to discuss an emergency TRO. Partners doled those out as merrily as Santa’s elves with candy canes, while Sam on the other hand, appeared far from happy when Taylor took a seat in front of his desk.
“I got a call today,” he began in a serious tone. “Would you mind telling me what the problem is with the Andrews Project?” Sam peered down at her from the perch of his desk chair.
Oh, for crying out loud, Taylor had wanted to shout. He’s
just
an actor.
But seeing the look on Sam’s face, she instead attempted to smooth things over. “Sam, I just don’t think I’m well suited for this type of project. I’m sure whoever you assign next will be far—”
Sam cut her off abruptly. “Jason Andrews doesn’t want anyone else. His people told me that he specifically said he wants to work with you.”
Taylor found herself growing even more annoyed by this. His “people”? Oh, far be it that the mighty movie star actually pick up a phone himself. Lazy, she thought to herself. Arrogant. Self-centered, condescending, patronizing—
She noticed Sam staring at her, and suddenly wondered whether she’d been speaking out loud.
Taylor regrouped. Surely she could make Sam understand the merits of her position. “Look—it’s just some stupid pride thing with him. Trust me, Jason Andrews will get over it. Plus, I’m in the middle of preparing for a trial. I know I don’t need to remind you of the stakes in this case against the EEOC. Now simply isn’t a good time for me—”
Sam cut her off again. “Taylor, I respect you completely. I think you’re the most talented young lawyer this firm has seen, so please don’t take it the wrong way when I say that I frankly don’t give a
damn
what your issue is.”
He held up a hand when he saw Taylor about to speak. “Jason Andrews is a very important client of this firm. We do his taxes, and we’ve been trying to get his litigation business for years. The guy sues anyone and everyone who prints bullshit about him.”
Taylor looked up at the ceiling, trying to remain quiet. From what she had seen so far, she doubted much of it was bullshit.
Then Sam leaned forward in his chair. He peered down at her with a firm expression and said words that sent chills running down her spine.
“You go back to Jason Andrews. And you fix this.”
AND SO HERE she was five hours later, sitting in her car parked on some random street in West Hollywood. Taylor peered through her windshield to get a better look at the bar, and wondered what kind of name Reilly’s Tavern was for a hot celebrity hangout. She rechecked the address on the Post-it note Linda had handed her to make sure she was at the right place.
Taylor tapped her fingers nervously on the steering wheel. The thought of crawling back to Jason Andrews was just
so
humiliating. It infuriated her that, due to his “status” (which she doubted was the product of little more than sheer looks and being in the right place at the right time), people automatically gave him such deference—that with one snap of his fingers,
she
was expected to smile politely and apologize to
him
.
Hopefully Jason Andrews knows the Heimlich, Taylor thought to herself. Because she most definitely was going to choke on her words.
Realizing she couldn’t sit in front of the bar all night, she got out of her car and strode briskly in her heels to the front door of Reilly’s Tavern. A quick peek in the window told her that she’d been very wrong—the bar by no means was any sort of hot celebrity hangout.
As Taylor opened the door and stepped in, she felt as though she’d been transported back to the south side of Chicago, back to one of her father’s off-duty cop hangouts. Decked out in aging mahogany wood, Reilly’s Tavern was part sports bar, part Irish pub—complete with dartboards, pool tables, and two small televisions (both showing the same basketball game) mounted over the bar. The after-work crowd consisted almost entirely of middle-aged men, many still in their service or government uniforms.
Definitely the type of crowd who wouldn’t notice a celebrity in their bar, Taylor thought, and probably wouldn’t care even if they did. Maybe that was the point.
She stood hesitantly in the doorway, scanning the faces of the men seated at the bar, who in turn stared right back at her. Clearly, womenfolk didn’t often frequent this particular establishment.
And just when Taylor thought she couldn’t possibly have felt more self-conscious, she heard a feigned loud gasp and a voice call out her name with delight.
