Текст книги "Practice Makes Perfect"

Автор книги: Julie James

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Текущая страница: 11 (всего у книги 17 страниц)

Eighteen

“I THINK WE need to talk.”

Six such simple words, but Payton hated hearing them. Everyone hated hearing them.

It was part of a voice mail message Chase had left her, one she’d first heard when she’d got back to the office after finishing up in court. It had been a long day—the judge had dismissed them later than usual; he was trying to make sure the trial ended as scheduled in two days. Payton was wiped out, vaporized, as she was during every trial on the days her witnesses were cross-examined by opposing counsel. She personally found it to be the most exhausting thing a lawyer had to do: protect her own witnesses during cross-examination and pray, pray, pray they didn’t say anything stupid.

So, needless to say, when she first heard Chase’s message in which, in addition to wanting to “talk,” he suggested they meet at some coffee bar called the Fixx, she hesitated and yes, the terrible person she was, Payton thought about not calling him back. But then guilt set in (he’s such a nice guy, he’s Laney and Nate’s friend), followed by rationalization (she would only stay for a half hour, then come back to the office to work), and one short cab ride later, here she was, about to start her third latte of the day, as she smiled apologetically at Chase because, of course, she had been fifteen minutes late.

“I’m sorry,” she told him for the second time. She was frazzled with everything going on at work and, P.S., a little wired from all the caffeine.

They grabbed a table near the front of the coffee shop, by the windows. As Payton had quickly learned when she had mistakenly ordered a “grande,” the Fixx was one of those indie, we-piss-on-Starbucks kind of coffeehouses that catered to an eclectic mix from the multi-tattooed/ pierced grunge and Goth type to the scarf-and-turtleneck-wearing literati crowd. The kind of place her mother would love.

As she and Chase took their seats, Payton felt overdressed in the tailored suit and heels she had worn for court. She glanced around, wondering when exactly it was she had stopped fitting into places like this.

“You said you wanted to talk?” she prompted Chase, not trying to hurry him along, but . . . okay, fine, she was trying to hurry him along.

Chase nodded. “First, I want to start by saying that I understand now what’s going on. With you and J.D., I mean. I ran into him last night and we started talking and, well, I kind of put two and two together.”

Payton had no idea what Chase was talking about. Although she had picked up on one thing. “You talked to J. D. Jameson? You know him?”

“We went to law school together.”

Of course. Payton knew they had both gone to Harvard; she didn’t know why it hadn’t clicked that they would have been in the same class. She was interested to hear what J.D. had been like back in law school, particularly since for years she had viewed him pretty much as a one-dimensional character: the Villain, the Archrival, the Enemy. Doing so had made it easier for her to dismiss all the times he’d been such a jerk to her. But now . . . well, things had changed and she found herself wanting to know more about him, more personal things. For starters, she was very curious to know what “J.D.” stood for.

Payton sensed, however, that now was not the time to ask Chase for the behind-the-scenes tour. “So you ran into J.D. last night, and this two and two you put together is, what, exactly?”

“That he’s the one you’re competing against to make partner,” Chase said. “And now I totally get why you’ve been so stressed out these days. I wouldn’t want to go up against J.D., either.”

Payton sat back and crossed her legs defensively. “I’m not afraid to take on J.D. I think I have a pretty decent shot, you know.”

Chase was quick to assure her. “Of course you do, that came out wrong,” he said apologetically. “What I meant to say is that I know how stressful this must be for you, with the way J.D. is.”

“Meaning?”

“Well, honestly, I think he’s kind of an asshole. He’s full of himself, stubborn, and most of all, extremely competitive. He’s one of those I-always-have-to-win, I-always-have-to-be-right types. I hate people like that.”

Payton laughed. “Well, then, we do need to talk. Because you just described me.”

Chase grinned affectionately. “You’re not like that.”

“Yes, I am, Chase. I’m exactly like that.”

Chase tried to dismiss this. “But it’s different with you—those qualities are admirable in a woman. That’s how you have to act in order to be successful, particularly in the legal profession.”

“That’s kind of sexist against men, isn’t it?” Payton glanced out the window. Wait—was that a pig she just saw go flying by?

Chase shifted uneasily in his chair. “Look—I think we’re getting off track here. All I’m trying to say is that, before, maybe, I thought you were getting a little too worked up about making partner, but now I understand why. I’m sure J.D. has taken the stakes up, like, ten notches.”

