“ ‘Hate’ is such a strong word,” she teased J.D. “And actually, when we first met, I didn’t dislike you at all. Quite the opposite, in fact.”

Payton pushed herself up on one arm. “Do you even remember the day we met? It was our first day of work, at the firm’s welcome orientation.”

J.D. toyed with a lock of her hair between two of his fingers. “Of course I remember. I saw you sitting at the table with the other litigation associates, and I walked over and introduced myself. You said—quote—‘So you’re the infamous J. D. Jameson.’ ”

Payton grinned. Before starting with the firm, she had heard things about J.D. from the associates and partners who had recruited him. “And you said, ‘I’ve heard stories about you, too, Payton Kendall.’ ”

She still vividly recalled what had happened next. “Then they told us to take our seats, and you sat next to me, and just as they began welcoming us to the firm, you leaned over and asked if I was really as good as people said I was.”

J.D. smiled as he remembered. “And in response, you gave me this sly little look over your shoulder and said, ‘I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself, J. D. Jameson.’ ”

Payton laughed. “It sounds so much more scandalous when you say it.”

“I was intrigued. To say the least.” J.D. paused. “But then you turned on me.”

Payton studied him carefully. That was the second time he’d made a comment like that. “What do you mean, I turned on you?”

J.D. gave her a look. “How interesting that you don’t remember that part . . . It was about a week later.”

“Actually I recall that about a week later, I was still trying to flirt with you,” Payton said. “Unsuccessfully, I might add.”

J.D. sat up with an expression of pure skepticism. “Really? And when, exactly, was this alleged attempt to flirt with me?”

Now Payton sat up, too. “Not that I expect you to remember, but it was in the elevator. You jumped in right before the doors closed, and I noticed you were wearing glasses that morning.”

J.D. jumped off the bed and circled around it. He pointed, as if to say she was busted now. Not that she was particularly intimidated, considering he was in his underwear. Then again, so was she.

“Oh—but I do remember that conversation, Payton. Every word. I had just gotten those glasses and you mocked the way I looked in them.”

Now Payton was off the bed, also circling. “What are you talking about?” She turned on the light next to the bed to see him better. “I never made fun of the way you looked in your glasses.”

J.D. pounced. “Aha! See—you don’t remember. Allow me to refresh your recollection, Ms. Kendall. You looked over at me and said—and I can quote you directly here—‘Nice glasses, Jameson. You look like Clark Kent.’ ” He folded his arms across his chest. So there.

Payton stared at him. “Yes, I know. That’s exactly what I said.”

J.D. held out his hands. “Clark Kent? The meek and awkward alter ego of Superman?”

Payton shook her head. “No, Clark Kent, the guy who seems all intellectual and restrained on the outside, but really he’s got this . . . power and all these . . . muscles hidden underneath that tight, buttoned-up shirt that make you want to just grab him and muss up that perfect hair of his and find out how hard the Man of Steel can—”

J.D. held up his hand. “I think I get the picture.”

Payton fanned herself. “Anyway, when I said you looked like Clark Kent with your glasses on, that was a compliment.”

J.D. sat down on the edge of the bed. “Oh.”

He had the strangest look right then.

Payton walked over and stepped in between his legs. She put her arms around him. “It doesn’t matter now, J.D. That was a long time ago.” She pushed him back onto the bed, straddled him, and slid her hands up his chest. “You don’t happen to have those glasses with you, by any chance?” With a wink, she reached over and shut off the light.

Through the darkness, J.D. spoke. Still sounding troubled. “It’s just—I thought you were insulting me, Payton.”

“But now you know I wasn’t. So what’s the big deal?”

Silence.

“Wait a second . . .”

The light came back on.

Payton stared down at him. “Please don’t tell me that’s how this whole fight between us started.”

J.D. sheepishly made an attempt to smile. “Um . . . the next day, I kind of gave you a hard time when you made your presentation at the group meeting about the new amendments to the federal discovery rules.”

“I remember that!” Payton poked him in the chest. “You were a total asshole to me, asking all these questions about whether I had bothered to read the Advisory Committee notes and other bullshit like that.” She poked him in the chest again, harder this time. “That was why? Because I said you looked like Clark Kent?”