“Ms. Donovan!”
She turned and saw Jason Andrews near a pool table in the back. He walked over to her, pretending to be shocked.
“Why, imagine seeing you here!”
At the sight of his smug, victorious look, Taylor staggered back a few steps and fell against the door. Oh god, she couldn’t do it.
Feeling a little woozy at the thought of continuing, she closed her eyes and silently said a few oms from her yoga class for serenity.
WITH HIS ARMS folded expectantly across his chest—he did indeed know what was coming—Jason’s grin grew wider as he watched Taylor’s reaction to his greeting. This girl seriously cracked him up. At the nauseated look on her face, he half expected her to turn around and walk right out the door without one further word.
But instead, she took a deep breath. Jason watched as she pulled herself up to what he guessed had to be no more than her full five-feet-five height and strode efficiently over.
“Don’t be coy, Mr. Andrews,” she said in that all-business tone of hers. “I know your assistant told you I was coming.”
Jason’s eyes widened innocently. At the way she’d walked over all snappy-heels, he couldn’t resist hamming it up.
“
You
were looking for
me
? Whatever can I do for you, Ms. Donovan?”
Taylor stood there, staring evilly at Jason as if she wanted nothing more right then than to grab him by his cashmere zip pullover and zip it right up to his eyebrows.
But then she took another deep breath.
“It seems I may have been a bit . . . hasty when I walked out of the courtroom the other day,” she told him. “My firm would very much like to work with you on your . . . little project.”
He ignored her not-so-subtle dig at his film. “And you?”
She responded matter-of-factly to this. “I’m willing to put my personal preferences on the matter aside.”
Jason gazed down at her. She really wasn’t affected by him at all.
He found this fascinating.
“Am I correct in understanding that you dislike me, Ms. Donovan?” he asked coyly, circling around her in amusement.
Taylor followed him with her eyes, her voice even. “I won’t let my feelings about you compromise my career, Mr. Andrews. You got me in a lot of trouble at work, you know.”
Jason stopped, surprised to find himself uncomfortable at the thought. “I’ll tell you what,” he said magnanimously. “Let me buy you a drink. We can start over—get to know one another properly.” He flashed her the smile that made hearts flutter worldwide. Five and a half billion dollars in lifetime box office gross for his “little projects.” Take that.
Taylor cocked her head, appearing to consider his offer. Then, with her arms folded across her chest, she took a few steps toward him. When she was close enough that they were practically touching, she stared up at him, her green eyes boring deep into his. Jason could feel the warmth of her body, and he wondered if she knew what he was thinking right then.
Apparently, she did.
“Let’s get something straight, Mr. Andrews,” she said steadily. “This is business. Nothing else.”
Before Jason could get in one word edgewise on the matter, Taylor backed away and turned to leave. “And I’ll expect you to be at my office first thing tomorrow morning. Do try not to be late.”
Then she flipped her hair over her shoulders and, in what was admittedly not a half-bad impersonation, threw the very words Jason had said earlier right back at him.
“Surely you understand, Mr. Andrews . . .” she drawled mockingly, “I am a
very
busy woman.”
And with that, she turned on her heels and strode out of the bar.
Jason stood there, staring after her once again. How the hell the woman kept getting the last word in, he just didn’t know.
As he watched Taylor pass by the windows outside, Jeremy pulled up next to him. For a moment, even he seemed uncertain what to say.
“Well,” Jeremy finally managed, “she seems
very
nice.” He appeared to have enjoyed Jason and Taylor’s little exchange. “Very spirited.”
“You’re right about that.” Jason shot Jeremy a devilish look. “Now I just need to channel that spirit into a more . . . enjoyable outlet.”
Jeremy shook his head doubtfully. “I don’t know. I think you’ve met your match.”
Jason scoffed at the very idea. “There’s no such thing.”
“Well, from what I’ve seen and heard so far, the lawyer is up by
two
.”
