Is it Murph’s? I love that place!
That’s the one!
Mina
I’ll meet you there :)
I pack up for the day, my movements quick, trying to beat my nervousness. It’s almost four, and I’m already thinking about how to pace my two-drink max when I notice James is still in his office. The other attorneys have left, but there he is, reviewing documents with his usual intensity.
I linger for a moment, watching the way he works, and when he looks up, our eyes meet briefly. He gives me a nod, a small, knowing smile that sends my pulse into a sprint. I lift my hand in an awkward wave, then tear myself away and head to the elevator.
As the doors slide shut, my watch pings. I glance down and see a text from an unknown number. I pull my phone out of my bag to read the message.
Unknown
6PM tomorrow. 4266 Halston Ave. Save my number as something cute ;)
I don’t respond, but I can’t stop smiling. I save his number under “Trouble” because that’s exactly what he is and tuck my phone away, the elevator doors opening with a soft chime as I reach the parking lot.
I duck into my car, the seatbelt a familiar hug as I start the engine. The radio comes to life with a burst of music that fills the space around me and helps drown out my thoughts as I put my car in drive and head to the bar.
Chapter 8
The noise hits me instantly as I step into the bar. Bodies swarm around tables, drinking and laughing. I’m looking out at a sea of suits when my colleagues spot me, waving me over to a U-shaped booth at the back. I weave through the crowded bar, careful not to bump into anyone.
When I reach the table, Charlotte, a junior associate, scoots over to make room for me, and I slide into the booth.
“Avery, we’re so glad you could make it. You’ve been so busy since you started, we haven’t really gotten a chance to get to know you.”
I force a smile. “Yeah, I’m starting to wonder if feeling like I have to prove myself every day is ever gonna go away,” I joke.
“For some of us, it does. For others…not so much,” Teresa, a senior associate, chimes in.
“Speaking of…we were just about to take bets on whether Sterling was going to show,” says Kevin, another senior attorney.
“Oh, I figured he was coming since he invited me,” I say, trying to sound casual as I fidget with my necklace.
Teresa shrugs. “He said he was busy. Probably working on the Clifton deal.”
We all place drink orders, and dive into cases and gossip. After ten minutes of idle chatter and stealing glances at the door despite knowing he’s probably not coming, James walks in.
He spots me immediately and starts toward our table, people parting for him as he makes his way through like he owns the place.
The easy confidence in his stride is enough to quiet even the loudest pockets of the room, turning heads as he closes the distance to our table. People pause almost mid-conversation to watch him pass, some nodding in acknowledgment, others casting fleeting, curious glances.
Somehow, in this crowded bar, he commands the kind of attention that silences everything else, as though the space around him shifts to accommodate his presence. It’s mystifying. He seems immune to the chaos that surrounds him, and everyone else seems to fall under his spell.
And then there’s me, trying not to stare too obviously, while simultaneously watching every step he takes. My eyes drift to his rolled sleeves, those beautifully inked forearms on display. Even without his full suit on, James projects an air of authority that’s nearly impossible to ignore. It should be disarming to see him without all of his usual layers of formality, but it isn’t.
His shirt stretches across his chest in a way that draws even more attention to how well-built he is. And those pants. I can barely keep from shaking my head at how absurdly well they fit him, tracing the strong lines of his legs like they were stitched onto him personally. Which, knowing James, they probably were.
Every article of clothing, from the expensive watch on his wrist to his shoes that must cost more than everything in my closet combined, seems to echo the same sentiment: even without the professional armor of a full suit, he’s no less imposing, no less of a presence that demands attention and respect.
He approaches, drawing the focus of everyone at our table, and says, “Room for one more?”
“Thought you couldn’t make it,” Teresa says.
“Plans changed,” James replies as he slides in next to me. The brush of his arm is startlingly warm. He nods a hello, and my awareness of his proximity leaves me a little breathless.