Well, yes. But then again, so had she. And on another note, Payton found it very interesting that Chase had thought she was getting “too worked up” about making partner. Who was he to decide the proper level of importance she should place on the advancement of her career?

And frankly, while she was thinking about it, she didn’t particularly like the way Chase talked about J.D. Sure, J.D. could definitely come off a little arrogant and perhaps overly confident at times, but he did have his moments. For instance, she begrudgingly had to give him credit for the fact that, after the deposition, he had come to her house to apologize in person. She knew that hadn’t been easy for him. And there were other things, little things, like at dinner with the Gibson’s reps, when he’d kept her company while the other men went off to smoke cigars. Or the way he’d come looking for her in the library after Ben had given them the news that only one of them would make partner. He only had been trying to be nice, she knew, yet in return she had been rude and defensive.

And then there was the thing he’d said to her the other night as he left her house. I would’ve done it for you in a heartbeat. Payton had gone over those words a hundred times in her head. She needed to be careful when it came to J.D.—she had to protect herself; she didn’t want to misread him, couldn’t afford to mistakenly attach too much significance to something he’d maybe meant only as a professional courtesy.

Payton realized that Chase was studying her, presumably waiting for her to say something similarly negative about J.D. But oddly, the person she had questionable feelings about as a result of this conversation was Chase. He had been very emphatic in wanting to talk to her, but so far she hadn’t heard anything that merited pulling her out of work and away from the hours of research she still had ahead of her that evening.

“I don’t mean to be rude, Chase, but I really have to get back to the office,” she said. “As a last-ditch effort, the plaintiff moved to strike some of our jury instructions and the judge wants to hear our arguments tomorrow,” she explained. “So is this why you asked me to meet you here? To talk about J.D.?”

Chase shook his head. “Actually, I wanted to talk about us. Look—you obviously have a lot going on with work right now, and maybe that’s all it is, but I was thinking about you last night, that I wanted to do something nice for you, something to take your mind off of things. But then it hit me, that I wasn’t sure you actually wanted me to take your mind off of things, that maybe all you want is to be focused on your job—and that’s great, Payton, don’t get me wrong—but . . .”

He hesitated, his brown eyes full of questions. “Is that really all it is? Because I can wait out these last few days until your firm makes its partnership decisions, but if it’s more than that, then . . . maybe it just would be better if I backed off now.”

At first, Payton didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t ready to have this conversation, at least not now, anyway. She took a deep breath.

“I blindsided you with this, didn’t I?” Chase asked, grinning sheepishly.

“Yes, you could say that,” Payton said, exhaling with a nervous laugh.

Chase reached across the table and took her hand. “Look, we don’t need to finish this conversation right now. I just thought this was something I needed to say. And I hate talking about these things over the phone.”

Payton nodded. She probably was a fool to not immediately say, no, of course she didn’t want him to back off. But Chase was right: she needed to think before she answered him. Right now, she was confused and—while she hated to admit it—fighting the urge to check her watch. But since he had brought up the subject, she responded as honestly as she could. He deserved that at least.

“This trial is the last thing the firm will judge me on before making its partnership decision,” she told him. “I get that you have questions, but it’s hard for me to focus on anything else right now. But it will be over in two days. If you could just wait until then, I promise that we’ll sit down and really talk.”

Chase smiled and said he understood.

Funny, Payton thought. Because she personally had no clue what she was doing.

BACK IN THE office.

Again.

Sometimes, she felt like she never left the place. Probably because she rarely did.

It was nearly seven o’clock, which meant the secretaries were gone and the office was quiet. When Payton got to her office, she saw that Brandon had left three stacks of cases on her desk for her review—the results of his research into each of the three jury instructions the plaintiff had challenged. Unfortunately for Payton, each pile was at least two inches thick, which meant her chances of leaving the office anytime soon were nonexistent to none.

She had just barely begun to tackle the first mound of cases when she heard a knock on her door. She glanced up and saw Laney.

“Hey—why are you still here?” Payton asked. She lowered her voice to a near whisper. “I thought tonight was the big night.” Laney—so Payton had learned yesterday in a conversation that included entirely too much information—was ovulating tonight. She had planned to leave early and surprise Nate. Et cetera.

“I’m on my way out,” Laney said. “What time are you leaving for the cocktail hour?”

Payton frowned, confused. “The cocktail hour?” She smacked her forehead, suddenly remembering. “Shit—the cocktail hour!”

