“The latter,” I shrug.
“Well, my charger is by the nightstand. My plans for you the rest of the night don’t involve clothes, but if you insist, my t-shirts and boxers are in that dresser over there. And your morning breath won’t bother me one bit, doll. Did I miss anything?”
He smiles widely at me, dimples on full display.
I sigh and drop the panties and bra in my hand to the floor.
“Fine. I’ll stay.”
Chapter 17
There’s only a week left before my big trial, and I’m here alone in the conference room with my notes, practicing my opening and closing arguments until I can’t see straight.
Again.
I slump back in my chair, mentally and physically drained, and that’s when James strides in, a wry smile curving his lips as he sets takeout on the table and says, “Thought you could take a break from mumbling to yourself in here to eat dinner.”
The food smells amazing. I barely remember the last time I had something to eat that wasn’t a quick snack or a microwavable meal.
“Thanks. And I’m not mumbling to myself. I’m practicing my opening and closing.”
“Looked a lot like mumbling to me. Eat, then we can work on it.”
We sit together, and I devour a quarter of mine before James has the lid off his. He raises an eyebrow at me, like he’s amused by my desperation.
“What? Surprised I can put food down like this?” I ask before stuffing another bite into my mouth.
“No, I’m not. You’ve barely eaten all day.”
I stop chewing, his observation temporarily stunning me.
“How muchdoyou watch me?”
“More than I should,” he says with a tone that borderlines annoyance.
There’s an uncomfortable intimacy in the admission.
Not knowing how to respond, I just keep eating.
We finish our food, and I sit back, looking at him. “Thank you, really.”
“Don’t thank me yet. I haven’t given you my notes on your arguments,” he teases. “Let’s hear it,” he adds, nodding towards the podium that sits in the corner of the conference room.
Nobody has used it since I started working here, so I’d honestly forgotten it was even in the room.
“You want me at the podium?” I ask nervously.
“Practice like you play, Anders,” he says, nodding to the podium again. “Do it right or don’t do it.”
“Yes, coach,” I reply sarcastically as I get up from my seat and settle myself behind the podium.
I look over my notes, fidgeting with my necklace, feeling my heartbeat quicken from the rising anxiety. Knowing I’ll have to do this in front of a jury is already stressful, but in front of James? I want to be perfect.
How pathetic am I that a jury of twelve strangers intimidates me less than the man in front of me?
Apparently, I take too long psyching myself up because James says, “What’s wrong?”
I watch as his eyes trail to where my fingers are still anxiously fiddling with my necklace and quickly drop my hand.
