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I also saw how dark his eyes could get. I could imagine the serious way he talked about business translating into almost gleeful bloodshed, and what was even worse was that I knew I wanted him anyway.
Maybe my moral compass was more skewed than I thought.
I pulled my plate closer to me and felt my finger brush against something soft and flat. I could instantly tell it was paper, and I balked.
No way. The waiter hadn’t really…? I moved the plate out of the way and found that he had. Right there, brazen as the day, was a little piece of paper with a name and phone number written on it. I wanted to laugh, but all I could do was stare at it. Seriously?
“You’re kidding,” Richard growled, and I looked up to see that he, too, had his eyes fixed on the offending message. A little laugh finally broke out of my mouth.
“Oh, my god,” I grinned helplessly. “This is—this is ridiculous! I can’t believe this is actually happening.” Richard scowled up at me, but then his attitude changed on a dime, and he smirked.
“Oh, look at that smile,” he cooed. The condescending tone sent an unexpected jolt of electricity straight through to my pussy, catching me totally off guard. I immediately sat up straighter, hoping he hadn’t noticed my reaction. Something told me it was a hopeless effort. “This the sort of thing you’re interested in? Pretty boys and lame, predictable moves?”
With a flash, I knew what he was doing, and I rose to the bait. “I outgrew passing notes in middle school,” I said with a smooth grin. I knew I shouldn’t be flirting with him, but I’d been failing that urge all night. Maybe it was time to jump in feet first.
“Oh? So you don’t think he’s pretty?”
“I didn’t say that,” I responded airily, watching the way Richard’s eyes darkened minutely—and not with arousal. He looked like he’d go over there and crack that boy’s eye sockets any minute now. I was thrilled at the power rush. “But I didn’t say pretty was my type either.”
“Well, pray tell,” Richard said, leaning on the table. “Don’t leave me waiting.”
“I like my men to be men,” I shrugged, purposefully holding his eyes. “Sure, that guy’s got confidence, but it’s cocky, not quite the same as real power. There’s something different in the way a man carries himself when he knows his strength can’t be questioned that just makes me… well, that’s not appropriate for dinner conversation.”
Richard’s eyes widened at my boldness, then narrowed in excitement as his smirk widened. My heart beat heavily in my chest. I was playing a dangerous game, and I’d never felt more alive.
I slid the note across the table with a little smile. “But if you’re that interested, you’re free to give it a shot.”
Richard barked out a loud laugh, startling me and the tables around us. His teeth looked unexpectedly sharp all of a sudden. “Thanks for your generous offer,” he grinned at me, knocking the note off the table without giving it a glance. Those eyes—still so intense—pinned me to my seat. “But I’m afraid he’s not my type either.” My breath whooshed slowly out of me because the way he was looking at me like I was prey made it very clear that his type was me.
God, it was so hard not to jump over the table to grab him. Only what little remained of my professional dignity held me back.
I was an attorney. This man was my client’s son. I had a near-perfect case, and I couldn’t risk losing it because of a conflict of interest. I could tell that Richard knew it, too, because he slowly pulled himself back. The boiling heat in the air started to forcibly lower to a simmer, and I instantly wanted it back. I could tell he did, too. I took a deep breath.
“Well, thank you for meeting with me on such short notice,” I said, voice a little too shaky. I was absolutely throbbing.
“Of course,” Richard said, still pinning me with that hunter’s gaze. “I appreciate your hard work on my father’s case. Don’t worry, I’ll handle the bill.”
We exchanged tense pleasantries and parted ways outside the restaurant, but I could tell both of us knew—the minute the case was over, there would be no stopping us.
Chapter Twelve
LAUREN
Everything was calculated, every aspect planned.
There wasn’t a single hair out of place on my head, my client looked sharp despite the stubble he hadn’t been able to shave, and I had an ace up my sleeve that the prosecution could never see coming. We’d even gotten lucky with the judge—or maybe the Marinos had been able to rig the system to get Judge Cardinal assigned to us.
But I was terrified anyway.
This was my first real case. No matter how prepared I was, my whole career rode on this trial; worse, there were reporters on the benches and camera crews against the back wall. Speeding up the trial meant that there was no time for the courts to arrange a jury, which was ideal given how unpredictable people could be, but this was far from a private affair. The Andrea Marino had been arrested, after all. All of Chicago was eagerly waiting to see if his young, unknown attorney would be able to save him.
Mrs. Marino and her children sat in the front row, and I could feel their anxiety radiating off of them. Mrs. Marino was kind, but she was a no-nonsense woman, and she was skeptical of my efficacy. I couldn’t refute her since I had no case record to speak of. I could tell her uncertainty was rubbing off on her two younger children, Selene and Fabrizio, and it was only Richard who seemed totally certain.
But I had to look confident, so I did. I was an expert at hiding fear.
“All rise for the honorable Judge Cardinal,” the bailiff announced, and like a choreographed crowd, we all rose to our feet. Mr. Marino stood straight and tall next to me, head held high, projecting nobility and strength. He looked every inch an innocent man who trusted the legal system to exonerate him.
“You may be seated,” Judge Cardinal said as he took to his bench. We sat down like puppets. “This is the case of the Illinois Department of Justice vs. Andrea Marino on the charge of level one drug trafficking, possession of illegal substances, and possession of narcotics with intent to distribute. Counsel, how does the defendant plead?”