Every June, the litigation group hosted a cocktail hour to welcome that year’s crop of summer associates, and all lawyers in the group were “strongly encouraged” to attend. With everything going on, she had completely forgotten that the party was tonight. She had set a reminder on her computer’s daily planner that must’ve gone off while she was at the Fixx with Chase.

Crap.

With a groan, Payton rubbed her forehead. “I’m not going to be able to go to the cocktail hour tonight.” She gestured to the five and a half inches of cases on her desk that she still needed to read. “I’ve got too much work to do.” She sighed. Poor Cinderella. Couldn’t go to the ball because she had to read up on evidentiary limitations of the Ellerth/ Faragher affirmative defense standards.

“But you need to go,” Laney urged her. She nodded subtly in the direction of J.D.’s office. “You know he’s going to be working the crowd, schmoozing with Ben and everyone else on the Partnership Committee. You have to be there, too.”

Payton suddenly felt very tired of the whole ordeal of competing against J.D. If the Partnership Committee’s decision was at all based on who scored more face time at the litigation group cocktail hour, then, frankly, they were a bunch of assholes.

“As much as I really hate to miss out on the opportunity to give a series of peppy, come-work-for-our-firm, of-course-I-never-bill-more-than-two-thousand-hours recruitment speeches to a bunch of summer associates who clearly have no clue that they’re about to sign away their lives, I’m going to have to pass tonight.”

Laney stared at Payton, surprised. “I don’t think I’ve ever heard you bad-mouth the firm before. You’re normally so party line.” She nodded approvingly. “Good for you. I’ll tell you what—I’ll stay and help you read through those cases, and maybe you’ll be able to catch the end of the cocktail party.”

Payton smiled in appreciation. “That’s very sweet of you to offer. But don’t worry about me—I’m fine. Go home and enjoy your evening with Nate.”

Laney hesitated. “Are you sure?”

Payton nodded emphatically. “Yes. Go. It’s nice to know at least one person is somehow managing to find the time to have sex while working here.”

She caught Laney’s look.

“Don’t worry, no one’s around to hear me anyway.”

Nineteen

“WHY DON’T YOU have the kid work on that?”

Hearing the familiar voice, Payton looked up from her reading. She had been facing the window, which she liked to do when working at night. The view of the other skyscrapers towering around her with their twinkling lights was spectacular. And somehow, it made her feel a little less lonely to see other lit offices.

She spun around in her chair and saw J.D. standing in the doorway.

“The ‘kid’ is in his office, slaving away on the fifteen other things I asked him to do,” she told him, assuming he was referring to Brandon. “So unfortunately, I’m stuck here.”

J.D. glanced at his watch. “You’re not going to the cocktail hour?”

Payton shook her head no. “Why aren’t you there?”

“I was on a conference call that ran late. But I’m heading upstairs now.”

J.D. paused, then shifted in the doorway.

“You’re not going to do the weird lingering thing again, are you?” Payton asked. “Because it’s starting to freak me out.”

“No, I’m not going to do the weird lingering thing again,” J.D. retorted, although Payton thought she detected the faint trace of a smile on his lips.

He stepped into her office and walked over to her desk. “What are you working on, anyway?”

“Just some research related to jury instructions,” Payton said, sighing. “The judge wants to hear oral argument first thing tomorrow, before he brings in the jury. I’m pretty comfortable with our position—I just want to make sure there aren’t any outlying cases that the plaintiff can cite.”

J.D. studied her. “Would you like some help?”

“From you?”

“Yes, Payton. From me.”

“But you’ll miss out on the cocktail reception. Don’t you need to go chat up Ben and the other litigation partners?” she asked.

“Not if you don’t,” he said.

Good point. Maybe J.D. really was trying to help. He seemed very big on the gestures these days, Payton thought. Or maybe he was just that confident in his chances of making partner. Her mind went back and forth, and part of her wanted to tell J.D. that she didn’t need his help, that he didn’t need to pay her back for the deposition. But the truth was, she could actually use the help, and the second truth was, she kind of wanted J.D. to stay—and not just because she didn’t want him to go to the cocktail reception and schmooze without her.

She nodded. “Okay.”

J.D. smiled. “Okay.”

He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of her desk. “Why don’t I start with this pile here?” He pointed to the stack of cases closest to him.

