The lobby is transformed. Now a swirl of ambient lighting, jazz piano, and small groups of attorneys in their attempted casual attire.
The conference dinner is set up in the adjoining restaurant, where a huddle of attorneys are already holding court at the bar, martinis in hand.
We find our table. The other attorneys from our firm are already here.
I greet everyone and sit, James taking the seat next to me.
I’ve been near him all day. Hell, I’ve already been naked in front of him today. But being this close to him in front of our coworkers feels dangerous.
James rests his hand on the back of my chair, only occasionally grazing my shoulder, but every time he does, I feel the contact like a jolt of electricity through me.
A server appears, pouring wine and passing menus.
The attorneys discuss the market, the rumors about firm mergers, and the horror of having to learn new billing software.
The conversation doesn’t die as our food arrives, everyone talking in between bites of grilled chicken, mashed potatoes, and salad. Someone makes a toast to the firm’s continued success, and everyone clinks glasses. James’s hand finds my thigh under the table, hidden from view, and he draws idle shapes there with his thumb.
At one point, I try to shift my knees away, but his grip tightens, anchoring me to the seat. There’s no pain in it, just a reminder of how much space he can command, even in a crowded room.
As much as I should be paying attention to the conversation around me, my mind drifts to what his hands might do to me tonight. I get excited at the thought and readjust in my seat to combat the heat pooling in my lower belly.
My thoughts are interrupted by a suited man with a microphone. He introduces himself as one of the organizers of this week’s conference and briefly mentions all the guest speakers the attendees should be excited to hear.
I smile when James is named, knowing all the work we’ve put into our presentation.
After the organizer’s announcement is finished, our small talk resumes over dessert.
Teresa pulls out her phone, frowning at the screen.
“Look at this,” she says, turning her phone to show a photo of three young children all covered in marker, eating what looks to be a pepperoni pizza. “Gone not even twenty-four hours, and Mark is already ordering pizza for the kids.”
Kevin chuckles, swirling his scotch in his glass. “Melissa shipped the kids off to her parents’ for the week and booked herself a stay at that new spa resort. I wonder which will cost more: my wife’s stay or the repairs you’ll probably have to make from all the havoc your boys are gonna wreak this week.”
When the chatter dies, Teresa attempts to revive it.
“Do you want kids, Avery?” she asks.
I nearly choke on my tiramisu. “Oh…I…haven’t given it much thought. I’ve been focused on my career. I mean, you guys know how it is.”
My coworkers nod in agreement, but Teresa’s not satisfied and presses on anyway.
“Are you seeing anyone?”
She must’ve had one too many glasses of wine tonight because she’s not usually this prying and pushy.
Thoughts of what I’ve been doing with Nash and James the past few months come in a rush.
Am I seeing someone? How do I even answer that question? I don’t have a boyfriend, but I casually sleep with the man sitting next to me and my paralegal?
Obviously, I can’t say that.
“Um, no. It’s just me and my cat,” I shrug awkwardly and down the rest of my wine.
I’m ready for this line of questioning to end.
“I think I’m gonna turn in. Need to rest up for tomorrow. Goodnight, everyone,” I say, pushing my chair back as James’s hand slides from my thigh.
Offering a tight smile, I smooth my dress and head toward the elevator.
