Linda gestured to the door. “Well, go on. He’s all yours,” she said with a wink. The other secretaries giggled.

Not wanting to draw any further attention to the situation, Taylor grabbed the handle to her door and strode resolutely into her office.

“Mr. And—”

Her words trailed off because Jason, who had been standing in front of her office window checking out the view, turned around when she entered. Like a shot from a movie, the morning sun shone brilliantly around him like a god—his dark hair glinted warmly in the light, and his eyes gleamed bluer than the south Pacific Ocean.

Taylor’s mind went blank. And suddenly, she couldn’t remember why the hell she ever had been angry with Jason Andrews.

But then he spoke.

“Sleeping in this morning, Ms. Donovan?” he drawled.

Moment over.

“How lovely to see you again, Mr. Andrews,” Taylor replied sarcastically. At least he wore a suit this time, she noted. No comment on how he looked in it.

From behind his back, Jason pulled out a medium-sized box with a blue ribbon wrapped around it.

“I brought you a peace offering.”

He held the box out to her.

Taylor looked over, caught off guard by this. After hesitating for a moment, she took the box from him and sat down at her desk. Jason took a seat in one of the chairs across from her.

“I guessed you’re not the flowers type,” he said. Taylor glanced sharply at him, wondering how he knew that from their short interactions.

“This seemed more appropriate for you. I thought you could wear it the next time you’re in court.”

She raised a suspicious eyebrow at this. Oh really? But Jason’s face gave nothing away.

Curiosity got the better of her, so Taylor opened the box. She rifled through the tissue paper until she found a T-shirt. When she pulled it out, she saw two words printed on the shirt in perfect reference to her infamous court argument: SHIT HAPPENS.

Taylor laughed out loud.

She looked over at Jason, reluctantly amused by the joke, and smiled.

“Okay, Mr. Andrews,” she conceded. “Let’s get started.”

Seven

“I DON’T CARE what the script says. That’s not how it works.”

Taylor stood in front of the lawyer’s table peering stubbornly down at Jason. They were in their tenth hour of work. She had been shocked when she checked her watch a few minutes ago and saw how late it had gotten. She supposed things would go faster if he didn’t insist on fighting her over virtually every change she suggested to the script. See, for example, their current debate.

“And I don’t see what difference it makes,” Jason replied defensively. He held his script in his hand, waving it at her.

“It makes a big difference,” she argued back. “While you might think you look ‘pensive’ and ‘unimpressed’ ”—she finger-quoted the words he had used just moments before—“by remaining seated during your opposing counsel’s argument, that’s not the way it works in a real courtroom. You have to stand every time you argue before the judge.”

Then she gestured at the script and said for the umpteenth time that day, “Didn’t anyone talk to a real lawyer before writing this?”

My, my, Jason observed. Apparently he wasn’t the only one who was a little cocky.

He watched as Taylor positioned herself at the corner of the jury box farthest from the witness stand. Earlier, she had gone and ruined their lovely “Shit Happens” moment by turning all serious the minute they stepped into her firm’s mock trial room. But Jason figured there had to come a point when her armor would crack again—even if just for the slightest moment. Not that he particularly minded watching her strut sassily around the courtroom for ten hours.

“Now, we were talking about the differences between direct and cross-examination,” Taylor called over from the far end of the jury box, back in teacher mode. “Unlike cross, when doing a direct examination you want to stand by the jury, so that you force the witness to look at the jurors when answering questions. That way you draw in their attention, almost as if the witness is talking directly to them.”

Jason frowned at this, peering down at one of the pages in his script.

“But if I’m all the way across the courtroom, how am I supposed to throw a book at the witness?”

Taylor whirled around, appalled at such a mocking insult to the practice of law.

“The script says you’re supposed to throw a book at a witness?” She stormed across the room and grabbed the script from him. She skimmed furiously, turning the pages back and forth as she searched for the offensive passage.

After a few moments, she looked up at Jason, confused. “That’s not what it says.”

He smiled. Gotcha.

