Walk of Shame
Page 15

“Google says you’re the biggest divorce lawyer in the city. So does Marley.”
He doesn’t look up. Doesn’t stop watching his wine. “Not sure that’s a compliment.”
“Yes it is,” I insist. “It means you’re good at your job.”
He looks up at that. “I would have thought a girl like you would hate my job.”
“A girl like me?”
“Optimistic. Bubbly. Enthusiastic about glitter, and—”
“And . . .?” I prompt. “Say it. You know you want to.”
He takes a sip of wine and glances out at the city before relenting. “And ridiculous.”
He looks at me out of the corner of his eye as he says it, a whisper of a smile playing on his mouth that makes me go all warm inside.
I lift a glass. “If ridiculous means I don’t believe in divorce, then I’m proud of it.”
“You can’t not believe in divorce. It’s a reality.”
“I know,” I say sadly, taking a sip of my wine. “I guess I mean I don’t believe in it for me.”
“Well, the good news is, you’ve got some time. First comes marriage and all that. Unless you’re close to that.”
“Um, no.”
He’s watching me. “Brody?”
“Not a thing.”
“He’s interested.”
I shrug. “Yep.”
We both fall silent for a few moments that are surprisingly peaceful considering that just a couple of days ago we were icing each other out hard-core.
“What about you?” I ask. “Is there a lady becoming the next Mrs. Mulroney anytime soon?”
“Not soon, not ever.”
“Oh no,” I say in exasperation. “You’re not that guy. The one that thinks he’s never going to get married because his career only shows him the bad side of marriage.”
He looks at me again. “I am definitely that guy.”
“But you do date?”
“Sometimes.”
“What about Hailey?”
His brow furrows. “Your friend? What about her?”
“You should ask her out. She likes you. I saw you exchange numbers.”
Andrew takes a sip of his wine. “You did not.”
“I did.”
He leans back again. “You saw her give me her number. I didn’t give her mine.”
“Why not?”
He doesn’t answer, instead looking behind him. “Shall we start on the cleaning?”
I’m oddly disappointed by his lack of response, but I nod. “Yeah. I should probably get it over with. You don’t have to help.”
He’s already on his feet, extending a hand down to me. I know it’s just a gentlemanly gesture to help me up, but my stomach flutters a little all the same.
I give him a carefree smile as I place my palm in his, as though I’ve done this millions of times with millions of guys, which I sort of have.
But the feeling I get when my skin touches his is anything but routine. It’s . . . electric isn’t quite the right word; that’s too sharp.
It just feels . . . pivotal.
Get it together, Georgie.
He releases my hand the second I’m on my feet, and I think I see his hand clench as he drops his arm to his side.
“You didn’t go out tonight. With your friends,” he says.
I lift my eyebrows. “Obviously.”
He looks away. “So you won’t be out late tonight. Or early. Whatever you call it.”
“Correct.”
Andrew’s eyes flick back to mine. “I won’t be seeing you tomorrow morning.”
I laugh. “Well, since I’m not a robot like you who lives and dies by making it to the gym on time, no, probably not.”
The comment comes out sharper than I intend, and his eyes narrow. “There’s nothing wrong with how I live my life, Georgiana.”
The tiny emphasis on my has my teeth grinding. “Ah, of course. It’s my life that’s the mess, right? Because I don’t live and die by a schedule?”
“You have no idea what my life is like,” he snaps.
Annnnd . . . goodbye peace treaty.
“And you have no idea what my life is like,” I snap back. “So you don’t really get to judge.”
He takes a step closer. “You wouldn’t last five minutes in my shoes.”
His simple dismissal of me rolls off his tongue so confidently that I suck in a breath. I’m so tired of being nothing in his eyes, so eager to change his opinion. . . .
“Try me,” I blurt out.
He blinks. “What?”
“Take me along. One day in your life, wherever you go, I go. I’ll prove I could Elle Woods the hell out of this city.”
He doesn’t even pause to question my Legally Blonde reference.
“One day in my life,” he repeats.
I lift my eyebrows. “Worried it’ll kill you? Spending all that time with me?”
“Honestly?” he says, his voice gruff. “A little.”
His eyes drift over me when he says it, and I realize that he’s talking about an entirely different kind of reaction to spending time with me. The sexy kind.
I bite my lip to keep from asking him to kiss me.
Instead, I extend my right hand. “Five o’clock tomorrow morning?”
His grin is victorious, and I suspect I just caught a preview of what Andrew looks like after he wins a big case. Terrifying.
“Five o’clock,” he confirms reluctantly. “And Georgiana?”
I meet his eyes and hold my breath as he leans in. “Yeah?”
“Wear your workout clothes.” He steps back.
I exhale my disappointment, and he turns away, but not before I catch his knowing smirk.
It would seem our cold war just got a tiny bit warmer.
Bring it.
Georgie

WEDNESDAY, 4:49 A.M. I drag myself out of the elevator and into the lobby, determined to beat Andrew downstairs.
Last night I felt great about my plan.
This morning, though?
Oh. Holy. Hell.
People do this? Willingly set their alarm and haul their ass out of bed while it’s still dark out?
I’m a little grateful that it’s a new guy behind the front desk. Charles is a sweet balding dude who works the early morning shift on Ramon’s days off. He’s only been here a few weeks and, lucky for him, I don’t think he’s grasped the full scope of the tornado that is me and Andrew Mulroney in the same space.