District Attorney & Defense Attorney — Mountain Mystery Romance?
Underneath it, a second line.
Harper previously linked to ADA during controversial Charleston acquittal. Pattern?
Her stomach dropped, cold and clean.
Around them, heads turned.
Whispers slid over the music.
Screens tilted their way.
“That’s it,” she said, voice low. “I’m leaving.”
She set her beer down.
He fell into step beside her without a word.
Back Stairwell — Gravel Lot
The music dulled as the door swung shut, bass fading to a distant throb. The night air was cooler here, smelling of asphalt and the faint bite of cigarette smoke.
She spun on him halfway down the stairs.
“I don’t want my life out there for the whole world to see.”
He stopped one step above her. “I get that,” he said.
“Like you,” she pushed, the words coming out like a blade. “You love this. Headlines. Spotlight.”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me. You love attention.”
“And you don’t?”
“No.”
His brows lifted, slow. “Oh, I think you do.”
Her temper flared hotter than the embarrassment. “Right. I’m the show-off,” she snapped. “That’s not fair.”
“Neither is this.” He tipped his phone toward her, the headline still burning across the screen.
She took the last step down, closing the space. “You thrive in it.”
“You think I asked for it?”
“I think you’re good at it.” She narrowed her eyes.
“I see you in that courtroom, Reid. I see the way you play the jury, the way you use that smile like a weapon,” she snapped, her voice echoing off the brick. “You’re always ‘on.’ You don’t have a single authentic?—”
Silence stretched—tight, electric.
He moved then—one deliberate step down, backing her against the cool brick. Her back met the wall; his body cut off the rest of the world. A clean, warm scent—cedar and soap—closed in with him. Purely him.
His gaze dropped to her mouth, lingered, then came back to her eyes.