Taylor folded her arms across her chest. “Very funny.”

“It’s just too easy.” He laughed. Then he braced himself for the expected stinging retort.

But instead Taylor was silent, having already turned her attention back to the script. She flipped through several pages.

“This dialogue . . .” She trailed off, as if troubled. She sat down at the table next to Jason.

He looked over and saw the particular section of the script she was focused on: the midpoint of the screenplay, where his character destroyed a key witness for the opposition with a brutal cross-examination. The scene was one of his favorites, so he was surprised she seemed bothered by it.

“What’s wrong with the dialogue?” he asked, peering over her shoulder. “I didn’t think it was bad.”

“It’s not that it’s bad,” she replied. She glanced up at him and blushed slightly, hesitating.

“Never mind. I’m being too much of a lawyer here.”

Jason gazed firmly at her. He never compromised with acting, no matter how small the details. And for whatever reason, he found he valued Taylor Donovan’s opinion quite a bit.

“No, seriously. I want to know what you think.”

Taylor took in his earnest expression. She frankly had been surprised by his attitude during their ten hours together. Blowing off their meetings for a weekend in Las Vegas certainly had, in her mind, been a good indication of his work ethic. But, quite to the contrary, she would have to admit that Vason seemed truly interested in the various trial techniques she had demonstrated and had asked her many questions throughout the day. Some of them were even good ones.

So Taylor slid the problematic script over so that they both could read from it.

“Well, for starters, this scene is supposed to be a cross-examination, right?” She pointed to the troublesome sequence.

Jason frowned. “Yes. Why?” He moved in closer to get a better look at the script.

“See—your problem is that none of these questions are leading questions.” She saw his head tilt in confusion, so she explained further. “All of these questions are open-ended. You would never ask them on cross, because cross-examination is all about controlling the witness. You force the witness to say the things you want, and only those things. And you certainly don’t give the witness any opportunity to explain himself.”

Taylor picked up the script to demonstrate. “Like here—your character asks: ‘So what, exactly, was your intention that evening, Mr. Robbins?’ and a few lines further down you say, ‘Then tell us exactly what you were thinking when you realized your wife was dead.’ The problem is, those questions give your witness all sorts of wiggle room. You should say something more like this—”

She faced Jason to demonstrate and began to reinvent his lines.

“And your intention that evening was to tell your wife about the affair you were having, wasn’t it?” She slipped easily into the part. “Weren’t you, in fact, relieved when you saw your wife’s lifeless body floating in the swimming pool, Mr. Robbins?”

As she proceeded to demonstrate—off the top of her head, no less—a modified cross-examination, there was no doubt in Jason’s mind that she had just made the scene about five times stronger. He watched, impressed, and it struck him how much he liked looking at her while she worked.

In fact, he realized, he just liked looking at her.

At that moment, Taylor seemed to notice that he was staring at her. She stopped and smiled in embarrassment.

“Sorry. I’m completely boring you with all this, aren’t I?”

That smile did the craziest things to him. Jason tried to brush this off, clearing his throat. “No, not at all,” he told her. “Please—continue.”

Taylor cocked her head, curious.

“You’re awfully serious about this, aren’t you? I mean, playing a lawyer can’t exactly be your most challenging role.”

Jason studied Taylor for a long moment, considering her question. Then he leaned in—close enough so that his arm brushed lightly against hers.

“How long have you been practicing law?” he asked, seemingly out of nowhere.

Taylor blinked, a bit surprised by the transition. “Six years. Why?”

“How many cases have you won?”

She smiled matter-of-factly. “All of them.”

“Do you prepare any less now, just because you’re more familiar with what you’re doing?”

“No, of course not.”

“Why not?”

“Because I always want to do the best possible job.”

Jason looked at her pointedly. “Ditto.”

Taylor tilted her head in concession. “Fair enough.”

Jason smiled with her, and for a moment they were just two people being themselves, without anything else mattering.

Until the ring of his cell phone shrilly interrupted the mood, that is.