Chapter 9 Roman
NINE
ROMAN
“I don’t want this to go to your head or anything,” Addison says as she busies herself with placing the cloth napkin in her lap, “but you were kind of brilliant today.”
My hand pauses halfway to my lips, my need to down the entire glass of ice water after a long session in court all but forgotten as I stare across the small table at her, arching a dubious brow.
While in the office or the courthouse, Addison is all business.
She does a remarkable job of acting like we’re nothing more than coworkers and keeps everything on a professional level, which is exactly how it needs to be.
It’s her eyes that give her away, though.
Occasionally I catch her staring at various parts of my anatomy—lips, hands, and even my crotch—like she’s remembering all the wicked things they did to her.
It’s those fleeting moments that spare my ego and my sanity, assuring me that I’m not the only one suffering from too-vivid memories of our scorching time together.
But over the last week, I’ve also realized that even if it’s still technically the work day, as long as we’re outside of the office—like out to lunch as we are now—she lets a little more of that wildcat shine through.
She definitely still pulls her punches, but she’s more candid and open, more likely to tease me or make jokes, usually at my expense.
I don’t mind, though, because she takes it when I give it right back.
She’s good at taking what I give her. Every last inch.
Fuck. That line of thinking is going to give my napkin another reason to be in my lap other than for etiquette purposes. Reining in my wayward thoughts, I finally take a drink of water and address her rare compliment. “Are you running a fever? I could ask the waiter for some Tylenol.”
“Whatever,” she says, rolling her eyes. “It’s not like I’ve never said anything about your courtroom prowess before. Though, I may have gotten a little carried away in using the word ‘brilliant.’ I’m still on an adrenaline high after hearing the judge rule in our favor.”
I smile. “Adrenaline-fueled word choice aside, I appreciate the compliment. Especially coming from one so difficult to impress.”
She lowers her menu and leans back in her chair, scrutinizing me for a few seconds. “What makes you say that?”
Interesting. Sounds like my offhand remark isn’t so offhand after all. I wonder if I can draw her out. Get her to reveal a piece of the real woman behind all her bravado. I make a show of perusing my own menu, feigning disinterest, and give a slight shrug. “Just a hunch.”
“Hunch, my ass, Reeves.” She leans in with her arms folded in front of her on the table, so I let her draw my gaze. Pinning me with a curious look, she says, “You don’t deal in hunches. You deal in facts. So tell me, why do you think I’m difficult to impress?”
I set my menu down and mimic her, leaning in as though I’m about to reveal a secret.
Our faces are less than a foot apart, but it feels too damn far because what I really want is her sweet mouth on mine.
All it would take is a firm hand on the back of her neck to pull her the rest of the way in to receive my demanding kiss.
But instead, I keep my hands to myself and my voice low.
“For the same reason I am. We’re perfectionists, you and I. We strive to be the best at everything we do, and we hold ourselves to higher standards than society sets for us. Therefore, it’s not easy to impress us. If something does, it’s because it damn well deserves it.”
Speaking so softly it’s almost to herself, she says, “Perfection isn’t something you’re born with, it’s something you achieve.” When I don’t say anything at first, she sits up straight, and a wan smile crosses her face. “My mother’s favorite daily affirmation for me.”
Well, damn. She’s revealed that piece I was looking for, but it’s not exactly what I’d been expecting.
Narrowing my eyes slightly to study her, I try to figure out if she truly believes that shit her mom spewed.
“Constantly trying to achieve perfection is a good way to be really fucking unhappy in life.”
Her brow furrows, but before she can respond, our waiter arrives to take our orders. While we give him our selections, I can tell Addison is still mulling over our conversation. As soon as we’re alone again, she picks up right where we left off. “So then, are you saying you’re unhappy?”
“Not at all. There’s no such thing as perfection, so I don’t expect to achieve it. But that doesn’t mean I won’t strive to get as close to it as I can.” I finish my water and immediately regret not asking for a pitcher to be brought to the table.
“Here,” she says and offers me her half-full glass.
“Thanks,” I say, not thinking twice about taking a long drink.
Next we’ll be picking from each other’s plates like an actual couple.
Giving my head a mental shake, I set the glass down between us and continue.
