"Why?" I sipped my wine. "I'm having dinner with my attorney. Discussing my case. Nothing inappropriate about that."
"The way you're looking at me is inappropriate."
I smiled. "How am I looking at you?"
His jaw tightened. Color rose in his cheeks—subtle, but I'd been watching for it. "Like I'm something you're planning to acquire."
"That's because you are." No point in lying when the truth was so much more effective. "I appreciate honesty, Emilio. Let me be honest with you. I find you attractive. Professionally and personally. I'd like to explore both dimensions of that attraction. Does that make you uncomfortable?"
He set down his wine glass with slightly too much force. "I'm your attorney."
"Yes."
"There are ethical rules about attorneys sleeping with clients."
"We're not sleeping together." I paused deliberately. "Yet."
"Yet." He repeated it like the word was foreign. "You're very confident."
"I'm observant. You want me. You've wanted me since that first day in court, and you hate yourself for it. But the wanting doesn't go away just because you disapprove of it." I leaned forward. "So here we are. Having dinner. Acknowledging the attraction instead of pretending it doesn't exist."
"And then what?" His voice had gone rough. "We acknowledge it and move on? Maintain professional boundaries like adults?"
"Or we acknowledge it and decide what we want to do about it." I watched his throat work as he swallowed. Watched hispupils dilate. All the physical tells of arousal he couldn't quite control. "I'm a patient man, Emilio. I can wait for you to decide what you want. But I think you already know."
The waiter appeared before he could respond, which was probably fortunate for both of us. I ordered for us both—the tasting menu, which would keep us here for at least two hours—and waited until we were alone again before continuing.
"Tell me about your divorce," I said.
His eyes widened. "That's not relevant to—"
"Humor me. I want to understand you. How you think. What drives you." I sipped my wine. "You married Marco Delgado in 2019. Divorced in April of this year. What happened?"
For a moment I thought he'd refuse to answer. Then he sighed and picked up his wine glass, taking a long drink before responding.
"He cheated. Multiple times. I found out and filed immediately." The words were clipped. Professional. Like he was reciting facts instead of describing the destruction of his marriage. "We'd been growing apart for a while. The infidelity was just the final confirmation that we didn't work."
"Did you love him?"
"I thought I did. Probably I loved the idea of him more than the reality." He looked at me directly. "Why does this matter to you?"
"Because I want to know if you're carrying a torch for your ex-husband. If Marco Delgado is competition I need to account for."
"He's not competition. We're done. Completely."
"Good." I signaled the waiter, who appeared with our first course. Oysters on ice, garnished with mignonette and lemon. "Then I don't need to destroy his career to eliminate him as an obstacle."
Emilio stared at me. "You're joking."
"I rarely joke about removing obstacles." I selected an oyster and offered it to him. "Try this. They're from Prince Edward Island. Supposedly the best in the world."
He took the oyster, our fingers brushing in the exchange. I felt him tense at the contact. Watched him tip his head back and swallow, throat working, lips parting. It was almost obscene in its innocence.
"It's good," he said when he'd finished.
"Everything here is good. I don't settle for less than exceptional." I prepared my own oyster. "Speaking of which. The witness depositions. You found the discrepancies?"
"The bar layout issue, yes. Torres couldn't possibly have seen what he claims from the position he described." Emilio seemed relieved to shift to professional topics. "I've started building a defense strategy around proving the Costello family manufactured evidence."
