I down my drink and grab a passing shot of whiskey next.
“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice says from my left. “If it isn’t Jameson Tate, Defender of the Guilty, Savior of the Soulless.”
I don’t need to turn to see who it is.
He’ll re-introduce himself like we haven’t met hundreds of times before, so I knock back my liquor.
“I’m Damien Carter from Hamilton & Associates,” he says. “It’s always nice seeing a fellow esteemed lawyer out and about.”
“Is it?” I look at him. “Because I’m pretty sure you just go from event to event trying to poach them to work at your firm.”
“I try to poach the best lawyers.” He smiles. “You’re still undefeated, so I can make you one hell of an offer.”
“Your firm doesn’t represent the type of clients I like.”
“You mean the good ones?”
“There’s no such thing. There’s only—” I stop talking when I see Scarlett walking across the room in a light lavender dress.
With her hair pulled up high in a bun and matching sunglasses, she’s making every guy in her radius do a not-so-subtle double take.
“There’s only what, Jameson?” Damien asks.
“We’ll need a raincheck on this conversation.” I follow Scarlett with my eyes, watching her settle into a corner with wine. “There’s someone I need to talk to.”
“That’s fine.” He holds out the same business card he’s given me before. “I’ll be waiting for your call.”
You’ll be waiting…I walk away from him and head for Scarlett.
“Hello, Scarlett.” I step in front of her.
“Hello, Mr. Tate.” Her voice is flat. “Are you enjoying the party?”
“Not really.” I set my glass on the window ledge. “I’ve never been the partying type.”
“I don’t believe that, sir.” She looks away from me. “I’m sure you have plenty of stories to tell about your drunken college days.”
“You’d be surprised…” I say. “There’s no need to be formal with me, Scarlett.”
“I don’t see why not, Mr. Tate.” She’s still looking elsewhere. “We hardly ever speak to each other.”
“My dick was deep inside you three weeks ago.”
Her cheeks flush red and she finally turns back to me.
“I thought so.” I ignore the urge to move closer to her. “I sent notes for your family to read over in case any reporters happen to sneak into this party.”
“I saw them already. They look like scripts.”
“That’s the point.” It takes everything in me not to push the stray strands of hair off her forehead. “Speaking of scripts, how are your auditions going?”
“Like you care…” She presses her glass to her lips, taking a long gulp. “I’m sure my father appreciates you stopping by, so you can walk away from me now.”
“I’m genuinely curious, Scarlett,” I say. “I want to know.”
“Walk away from me, Jameson.” Her voice cracks. “Go torture someone else with your fake small talk. I don’t want that from you.”
“What the hell do you want me to say to you, Scarlett?” I narrow my eyes at her. “Honestly.”
