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"Answer the question," he growls.
"Yes," I snap, "I do."
"Then let me come over. Let me meet your daughter."
"I don't know if I'm ready for that."
"Then let me come over. I don't have to stay the night."
How the hell does he do it? From me being convinced that we can't be together to me thinking that maybe there might be a chance...
I can't stay. I need to go, clear my head.
"I have to go," I tell him.
"Kyra."
"I'm sorry."
"Kyra, please - "
"Goodnight."
I hang up the phone. I turn it off and sink into my couch, staring at nothing.
How is it that doing the right thing doesn't feel right anymore?
**
Getting out of bed the next day is a drag. It's a court day today, and I'm dreading it. How am I supposed to stay clear of Landon when he's at the fucking courthouse, looking sexy as hell in his suit du jour?
Whatever. I'll take this opportunity to rip him a new one. See how much he wants to see me after that.
Getting Madison ready for school this morning isn't a walk in the park either. She decided to brush her own hair with a vengeance, with the result that the wire bristle brush got stuck in her hair.
"Sorry Mom," she says, wincing as I work carefully to untangle the thing.
Shit. Not the best morning for this.
"It's OK," I say. "I'll figure this out in no time."
Although I'm not so sure of that.
"Grandma says you're stressed and not to bother you," she says, with a guilty frown.
"Well, Grandma is overdoing it. I have a big case, but that's it."
Heck, I'm lying to my kid now too?
Then again, I'm not about to bemoan my man troubles to my nine-year-old.
"OK," she says. "Ow!"
I wave the newly freed brush triumphantly. "Sorry, but it's out. You ready to go?"
Madison rubs at her head with a glare. "If I have any hair left, yeah."
Of course Madison still has a ton of hair, and I manage to get her to the school and me to the courthouse just in time.
In court, I manage to rip Storm Media a new one - again. There are so many similarities between Storm and Goldtree's planned TV shows that I've lost count. The judge and jurors can see it too, I can see it on their faces. We're on track to win.
I grin all the way to the car.
There. That'll show him.
If he thought I was going to take it easy just because of this messed-up situation, then he has another think coming.
"Hey there, stranger," a horribly familiar voice says.
"Hey." Don't look his way - don't look his way. "I have to go pick Madison up. Sorry."
I can still feel his hard look on the side of my head. "It's lunchtime."
"Yeah, well..." I trail off. I've got nothing and he knows it. Now, I dare glare his way. "How about no because I don't want to?"
"That would be fair." God, he's handsome. This time he's skipped the suit for a fitted blue polo that shows off his powerful shoulders, plus black jeans and a devil-may-care smirk that knows I'm wavering and, stupidly and totally randomly, want to kiss him. "Although it would be a lie."
I tear my gaze away. "Landon. Please."
"Have lunch with me."
Just like that. So easy. So assumed. Like - why not? Why not brush your teeth? Why not kiss me and lose every thought in your head?
I exhale. "You never give up. Do you?"
"Nope." He's smiling. Determined. Relaxed. Knows he's got this.
Back in the courtroom may be my playing field, but outside...
"Fine. But we're going to Bentley's down the street," I say, closing the car door and setting off at a quick stride. "Walking. I'm not getting in your car here."
"Stealth mode works for me." He pulls up the collar of his shirt with a wink. "I won't even take your hand until we cross the street."
"You gentleman you." God, this feels so easy. Sliding back into things - no, that's not what's happening. Is it? "Although this doesn't mean - "
"That we're still a thing?" Landon shrugs. "Sure. Have it your way. Call it what you want. As long as I get to see you."
"Just" - a fed-up sigh - "I still haven't decided if I am still seeing you."
"We're seeing each other now." His smile is cheerful enough for the both of us.
"OK, OK," he says, seeing my expression. "I know when to cool it when I'm ahead."
"You're not ahead," I state.
He's definitely ahead, I think.
Bentley's is nice and empty, except for a fresh pancake aroma that gets my stomach growling in anticipation. The red full-size jukebox is playing a Fleetwood Mac song.
The roomy red-seat booth at the back has our name on it. It's got a nice window opening on a sparse hedge that does a not-great job of obscuring the busy road beyond. Landon insists on sitting beside me instead of across from me.