“Sure.” Payton began to explain. “I had Brandon pull all the relevant decisions from both the Seventh Circuit and Northern District of Illinois, plus he found a couple of cases from the Central District, those would obviously only be persuasive authority—”

“I’m not a first year, Payton. Just tell me what the issues are.”

“Look, just because I accepted your offer of help doesn’t mean this still isn’t my case.”

“I had a feeling I was going to regret this . . .”

“Well, then, you’re certainly free to leave at any time . . .”

“And deny you the pleasure of your power trip? I wouldn’t dream of it.”

Et cetera.

HMM.

He was wearing his hair a bit longer these days.

Payton snuck another look.

J.D. leaned back in his chair, his long legs stretched out in front of him as he read through the next case in his pile. His head tipped slightly downward as he read, and Payton could see that the back of his brown hair just nearly brushed up against the starched blue collar of his shirt. Definitely a good one-eighth inch or so longer than he usually wore it. Not that she paid attention to these things.

She had moved and now sat in the chair next to J.D. It was easier for them to work like this—this way, she didn’t have to keep leaning across her desk whenever he wanted to point out something he had come across in one of the cases he was reviewing. And that was her story and she was sticking to it.

The stacks of cases on her desk had been whittled down to nearly nothing. It was a good thing she’d flown through her pile when she and J.D. had first begun working together, because her pace had slowed drastically over the course of the past half hour. Over the last fifteen minutes in particular she had become, some might say, a tad distracted. She’d strangely found herself having thoughts that some might call a bit . . . racy.

It was the stupid tie again, Payton thought. She had been innocently minding her own business, reading, when J.D. had casually reached up to loosen his tie and she had thought, hmm . . . he really should just take the damn thing off, no one else was in the office anyway. Then, hmm . . . speaking of no one else being in the office, she wondered what J.D. would do if—hypothetically speaking—she reached over and loosened the tie for him . . . And then, hell, if she was already going that far—still hypothetically of course—she supposed she should also undo those top buttons of his shirt, they looked a little constricting, too, and, oops, in that case she might as well just throw in the towel and move right on down to the button on his pa—

“So how long have you been seeing Chase?”

The question—from J.D.—abruptly yanked Payton back into reality.

“Hmm? What?” Flustered, she covered by gesturing to the case she held. “Sorry. Reading. The law and all. Damn, that’s good stuff.” She fanned herself. “I’m sorry, you asked me something?”

J.D. shifted in his chair. “I was just asking how long you’ve been seeing Chase. He said you two were dating. I ran into him last night,” he explained.

“Yes, he mentioned that when I saw him earlier today.”

Payton could’ve sworn she saw J.D.’s eyes flash at this.

“You two are serious, then?” he asked.

Payton hesitated. Did she care what J.D. thought about her and Chase? Surprisingly, she thought she might.

“We’ve been seeing each other for a few weeks,” she said.

Tiptoe, tiptoe.

J.D. nodded. “You two seem to have a lot in common.” He waited to see where she would pick up with that.

Tiptoe, tiptoe.

“We would seem to, yes.”

Silence. Once again, they were at a standstill.

Then Payton thought, What the hell? and decided to go for broke.

“Why are you here, J.D.?”

“I work here, remember? See, right over there is my office and—”

Payton put her hand on top of his. “Don’t. Let’s just skip over the sarcastic part for once.”

J.D. glanced down at her hand, then up to meet her gaze. “What is it you really want to know, Payton?”

She asked him the question she had been asking herself for the past few days. “Why are you being so nice to me now?”

J.D. leaned forward in his chair. He gazed directly into her eyes, and Payton suddenly found herself wondering why it had taken him eight years to look at her that way.

“Because you’re letting me,” he said softly.

And in that moment, Payton knew.

The Perfect Chase was doomed.

And not because of a maraschino cherry. The Perfect Chase had been doomed from the very start and the reason—and, in fact, Payton was beginning to suspect, the reason pretty much all of her relationships over the past eight years had been doomed from the very start—was sitting in the chair right across from her, staring her in the eyes.

Realizing that, Payton had only one thing to say. “Oh . . . no,” she gasped.

Except she hadn’t exactly meant to say it out loud.

J.D. cocked his head. “Interesting response.”

Payton couldn’t tell if he was amused or angry. She opened her mouth to explain, but was interrupted by a knock at her door.

Brandon strolled into her office, oblivious to everything. “So I found a couple more cases you might want to take a look at—oh, hey, J.D.—I didn’t realize you were here.”

