Chapter 12
CHAPTER TWELVE
Eden
Well, damn.
I thought when the clock struck six and my workday ended that I’d avoided Dylan Colt’s questions for the day.
Maybe it was na?ve of me to believe that he wanted to focus on the case at hand since he had a courier drop off my watch earlier.
It was polished and tucked inside a rectangular white gift box.
There wasn’t a card. The courier had nothing to offer but a smile and a wave of his hand when I tried to give him twenty dollars for his trouble.
He told me that Mr. Colt had taken care of it.
It seemed too good to be true, and now I know why.
Dylan Colt, looking like sex in a suit, is waiting for me on the sidewalk outside of my office. I thought he was gorgeous when he was eighteen. That lanky, messy-haired quarterback had nothing on this square-jawed, tall, breathtakingly handsome man.
“Eden.” My name flies off his perfect lips as I approach him. “I see you got your watch back.”
His eyes graze my arms.
I took off my blazer when I was in the elevator since it’s almost ninety degrees outside. My sleeveless blouse isn’t sheer, but it’s thin enough that I know he can see the lace of my white bra underneath it.
It hardly matters at this point.
The man sucked on my nipples. He knows exactly what my breasts look like.
“We’re having a drink together.”
I raise a brow at that declaration. “No, we’re not.”
“We are.” He flashes me one of his dimpled smiles.
My core clenches in need.
Traitor. My body is a traitor.
“I’m prepared to offer your client a deal if she’ll sign off on the terms of the settlement that Kurt proposed in mediation,” I say, clinging tightly to the hope that his drink invitation is business related.
“I’m going to ignore everything you just said because we both know that my client has suffered immeasurably because your client can’t keep his dick in his pants.”
“Your client’s vagina isn’t as innocent as you think it is,” I blurt back.
That draws the attention of a gray-haired couple passing us on the sidewalk.
Dylan glances at them. “We’re lawyers. Ignore us.”
The woman gifts him with a bright smile. “It’s hard to ignore you.”
With a scowl on his face, her husband grabs her hand, tugging her forward.
“Have a drink with me, Eden.” Dylan gestures down the street. “We need to talk, and not about the Alcesters.”
He’s right. We do need to talk.
“I have dinner plans at seven, so one quick drink.”
His brows draw together in curiosity. I don’t need to tell him that my dinner plans consist of take-out and three hours of binge-watching my favorite show.
Noelle is hanging out at her parents’ apartment tonight since Kurt needs to be at the hospital at six a.m. tomorrow to be prepped for the surgery.
His gaze falls to his watch. “I can work with that. There’s a place a block over. We can walk there.”
I fall in step beside him, being careful not to let my hand brush against his.
I wouldn’t have slept with him if I had known that he would be my archenemy in court. I can’t make the mistake of touching him again.
Dylan watches as I take a tentative sip of the drink I ordered. I close my eyes briefly in appreciation of the skill of the bartender.
“The look on your face makes me wish that I’d ordered a Negroni instead of scotch.”
“It’s delicious.” I chuckle. “Scotch is your go-to drink, isn’t it?”
He swallows a mouthful of the amber liquid. “Guilty as charged.”
I’d take that as an invitation to wade back into the Alcester case, but he made it clear that this impromptu meeting isn’t about work.
“When did you decide to become a lawyer?” I ask, expecting that he’ll bounce the question right back at me.
“When my folks divorced.” He lifts the glass in the air. “When did you decide to withhold your identity from me?”
“Dylan.” His name comes out in a whisper.
He leans his elbows on the table, narrowing the space between us. “Eden. When did you realize it was me?”
“About the same time you didn’t realize I was me.” I take a sip of my drink.
The corners of his lips curve up. “Touché.”
I draw in a deep breath. “When you said your name was Dylan, it took me back to that quarterback in high school that I tutored. That’s when I really looked at you. When we danced, I knew.”
His gaze travels over my face. “Help me understand why you didn’t just come out and say who you were.”
I let out a heavy sigh. “I thought at some point you’d recognize me. By the time we got back to your place, the window to tell you had closed.”
“That window was wide open.” He curves his hand around the glass in front of him. “You should have told me who you were. I wish I would have known it was you before we fucked.”
Hearing the word come out of him in a growl sets me on fire.
“Would we have fucked, Dylan?”
His brow furrows. “What?”
I push my glass aside. “If I would have told you that I was the shy nerd who tutored you in high school, do you think we would have left the club together?”
He sits in silence, his eyes trained on mine.
“I didn’t set out to deceive you,” I go on, my hands shaking. “I thought that we’d sleep together, I’d leave your place before you woke up, and we’d never see each other again. I didn’t think you’d ever realize that I was the woman you went to high school with.”
“Eden.” He exhales roughly. “Eden, look…”
“You didn’t remember me.” Managing a small smile, I shake my head. “Or you didn’t recognize me. I don’t blame you for that. I know that I’ve changed.”
It’s the elephant in the room that neither of us has acknowledged.
I have no idea if Dylan even knows what happened to me on the night we graduated.
He left the party we were at to go to the airport with Barrett so they could fly to Europe for a two-month long backpacking adventure.
I never heard from him again until I saw him at the club a few nights ago.
He takes a long swallow of his drink. Placing the glass back down, he studies me carefully. “We’ve all changed.”
“Not as much as me.” I drag a fingertip over my nose and down my cheek. “I was in an accident.”
He nods. “Barrett’s mom told us. She said you broke your ankle.”
“Both legs and my left shoulder.” I fold my hands in my lap. “I wasn’t wearing a seatbelt.”
His eyes close briefly before they lock with mine. “Jesus, Eden.”
“I hit the dashboard.” A sigh escapes me. I’ve told the story countless times, but it never gets easier. “I was told by a doctor in the ER that my head hit the dashboard. The force of the impact shattered most of the bones in my face. That’s why I don’t look exactly like the Eden you knew.”