“One of my favorite quotes is by Vince Lombardi. In his first team meeting as the Green Bay Packers’ head coach he said, ‘Perfection is not attainable, but if we chase perfection we can catch excellence.’ That’s what your mother should have been telling you. ”
“Yeah, well, my mother isn’t as enlightened as Mr. Lombardi. She’s a former beauty queen and pageant mom whose daughter veered from the dream of becoming Miss America in favor of being”—she uses air quotes—“a smarty-pants spin doctor.”
I hiss in a breath and wince dramatically. “Ouch. She doesn’t hold a very high opinion of lawyers, does she?”
She gives me a crooked grin with a saucy hitch of a single brow. “Does anyone?”
“Touché,” I say with a chuckle. “Well, if it’s any consolation, I think making your life’s ambition to become a brilliant attorney like myself is admirable.”
Addison huffs and rolls her eyes in mock disgust. “I knew I shouldn’t have said anything. You need to let that go already. Arrogance doesn’t suit you.”
There’s a fine line between the confident arrogance I exude and the sort that cocky fuck-boys give off. Theirs is nothing but posturing. Mine is deserved, earned. I know damn well that it does suit me. And so does Addison.
I pin her with a heated gaze and call her out with a single, gruff word. “Liar.”
Her glossy pink lips part slightly, and I’m instantly assaulted with the image of what they’d look like wrapped around my cock. A fantasy I’ve had no less than a thousand times since meeting her.
Thankfully our meals arrive, and we fall back into idle conversation about safe things like work, food, and oddly enough, the status of couples around us.
Addison likes to play a game where she looks at people and tries to guess their story.
Sometimes she tries for accuracy, and sometimes she makes up the most outlandish scenarios.
After lunch, we walk down Michigan Avenue on our way back to the office.
I notice a guy with slicked-back hair wearing a leather jacket, knock-off Rolex, and tan slacks.
He’s dining alfresco, eating what looks like a meatball sub, and talking on his phone rather animatedly.
I nod in his direction. “So, what’s his deal? ”
She takes him in as we pass. He gets distracted by her legs, and sauce drips from his sandwich onto his pants.
He swears and wipes furiously with his napkin as we continue on.
“That’s Marty ‘Marinara’ Maldonado. He’s a lackey for the mob and got his nickname when he tried to pass off the marinara stain on his pants as blood from a guy he supposedly ‘took care of.’”
I laugh out loud at that one. I love how fast her mind weaves such crazy explanations.
Quick thinking is a good trait to have as a lawyer.
You never know what the opposition is going to throw at you.
“Okay, what about them?” I ask as we walk toward a man and woman standing under a tree.
He’s got his head bent, saying something in her ear that causes her to smile shyly as she watches his hand twine with hers.
“Ah,” she says wistfully. “They’ve been friends for years, and last night he finally found the courage to tell her that he’s in love with her. They shared a night of passionate lovemaking, and today is their first outing in public as an official couple.”
“How very romantic, Ms. Paige. I didn’t know you had it in you,” I say as we walk on.
“I might be a honey badger, Mr. Reeves, but I’m still a girl at heart.”
“Honey badger?” I quirk a brow at her. “Like from that YouTube video?”
“You got it,” she says with a smile. “It’s my kindred animal spirit. Vicious and it just don’t—”
“Give a shit,” I finish, chuckling.
It’s amusing that we both liken her to a wild animal, and it reveals how each of us views her.
She sees herself as a badass creature without concern for anything other than its own preservation.
I see her as a powerful, gracefully beautiful creature.
One that starts off swiping and hissing but can be coaxed into purring in my lap with just the right touch.
“How about you?” she asks, sparing me from falling too deep into yet another fantasy.
“Hmm? Oh, I don’t have a kindred animal spirit.”
She laughs. “No, I mean the romance thing. You’ve pretty much nailed the career portion of your life.
” I look over at her, wary as to where she’s going with this.
She glances over quickly, then directs her attention forward again.
“You starting to think about finding that special someone like Chance?”
It’s out before I can temper it. “Fuck, no.” Her head snaps to the side, and now I’m the one facing front while she studies my profile. “What I mean is settling down isn’t for everyone. I’m happy for our friends, but that kind of thing isn’t in the cards for me.”
“So Romeo is the romantic,” she says, referring to Chance’s stripper name before he quit dancing, “and Ruthless is the cynic?”