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There is such a thing as tact, and you don’t have it.
What I need to do is stop letting my head lead the way. Maybe I need to let my heart to the talking.
I’ve been denying it for far too long, but if I let it speak, I think it would tell Brooks that I was wrong in my first impression of him. That I actually do think he’s one hell of an attorney, and the reason I’ve been so standoffish is because deep down, I know I’ve met my match. I’ve never had anyone intimidate and infuriate me quite so much, and that was why I had to shut him down.
But I was wrong. So wrong.
At least I have the weekend to think about how I’ll respond to him.
As I’m trying to craft that witty response, my phone buzzes on my nightstand. I pick it up to see an unknown number with a 207 area-code. It could be someone from the women’s center needing immediate assistance, so I answer. It’s just the distraction I need. “Yes?”
“It’s me.”
Some distraction.
It’s Brooks. I’ve rarely spoken to him on the phone—maybe only once or twice—and yet I know his voice instantly. “Hi?” I chirp out, sitting up in bed and looking at the glowing numbers of my bedside clock. It’s after two. Why is he calling me now?
There’s only one reason I can think of. It’s something with the case. He had a late-night epiphany, and he needs to share it with me right away.
He says, “I can’t stop thinking about it.”
I sit up and turn on the light at my bedside, rubbing my eyes. “Well, she did upend everything with her change of heart, but we’re on track. We just have to—"
“What?”
I pause. “Aren’t you talking about Courtney?”
“Screw that,” he says, a hint of urgency in his voice. “I’m talking about what you said. I can’t stop thinking about that.”
Okay. I’ve said many things. I’m not sure which one he’s thinking about, so I stay silent.
“The truth is, we don’t have to call it quits. The only one saying that is you. So if you don’t want to, then what the hell, why don’t we just let it go and see where it leads?”
I blink, now wide-awake. “You want that?”
“Yeah. Remember all those things I said I’d do to you, after a long day at the office?”
I blush. How can I not? He had this fantasy about greeting me at the front door after a day of work, dropping everything and pushing me up against the door, lifting my skirt and… “Yes…”
My voice is barely a breath. His voice is low and controlled. “I still want to do those things for you. With you. To you.”
My heart races like a motor, starting up. Goose bumps break out all over my body, suggesting I’m shivering, and yet I’ve never felt so hot. My body simply doesn’t know how to behave with him.
I hesitate. Yes, we have insane chemistry. “But… this changes everything.”
“It might,” he says, and I can just imagine him, facing the judge, laying out his case just as levelly and coolly, without a single ripple. “But there is good change and bad change. What’s the worst thing that could happen?”
“It won’t live up to the fantasy, and we both go home disappointed. And then we still have to see each other in the office.”
“You really think that will happen?”
He’s right. At least, for me. We’ve both talked about our past romantic relationships. I have a string of losers, none of which are worth writing home about. He had two serious relationships though. “Not for me. But you… what if—"
“No. I’m telling you right now, it’s not possible. And the way I see this, it’s all good. No downside. I’d tell you if I saw one. We’re better together than at each other’s throats.”
He’s right again. But I don’t speak. I’m too afraid of something going wrong here.
“Do you agree?” he finally asks.
“You make a convincing argument, counsel.”
He chuckles. “What are you doing now?”
“What do you think? It’s late. I’m lying in bed.”
I don’t mean anything by it, but he groans as if I just described the most lurid, detailed sexual fantasy to him. “Don’t do that to me.”
I smile. “I did nothing to you. You’re doing it to yourself.”
“You have no idea,” he says in a tortured, low voice. “Look. I don’t know about you, but I’ve had one hell of a week. I could use a little company right now.”
“It’s Friday. You could’ve gone to the club,” I point out.
“I don’t know where you got the idea that I go to clubs anymore, but I promise, I haven’t set foot in one since before I graduated from Yale. That’s not my scene.”
Right. Stranger88 had told me that. I’m having a hard time reconciling the ego-filled Brooks Gentry I thought I knew with the real one. Despite what I once believed, the real Brooks Gentry thinks clubs are too loud. The real Brooks Gentry doesn’t like to party or get drunk. The real Brooks Gentry dated two women seriously and has never had a meaningless fling.