Payton and J.D. bolted up from their chairs at the same time.

“Actually, I was just leaving,” J.D. said hurriedly. “Payton, I don’t think you need my help anymore; the two of you should be able to finish off the rest of those cases. It was good seeing you again, Brendan.”

“It’s Brandon.”

“Of course.”

Payton watched as J.D. left her office and strode across the hall to his own.

“I hope I wasn’t interrupting anything,” Brandon said.

“No, not at all,” Payton assured him. That’s all she needed right now, to be the target of tawdry office gossip. That kind of stuff could kill a career. “J.D. was just helping me get through some of this research.” She took a seat at her desk. “So, what did you find?”

Brandon sat down in one of the chairs in front of her desk. And as he began to explain—as eager junior associates always did—the big break in the trial he believed he had just discovered, Payton paid vigorous attention. In between stolen glances across the hall, that is. She wondered what J.D. was thinking, if this was going to be another one of those moments between them that neither of them acknowledged, or if he was angry even, thinking she meant something by the “oh . . . no” that she didn’t actually mean, or maybe she did mean it, she didn’t know anymore; her mind was a mess of a thousand dangling thoughts and she couldn’t seem to grasp any of them except for the fact that she knew she should be focusing on her trial and—

Next to her, on her computer screen, the alert box suddenly popped up, indicating she had just received a new email message. Still nodding as she listened to Brandon, Payton clicked her mouse and saw she had a message from J.D. Nothing in the subject line, so she clicked again and read:

I’d like to drive you home tonight.

Without breaking stride, Payton simultaneously asked Brandon a follow-up question regarding his research and fired off a quick reply to J.D.’s email.

Twenty minutes.

“WELL, AT LEAST now I can say that I’ve ridden in the infamous Bentley.”

As they walked along the sidewalk, approaching her two-flat, Payton saw J.D. grin and check his watch.

“What? What was that?” she asked.

“I’ve been timing how long it would take you to make a comment about the car. I’m actually surprised you made it the whole ride here without saying anything.”

“I’m hardly that predictable,” Payton said, starting to fling her hair back over her shoulders, but catching herself.

J.D. noticed and laughed. “Yes, really, you are. In eight years, I don’t think I’ve ever known you to refrain from commenting on anything.”

They had reached her front door. Payton turned around to face J.D. “That’s not true.”

“It’s not, huh?” He raised an eyebrow.

Payton looked him over. “I didn’t comment on the fact that you parked your car down the street instead of dropping me off out front. Because if I did comment on that, I would’ve said that you appear to think you’re coming inside.”

J.D. took a step closer and peered down at her. “And if that thought had occurred to me, would I have been wrong?”

“Hmm . . . no comment.” Payton unlocked the front door, and J.D. held it open for her.

“Maybe I’m just making sure you get inside safely,” he said as they walked up the stairs to her apartment. “Call me old-fashioned.” Then he sprang ahead of Payton, walking backward up the steps and facing her. “Or wait—is it uptight, pony-owning, trickle-down-economics-loving, Scotch-on-the-rocks-drinking, my-wife-better-take-my-last-name sexist jerk? Somehow, I always get those two mixed up.”

They had reached the door to Payton’s apartment.

“I don’t know . . .” she said, “remind me—was that before or after you called me a stubborn, button-pushing, Prius-driving, chip-on-your-shoulder-holding, ‘stay-at-home-mom’-is-the-eighth-dirty-word-thinking feminazi?”

She unlocked the door and stepped into her apartment. She tossed her briefcase and purse onto the living room couch.

J.D. followed her inside, shutting the door behind them. He grinned hearing his words thrown back at him. “After, definitely after. That’s how it’s been since the beginning—you fire the first shot, and I merely react.”

He said it lightly, teasingly, but Payton caught something in his choice of words.

“What do you mean, that’s how it’s been since the beginning?”

She saw a momentary flicker in J.D.’s eyes, as if he realized he’d said more than he’d meant to. He waved her question off.

“Never mind. Forget I said that. It’s not important.”

Payton was curious. But she backed off, sensing that pressing the issue would only lead to an argument. And the two of them had had enough of those to last a lifetime.

“So . . .” she said, trailing off. She leaned against the wall of built-in bookshelves, facing J.D., who stood across the room from her.

