CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Peyton
Being in court was second nature to me. Get in, get out, see you later. And that was how it went most days I had hearings, but today I was stopped by Clint in the stairwell—again.
Even though he was still on probation at Lee and Thompson, he still had cases he was the attorney of record for. His probation was strictly in regard to his employment at L&T.
“Hey, Peyton,” he called, but I kept walking, pretending I didn’t hear him. “Peyton! Wait up.”
I stopped, sighed, and turned around with a big, fake smile on my face. “Oh, hey, Clint. What’s up?”
“Marriage of Waterford, you ready to talk settlement?”
“I’m always ready to talk settlement. Email me a draft agreement, and I’ll run it by my client.”
“I was thinking we could go for that drink and I’ll tell you what my client’s proposing.”
It really didn’t work that way. An email would do just fine. Unless he was Booker, and then he’d storm into my office with an agreement and a hidden agenda. Clint had to know I knew he’d said he reported us. Though, we never got a letter from the bar saying they were investigating us.
“You know I can’t do that.”Won’twas the real answer. It didn’t matter if it was on a professional basis. There was no way I would go anywhere with this asshole.
“Because of Booker?”
I stared at him, not responding. The door on the second level opened, and I prayed it was Booker. It wasn’t. “Not only because of Booker, but there’s no reason for us to do anything outside of work. I’m not interested.” I was done being nice to this jerk.
He stepped closer, and I stepped back only to hit the railing against the wall. “How long have you been dating that fucker?”
“That’s none of your business.”
He stepped even closer, and everything in my entire body was on alert. I didn’t know if Booker was at the courthouse or not because we didn’t talk about cases.
“What if I told you that he’s not the man you think he is?”
I rolled my eyes. “Do you think I care what you think?”
The second-floor door opened again. No Booker, or anyone for that matter. People were going down, not up to us on the third floor.
“I think you’d care about the information that I have.”
“Let me guess? He killed someone?” I joked sarcastically.
He grinned. “Clever, but not that I know of.”
“So you don’t know everything about the man you want to be?”
He narrowed his eyes. “I don’t want to be him.”
“No, you just want to harass him, stalk him.”
“I’m not stalking him.”
“But you have this “information” about him?” I asked, using air quotes.
“Look, I’m trying to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” I replied and tried to step around him. He didn’t let me.
The third-floor door opened. “What the fuck is going on!”
