Reid had emerged from the bedroom doorway. In the thirty seconds she’d left him alone, he’d somehow managed to tuck in his shirt, smooth his hair, and rearrange his expression into one of perfect, polished composure.
Unfortunately, he still looked like a man who had very recently been kissing her senseless in her bedroom.
His eyes met hers over her father’s shoulder.
And then—that absolute menace—he winked.
Slow. Deliberate. Entirely too pleased with himself.
The nerve of this man.
Her father released her and turned.
Reid stepped forward immediately, every inch the charming District Attorney.
“Reid Calloway, sir,” he said, extending a hand.
Her father took it, his grip firm and assessing.
“Lawrence Harper,” he said, in the voice he used for board meetings.
“Yes, sir.”
Lawrence held the handshake a beat longer, his gaze dropping briefly to the slightly askew collar of Reid’s shirt. Hiseyes caught on a faint, unmistakable smear of pink—Eleanor’s lip gloss—just below Reid’s jaw.
He returned his gaze to Reid’s eyes, expression flat and unreadable.
“Calloway,” he said, voice like velvet over gravel. “You clerked for Judge Sterling in Charlotte, didn’t you?”
Reid’s posture sharpened a fraction. He didn’t reach up to wipe his face.
“Yes, sir.”
A faint, knowing smile touched Lawrence’s mouth.
“I remember him mentioning you.”
A beat.
Lawrence’s grip tightened—just enough to register.
“He said you knew how to close a case,” Lawrence added softly. “I assume that applies to your private life as well.”
“And the Mercer case,” Lawrence said softly. “You’re the one steering that ship.”
“I am, sir,” Reid said, his voice losing its playful edge for a fraction of a second.
Behind him, Eleanor’s mother gave a small, satisfied smile.
“And I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “Though everyone calls me Liz.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Eleanor looked between them, confused.
“You… know who he is?”
Liz gave her a look.