Jason considered this. He may not have liked losing, but he loved the thrill of the game.
“We’ll see how long that lasts . . .” he mused out loud. Then he followed Jeremy back to the pool table and confirmed that the next shot was his. He studied the pool table, suddenly feeling lighter, more alive than he had in a long time. In fact, he couldn’t remember the last time something had piqued his interest as much as this lawyer had.
Jason leaned over the pool table and aimed. He shot and expertly fired the cue ball off the corner of his own striped nine ball, which spun and rolled neatly into the left side pocket. He straightened up and smiled confidently at Jeremy.
Game on.
THE NEXT MORNING, Taylor could feel the buzz the minute she stepped off the elevator. Perhaps it was the fact that everyone stopped and stared as she walked through the corridor on the way to her office. Or perhaps it was the gaggle of secretaries who huddled around Linda’s desk, passing a mirror between them as they reapplied lipstick and fluffed their hair. It could mean only one thing.
Jason Andrews was in her office.
Taylor headed over to Linda’s desk. When she got there, her secretary pointed to her office, then raised a finger to her lips to indicate they should be quiet.
“He’s here!” she said in an excited whisper.
“I guessed that, yes.”
Linda looked ready to burst into a million happy pieces as she babbled on. “I showed him straight to your office—I can’t remember anything I said after ‘hello’—oh my god, he’s even hotter in person—and then I shut the door because people were staring.” Then she quickly added for Taylor’s benefit, “Not that I would do anything like that.”
Taylor nodded. She realized then that she hadn’t thought he would actually show up. If anything, she had expected an angry phone call from Sam that morning, asking her what the hell kind of apology involved imitating Jason Andrews to his face.
She turned toward the closed door of her office. Time to face the enemy. She glanced back at Linda, trying to buy another minute or two. “Uh, Linda, could you reserve us one of the mock trial rooms? Maybe—”
“It’s already taken care of. You’re in conference room A.”
“Oh. Good. Lovely.”
Taylor still found herself stalling. By now the entire office was watching.
Linda gestured to the door. “Well, go on. He’s all yours,” she said with a wink. The other secretaries giggled.
Not wanting to draw any further attention to the situation, Taylor grabbed the handle to her door and strode resolutely into her office.
“Mr. And—”
Her words trailed off because Jason, who had been standing in front of her office window checking out the view, turned around when she entered. Like a shot from a movie, the morning sun shone brilliantly around him like a god—his dark hair glinted warmly in the light, and his eyes gleamed bluer than the south Pacific Ocean.
Taylor’s mind went blank. And suddenly, she couldn’t remember why the hell she ever had been angry with Jason Andrews.
But then he spoke.
“Sleeping in this morning, Ms. Donovan?” he drawled.
Moment over.
“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Andrews,” Taylor replied sarcastically. At least he wore a suit this time, she noted. No comment on how he looked in it.
From behind his back, Jason pulled out a medium-sized box with a blue ribbon wrapped around it.
“I brought you a peace offering.”
He held the box out to her.
Taylor looked over, caught off guard by this. After hesitating for a moment, she took the box from him and sat down at her desk. Jason took a seat in one of the chairs across from her.
“I guessed you’re not the flowers type,” he said. Taylor glanced sharply at him, wondering how he knew that from their short interactions.
“This seemed more appropriate for you. I thought you could wear it the next time you’re in court.”
She raised a suspicious eyebrow at this. Oh really? But Jason’s face gave nothing away.
Curiosity got the better of her, so Taylor opened the box. She rifled through the tissue paper until she found a T-shirt. When she pulled it out, she saw two words printed on the shirt in perfect reference to her infamous court argument: SHIT HAPPENS.
Taylor laughed out loud.
She looked over at Jason, reluctantly amused by the joke, and smiled.
“Okay, Mr. Andrews,” she conceded. “Let’s get started.”