“So . . .” he replied. He looked her over, as if waiting for her to do or say something first. Which was fine because, actually, there was something she did want to say. She cleared her throat.

“You know, J.D.—for the record—I actually don’t think you’re sexist.” She saw him cock his head at this sudden admission, so she explained. “I just thought, you know, that was a bad thing for me to say. In a few days we won’t be working together anymore and I didn’t want that left hanging between us.”

J.D. slowly began crossing the room toward her. “In that case, as long as we’re clearing up the record, feminazi was probably a little harsh.”

“A little? You think?”

“A lot harsh.” J.D. moved closer to her, then closer still. Payton felt her heart begin to race.

“And, actually, I don’t think you’re uptight,” she said, still managing to appear cool and collected on the outside at least. “Obstinate and smug perhaps, but not uptight.”

“Thank you,” J.D. said, with a nod of acknowledgment. He stood before her now, so that she was trapped between him and the bookshelves.

“Also for the record,” Payton said in a lower voice, “I don’t drive a Prius.”

J.D. gazed down at her, his eyes dark and intense. “For the record, I’ve never owned a pony.”

“That’s a shame,” Payton told him in a whisper. “I was thinking it must be kind of nice to own a pony.” She felt J.D.’s hand at the back of her neck.

“You’re going to stop talking now,” he said, pulling her to him. “Because I’ve already waited long enough to do this.”

Then his mouth came down on hers, and finally, after eight years, J. D. Jameson kissed her.

Payton’s lips parted eagerly, teasing him as her tongue lightly swept over his. J.D.’s hand moved to her waist and pulled her closer as his mouth searched hers, deepening the kiss. She pressed her body instinctively against his and he instantly reacted, pushing her back against the shelves. With his arms on either side of her, holding her there, his lips trailed a path along her neck.

“Tell me you’ve wanted this,” he said huskily in her ear, and Payton thought her entire body might have just melted. She arched back as his mouth made its way to her collarbone.

“Yes,” she whispered thickly, about the only thing she was capable of saying right then. J.D. kissed her again, more demanding this time. Suddenly they both were impatient; Payton pushed at his jacket, needing it off, and J.D.’s hands grasped her hips and pulled her with him as they stumbled out of the living room and into the kitchen. They hit the counter, and J.D. shoved the bar stools out of the way and flung her up onto it.

Perched on top of the counter, Payton pulled back to look down at J.D. Her breath was ragged. “I like this—you’re not towering over me for once, trying to intimidate me.”

“I doubt there’s anything that intimidates you,” J.D. teased. “Not even being naked in court, apparently.”

“I’m beginning to remember why I don’t like you,” Payton said. But then her breath caught as he pinned her hands behind her back with one of his and stepped between her legs.

J.D.’s eyes sparkled wickedly. “Good—now call me an ‘asshole’ and give me that look like you want to throw something at me—that’s my favorite part.”

Payton laughed, but J.D.’s mouth came down on hers and all joking fell by the wayside. She felt his hands move to her shirt, yanking at the buttons as she simultaneously reached up and tugged at his tie, loosening the knot. There was a rush to their movements, as if each of them was afraid the other would change his or her mind, and Payton was just beginning to have vague musings in the back of her mind about how far this might go, and whether her kitchen counter was the best venue for however far this might go, when—

Her phone rang.

“Ignore it,” J.D. said, his hands moving to the front hook of her bra, and for once Payton wholeheartedly agreed with him.

The ring—coming from the phone in her living room—was easy enough to ignore, but then the answering machine clicked on and Payton’s voice echoed throughout the apartment, sorry, can’t answer the phone, blah, blah.

“Ever hear of voice mail?” J.D. asked as his fingers teasingly trailed along the lacy edge of her bra and Payton tried to muster the wits to think of something sassy to say back when a second male voice called out to her.

“Payton—it’s Chase.”

It was a true marvel of technology, Payton noted, the way the clarity of her answering machine made it seem as though the guy she was dating was standing right there in the kitchen with her and the guy she had straddled between her legs.

“I just wanted to call to say good night and make sure you got home okay,” Chase continued on the machine. “I know you have a long evening ahead of you, and with everything we talked about earlier I forgot to wish you good luck with your trial. I know how much you have riding on this, so try to get some sleep. And just remember what I said about J.D. Watch your back—the guy will do anything to win.”

Payton heard the beep, signaling the end of Chase’s message. J.D. pulled back to see her reaction.