“Um . . . yes?”

Payton climbed off him. “I don’t believe this—that is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard!” She grabbed her dress and shoes off the floor. “Eight years, J.D.! Eight years! At least I assumed we’ve been fighting for some legitimate reason, like politics, or socioeconomic issues, or at the very, very least because you’re rich and my family is from the wrong side of the tracks.”

J.D. laughed out loud at that. “Wrong side of the tracks? What is this, 1985 and we live in a John Hughes movie? I don’t give a shit whether your family has money. That’s almost as stupid as fighting over the Clark Kent comment.”

Payton slipped on her dress. “Almost, J.D., but not quite. Definitely not quite.” She stormed off into the living room.

J.D. followed her. “Where are you going?”

“I don’t know. I need to cool down. I might say something I’ll regret.”

She was sliding one of her heels on when J.D. walked over, grabbed her hand, and pulled her away from the door.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he said firmly. He led her out onto the balcony. “If you need to cool off, you can do it out here.”

“It’s eighty-two degrees out here. Jerk. Ninety with the heat index.”

“Well, then, the fresh air will do you some good.” He shut the balcony door behind him and blocked her way.

Payton folded her arms across her chest and waited.

J.D. sighed. “Look—Payton—I understand that you’re angry with me, and for once I understand why. I would, however, like to point out that you aren’t entirely innocent in all this—you’ve lobbed more than your fair share of insults at me over the years, but notwithstanding that fact . . .” He ran his hand through his hair, then held his hands up. “What can I say? I fucked up. I’m sorry. Really sorry.”

Payton softened a little at his directness. She knew how hard it was for him to apologize, especially to her. And he was right—regardless of how it started, once their fighting had begun she’d hardly been an innocent bystander.

“It’s just that . . .” she bit her lip nervously. “I liked you from the start, J.D. I really wish things had been different, that’s all.”

J.D. stared her straight in the eyes. “You have no idea how much I wish that, too, Payton.”

He looked so serious right then that it was impossible for her to stay mad at him. Plus he was still in his boxers and that was becoming a definite distraction. With a smile of acquiescence, Payton pointed. “Are you planning on blocking that door all night?”

J.D. relinquished his post at the sliding door and joined her at the balcony rail. “Not if you promise that you’re not going to leave.” He slid his arms around her.

“I’m not going to leave,” she said, leaning back against his chest.

They watched the waves crash against the beach, and Payton laced her fingers through J.D.’s. “You know, I think that was the fastest, most rational way we’ve ever resolved a fight. We’re so much better here.”

“It’s because we’re away from the office,” J.D. said. He sounded firmly convinced about that.

Payton closed her eyes. “The office . . . don’t remind me.” She hadn’t thought about the partnership competition between them for the past several hours and wanted to keep it that way.

J.D. spoke softly near her ear. “I’ve been thinking—tomorrow is Saturday. Why don’t we spend an extra night here? Frankly, if one of us doesn’t go into the office tomorrow, then the other one doesn’t have to, either.”

Payton turned around to face him. “Stay here together?”

J.D. shrugged. Nonchalance or feigned nonchalance? It was hard to say.

“I figured you could move your things into my room in the morning,” he said casually.

Payton thought for a moment. Or rather, she pretended to think for a moment. She shrugged as well. “Sure. Why not? I like it here.”

“Fine. That’s settled then,” he nodded.

“Fine.”

“Good.”

“Okay.”

Payton held up her finger. “But I pay for half of the room.”

J.D. grinned. “You know what, Payton—you go right ahead. At fifteen hundred bucks a night, you won’t get any argument from me.”

Her eyes widened in shock. “Good god—that’s how much you’re paying?” She paused. “Hmm.”

“Hmm, what?”

“Hmm, since the room costs that much, it’s a good thing I didn’t plan to do much sleeping.”

J.D. laughed and pulled her close. “I really, really like . . . the way you think.”

Payton smiled. She suspected there might have been a little slip and cover-up there. And the truth of the matter was, she really, really liked . . . the way he thought, too.

So she took the hand J.D. held out to her and followed him inside.

Twenty-three