“Barely. Mr. O’Rourke wounded my pride.”
“Then he showed restraint.”
A quiet laugh.
“I could make dinner public,” he said casually. “Seven o’clock. Catch My Draft. Safe venue for opposing counsel.”
“No.”
A brow lifted.
“I don’t date opposing counsel.”
“That sounds less like a rule and more like an excuse.”
“It’s a rule.”
“Rules change.”
“Not this one.”
He stepped a fraction closer. Not enough to crowd. Enough to matter.
“Reid.”
The voice came from down the hall.
Sloane Gentry crossed toward them, copper-red hair bright against the pale blue sheath dress she wore. She smiled directly at Reid.
“Daddy wanted me to tell you tomorrow’s chambers conference moved to nine.” As she spoke, she reached out, her fingers lingering as she smoothed a non-existent wrinkle on Reid’s lapel.
“Thanks,” Reid said.
“And you still owe me that drink,” she added lightly.
Her gaze flicked briefly to Eleanor—pleasant, polished, assessing—before she turned and continued down the hall.
Eleanor watched her go. Then looked back at Reid.
“I think you have about all the attention you need—or want—don’t you?”
One dark brow lifted.
Her gaze flicked toward the hallway Sloane had just disappeared down.
“And besides,” she added, gathering her files, “I don’t date opposing counsel. But all is not lost, Calloway.”
“No?”
“Judge Gentry’s daughter does.”
For one beat, he just looked at her.
Then that slow, delicious smile spread across his face—the one she hated because it always looked like he knew what she was thinking.
“Jealous, Harper?”
She rolled her eyes.
