“That’s what she said?” Jason leaned back in his seat and chuckled. “Well, tell her that I saw her ass as she stormed out of the courtroom, and I might be tempted to do just that.”

Jason listened to his publicist talk for another moment, then pointed at the phone with emphasis. “Listen to me, Marty, I don’t want to work with anyone else. I want her. The one who thinks she can walk out on me. Make sure her firm understands that. And then I need you to focus on the London thing.”

He waved his hand impatiently at his publicist’s next words. “I told you, the whole thing was a misunderstanding. I only asked her to go to London. I never said she’d be coming back with me. Tell her manager that I don’t want to see her name next to mine in one more gossip rag. The publicity ride is over.”

With that, he firmly slammed his phone shut.

Jeremy glanced over. “The supermodel again?”

Jason frowned. “Trust me, if you had to listen to that inane babble for three days, you’d have left her in London, too. I don’t care how she looks in a swimsuit—or out of it.”

Hearing Jason’s terse tone, Jeremy said nothing and decided to let the game distract them for a while. He knew full well how much it annoyed Jason when the women he got involved with courted the media’s attention. Actresses, singers, models—it never failed: one phone call from Jason Andrews and they had a table booked at the Ivy and Ted Casablanca on their speed dial.

Jeremy glanced over as two guys in their midtwenties took the empty seats in the row behind them. He vaguely recognized one of the guys as Rob Something-or-Other, an actor on one of those CW shows, who Jeremy had met at a party being thrown by the director attached to his latest script. If he remembered correctly, Rob had been hanging around as part of Scott Casey’s entourage.

As Jeremy nodded in greeting at Rob Whoever, he noticed one of the Laker girls on the sidelines, jumping up and waving frantically at them.

“I think someone’s trying to get your attention.” Jeremy pointed the cheerleader out to Jason. She waved giddily when Jason glanced over. He flashed her a polite half smile, then turned away disinterestedly. He rolled his eyes at Jeremy.

“Been there. Done that.” Then he grinned slyly, unable to resist, and proudly pointed out several other Lakers girls. “And that. Oh, and that and that, too.” He winked deviously. “Together.”

“And amazingly, combined they total one brain.” Jeremy replied dryly.

Jason shook his head regretfully at this.

“Unfortunately, not quite.”


LATER THAT THURSDAY afternoon, when Taylor was well into her second grande skim latte of the day, she finally managed to finagle a few free moments to sit in her office and review Derek’s third draft of their proposed jury instructions.

Time, she realized, had not been on her side in the three days since her encounter with Jason Andrews. Ever since Frank of the EEOC had gone on the warpath and begun viciously bashing her client, in the media, that is.

She had immediately recognized the tactic for what it was: a blatant attempt to prejudice the defendant in the eyes of potential jurors. So in return, she had personally served Frank with an emergency motion for sanctions. And after her impassioned oral argument, the judge issued a gag order in the case and severely admonished that any lawyer seen or heard speaking to the media “better bring his or her toothbrush to court” (a colloquial way to threaten lawyers with being jailed for contempt). It had been the second time that week that Frank had stormed out of the courtroom refusing to speak to her.

Now, having been sidelined for the last three days with the emergency motion, Taylor was feeling behind the ball in her trial preparations. She had just barely sat down at her desk and started her review of Derek’s draft when her phone rang.

As soon as she saw the familiar 312 area code on the caller ID, Taylor picked up the handset and copped an immediate guilty plea.

“I know, I know. I’m a horrible friend.”

On the other end of the line, Kate laughed. She too worked at one of Chicago’s top law firms and knew full well how crazy things could get.

“You get a free pass since you’re preparing for trial. They made you partner yet?”

Taylor sighed blissfully at the thought of her goal, the one thing she wanted more than anything in life. “Two years, one month and three weeks away. Give or take.”

“I find it truly scary that you know that. I suppose I shouldn’t even bother to ask if you’re having any fun out there?”

“Before you start lecturing me, just know that some of this busyness wasn’t my fault. I was temporarily sidetracked by—”

Taylor stopped, realizing that telling Kate she had met Jason Andrews would result in hours of conversation, retelling every moment in excruciating detail. Not to mention, out of fairness, she would then have to call Valerie, too. And that was a discussion that could go on for days.

