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“Yes,” he says with zero hesitation, even doubling down. “Absolutely. Because I didn’t pull that person into the case. The person attacking my client did, and my client has the right to protect themselves. And believe me, if you were the one needing that protection, you’d be glad I was the one on your side.”
“That sounds vicious.”
“It is vicious, and I’m unapologetic about it. But there’s a difference between being a coldhearted asshole and breaking the law. And the man I call an enemy broke laws to obtain evidence, which could have gotten us both disbarred.”
“What did you do?”
“I was forced to throw out what would have been good evidence if obtained legally and find another way to win.”
“And the enemy of yours, he agreed to throw it out?”
“No. I threatened to go to the board at the firm, and he read my willingness to do it accurately.”
“And you won the case?”
“Yes. I won.”
I rotate to my side to face him. “Can you tell me about it?”
He glances over at me. “You want to hear about the actual case?”
“I want to hear about how you won it under those circumstances, yes.”
“Why?”
Because I need to hear about someone else overcoming another person’s crimes and winning, I think. But I say, “Because you intrigue me,” and it’s true. He does.
He laughs at my play on his earlier words, the passing lights illuminating his handsome face. “Aren’t you the witty one, Ms. Winter?”
“Actually, not many people call me witty.”
“You sure about that? Because that comeback in the bathroom where you called me insecure was pretty witty.”
“That was snarky.”
“So, you’re known for your snark?”
“No,” I say, “but I am known for excellent pancakes and an incredible knack for sprucing up a box of Kraft macaroni and cheese like nobody’s business.”
“You’re known for your paint brush,” he amends.
“I’malmostknown,” I correct before I can stop myself, but I’ve said it, so I just wade on into it. “Which is like almost winning a case to you, I suspect.”
“You downplay your achievement,” he says. “Chris Merit wanted you in his show. That’s pretty damn powerful in the art world.”
“Our families share a connection,” I say. “Apparently more so than I realized.” I change the subject that I wish I hadn’t broached. “Tell me about winning that case.”
“I’d rather hear about you. Tell me about your art.”
“You teased me with part of a story,” I press. “I really want to hear about how you won the case.”
His phone rings, and he hands it to me. “Tell me who’s calling so I don’t drive us into a cliff.”
Stunned by something that feels rather private, I nevertheless take the phone and glance at the caller ID. “It says North. Why don’t you use Bluetooth?”
He grabs an earpiece from the visor and attaches it to his ear. “Hackers love Bluetooth, and I deal with confidential information for powerful people. And I need to take that call, sweetheart. It’s my associate working on the depositions with me.”
“Of course,” I say, the endearment doing funny things to my belly all over again.
