Chapter 35 #3
Lawrence held the handshake a beat longer, his gaze dropping briefly to the slightly askew collar of Reid’s shirt. His eyes caught on a faint, unmistakable smear of pink—Eleanor’s lip gloss—just below Reid’s jaw.
He returned his gaze to Reid’s eyes, expression flat and unreadable.
“Calloway,” he said, voice like velvet over gravel. “You clerked for Judge Sterling in Charlotte, didn’t you?”
Reid’s posture sharpened a fraction. He didn’t reach up to wipe his face.
“Yes, sir.”
A faint, knowing smile touched Lawrence’s mouth.
“I remember him mentioning you.”
A beat.
Lawrence’s grip tightened—just enough to register.
“He said you knew how to close a case,” Lawrence added softly. “I assume that applies to your private life as well.”
“And the Mercer case,” Lawrence said softly. “You’re the one steering that ship.”
“I am, sir,” Reid said, his voice losing its playful edge for a fraction of a second.
Behind him, Eleanor’s mother gave a small, satisfied smile.
“And I’m Elizabeth,” she said. “Though everyone calls me Liz.”
“Nice to meet you, ma’am.”
Eleanor looked between them, confused.
“You… know who he is?”
Liz gave her a look.
“Honey, there’s a woman on the internet following you around with a microphone and a camera. Of course, we know who he is.”
Eleanor closed her eyes briefly.
Of course.
“Although,” Liz continued, studying Reid more closely, “I will say you’re much more handsome in person than you are on that podcast.”
“Mom.”
Reid looked like he was trying not to smile.
“Thank you, ma’am.”
Liz drifted farther into the house, glancing toward the kitchen, where the jazz still floated softly through the air, wineglasses on the counter beside an open bottle.
“Well,” she said lightly. “This is all very cozy.”
Eleanor wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole.
Lawrence followed at a slower pace, hands in his pockets, taking everything in with quiet amusement.
Reid, for perhaps the first time in his life, looked slightly uncertain.
Liz noticed immediately.
“Oh, goodness,” she said. “You look like you’re about to be cross-examined.”
“I’m not usually on this side of the table, ma’am.”
“Don’t worry,” Lawrence said mildly. “My wife was a trial attorney for fifteen years. If she decides to question you, there’s really nothing any of us can do about it.”
“Oh, please,” Liz said, waving him off as she picked up the wine bottle from the counter. “Anyone brave enough to walk into my daughter’s kitchen deserves a drink.”
Before Eleanor could stop her, Liz poured wine into the remaining glasses and handed one to Reid.
“There we are.”
“Thank you.”
Lawrence settled easily at the kitchen table.
Eleanor remained standing by the counter, arms folded, looking exactly like a woman realizing her evening had completely escaped her control.
Liz took a sip of wine and looked at Reid over the rim of the glass.
“So,” she said pleasantly, “are you the reason my daughter hasn’t been returning my calls?”
“Mom,” Eleanor said, horrified.
Reid didn’t even blink.
“Yes, ma’am,” he said calmly. “I believe I might be.”
Liz studied him another second.
Then she smiled.
“Well,” she said, lifting her glass slightly, “at least she has a good excuse.”
Lawrence chuckled into his wine.
Eleanor dropped her face into her hands.
“Oh my gosh. Daddy, can you please make her stop?”
“I have been trying for thirty years,” Lawrence said dryly.
Reid took a slow sip of wine, looking altogether too pleased with himself.
Liz leaned against the counter, entirely delighted.
“Well,” she said brightly, “now let’s talk about my daughter.”
“Son,” Lawrence said mildly to Reid, “before you answer any of her questions, you should know that Eleanor got every dangerous quality she has from her mother.”
“I heard that,” Liz said.
“I intended for you to.”
Reid smiled.
“I think,” he said carefully, “I suddenly understand Eleanor much better.”
Eleanor narrowed her eyes at him.
“Don’t encourage them.”
“Too late,” Liz said.
She looked back at Reid.
“So. A District Attorney and a Defense Attorney.” Her smile sharpened. “That’s a very adversarial dynamic.”
“We try to keep the litigation out of the kitchen, ma’am.”
Lawrence raised a brow.
“Is that right?”
“Dad,” Eleanor warned.
Reid’s mouth curved.
“In fairness, your daughter wins most of our arguments,” Reid said. He glanced toward Eleanor, entirely too pleased with himself. “I’m mostly just here to negotiate the terms of my surrender.”
“Oh, he’s very good, Ellie. Charming, quick on his feet, and knows exactly when to concede the small point to win the larger one.” She looked back at Reid. “A dangerous man to have across the aisle, I’d imagine.”
“That,” Eleanor muttered, reaching for the wine bottle, “is exactly the problem.”
Reid met her eyes over the rim of his glass.
The smugness was still there, but beneath it was a steady, unblinking heat that promised they weren't finished—not by a long shot.
He was holding his own with her father and flirting with her mother, but he was looking at her as if she were the only verdict that mattered.
“Not a problem, Eleanor,” he murmured so only she could hear. “Just a very long opening statement.”