I give Beth the same look I’ve given her countless times over the years. The one that says, ‘extract me from this situation, immediately.’ But today of all days, the conspiring witch chooses to ignore it.
‘There’s nothing in the diary at all. Take the entire afternoon if you like. I’ve got everything under control here.’ Beth’s enthusiasm matches Ava’s as she practically shoves my coat at me.
‘Wonderful.’ Ava rubs her hands together gleefully.
I pinch the bridge of my nose and exhale. ‘Fine. Lunch. But that’s it.’
The heat of every set of eyes in the building scorches my back as I escort Ava through the building. Thankfully, she adheres to the rules and doesn’t touch me. I had an awful premonition she might try and take my hand and ruin my badass-boss reputation forever. Though if Teagan was serious about her ‘little birdies’, Ava’s probably just done me a huge favour. Again.
Outside, the afternoon is fresh. Weak winter sunlight peeps from behind the clouds. Grafton Street is hopping with tourists as usual. Shoppers bustle about the busy street admiring the lavish window displays.
I crane my neck at Ava who’s gone suspiciously quiet. ‘Was that necessary?’
‘Absolutely.’ She smirks. ‘I told you, you owe me.’
‘I didn't expect you to cash in on it less than twenty-four hours later.’ I steer her towards one of the quieter side streets. ‘Are you hungry?’
‘Yes. Starving!’ she exclaims. ‘Do you know how much of an appetite you can work up matchmaking the singletons of this country?’
‘Do you know how much of an appetite you can work up building a case against unfaithful spouses?’ I counteract, stopping outside a small but exclusive Italian restaurant called La Dolce Vita. It’s almost impossible to get a table here but the owner, Maria Romano, is a previous client and she always finds me a table.
Ava hesitates in the doorway. ‘Do you have a reservation?’
‘I don’t need one.’ I open the door and usher her in.
‘Confident, aren't you? I suppose your gentlemanly manners compensate for your arrogance,’ Ava teases.
‘Don’t be fooled. I’m no gentleman.’ Primarily because my eyes can’t stay away from her ass.
Maria is working the floor. Her head whips round as we enter, and a gigantic smile lights her face as she rushes to greet us.
‘How is my favourite lawyer?’ She presses a kiss to each of my cheeks, examining me from head to toe in a maternal fashion before turning her attention to Ava. ‘And who do we have here?’
‘This is Ava, my—’ I’m about to say associate when Ava butts in with ‘girlfriend.’
‘My oh my.’ Maria’s chocolate brown eyes glitter. ‘Let me get you the most romantic table in the house. I knew you’d meet someone eventually. A man like you is too handsome to be alone forever.’
Heat creeps across my neck. Mortifying. Why did I think this was a good idea? Now every time I want to come for a decent meal, I’ll be plagued with questions about what went wrong. Clearly, I didn't think this through at all. ‘Anywhere is fine. Don’t go to any trouble.’
‘Nonsense. For the man who set me free, I will do anything.’ Maria motions to a passing waitress and asks her to set up a table in the window overlooking the lights on the street outside.
We’re handed menus and given a complimentary glass of champagne. ‘Set her free?’ Ava whispers as we take our seats.
‘Her husband had some unsavoury connections. Not many were willing to take him on.’ It was one of my most challenging cases, and one I wouldn’t have risked if Phoebe had been born.
Ava raises her eyebrows while she digests this nugget of information. The air falls silent between us but there’s no denying the chemistry. It swirls between us fogging the air. Why does she have to be so damn alluring? It’s distracting.
I scan the menu pointlessly. I already know what I’m going to order. The same thing I order every time I eat here. The ravioli is to die for. If I wasn't going back to work, I’d wash it down with a glass of red.
‘Italian’s my favourite.’ We both say at the exact same time, though her excited tone is decidedly more enthusiastic than mine.
‘At least we have something in common.’
‘So, what exactly do I owe you?’ I ask, after the waitress takes our order.
‘Lunch.’ Those hazel-hued eyes sparkle with mischief.
‘Does this lunch count?’ I motion to the chequered tablecloth on the table between us.