“Never mind,” Taylor said instead, covering. “I’ll tell you about it some other time, over a drink.” Or maybe two, or three, she thought. It would take her that long to forget how brilliantly blue Jason’s eyes were when they’d fixed on her.

Whoa.

Where the hell that particular thought had come from, popping all uninvited into her head like that, she just didn’t know.

Not that she denied the fact that Jason Andrews was handsome. Tall, lean but built, with the aforementioned cobalt-blue eyes and chiseled features—she knew full well that this was the stuff that women dreamed of. But come on.

The man was a total penis.

Taylor forced her attention back to Kate, who was asking whether she possibly would have any free evenings in the near future.

“I don’t know. Why—what’s up?” she replied distractedly.

Kate hesitated. “There’s someone in L.A. that I want to set you up with.”

“No.”

Her tone couldn’t have been more definitive.

“It doesn’t have to be a date, just someone to hang out with once in a while,” Kate pressed. “They’re not all assholes like Daniel, you know.” She suddenly fell silent, presumably not having meant for that last part to slip out.

Taylor turned quiet, her expression softening at her friend’s words.

“I know, Kate, but . . .” Her voice trailed off as her mind momentarily drifted back to Chicago.

But then she pulled herself together. This simply was not something she was going to think about at work.

“I appreciate the offer,” she told Kate, striving for a light tone. “But I’m swamped right now, you know? It’s just not a good time. Speaking of which, unfortunately, I’ve got to run—we’re filing something tomorrow and I’m running way behind.” She mumbled a quick good-bye and hung up.

After hanging up the phone, Taylor leaned back in her chair, suddenly feeling very tired. But right then, out of the corner of her eye, she saw Linda hesitating in the doorway.

Seeming to sense she had caught Taylor at a bad time, Linda smiled awkwardly. “Sorry. But Mr. Blakely wants to see you. Immediately.”

A slight pit formed in Taylor’s stomach. “Immediately” never boded well for an associate at a large law firm. It generally meant you had either royally screwed something up or were about to be assigned an emergency TRO.

With that in mind, Taylor nodded. She put her game face back on and quieted the butterflies in her stomach. She stood up and gracefully smoothed out her skirt.

Then she headed down the hallway to the head partner’s office.

Six

SHE COULDN’T DO it.

It was late that evening, and Taylor sat in her car, the silver Chrysler PT Cruiser she had rented for her stay in Los Angeles, outside some bar called Reilly’s Tavern. She tried to figure out if there was any chance she could finesse her way out of her current situation. Thinking back to the stern look Sam had given her, she seriously doubted it.

From the moment she had walked into Sam’s office earlier that afternoon, she could tell they weren’t there to discuss an emergency TRO. Partners doled those out as merrily as Santa’s elves with candy canes, while Sam on the other hand, appeared far from happy when Taylor took a seat in front of his desk.

“I got a call today,” he began in a serious tone. “Would you mind telling me what the problem is with the Andrews Project?” Sam peered down at her from the perch of his desk chair.

Oh, for crying out loud, Taylor had wanted to shout. He’s just an actor.

But seeing the look on Sam’s face, she instead attempted to smooth things over. “Sam, I just don’t think I’m well suited for this type of project. I’m sure whoever you assign next will be far—”

Sam cut her off abruptly. “Jason Andrews doesn’t want anyone else. His people told me that he specifically said he wants to work with you.”

Taylor found herself growing even more annoyed by this. His “people”? Oh, far be it that the mighty movie star actually pick up a phone himself. Lazy, she thought to herself. Arrogant. Self-centered, condescending, patronizing—

She noticed Sam staring at her, and suddenly wondered whether she’d been speaking out loud.

Taylor regrouped. Surely she could make Sam understand the merits of her position. “Look—it’s just some stupid pride thing with him. Trust me, Jason Andrews will get over it. Plus, I’m in the middle of preparing for a trial. I know I don’t need to remind you of the stakes in this case against the EEOC. Now simply isn’t a good time for me—”

Sam cut her off again. “Taylor, I respect you completely. I think you’re the most talented young lawyer this firm has seen, so please don’t take it the wrong way when I say that I frankly don’t give a damn what your issue is.”