Law of Attraction

by Allison Leotta

  “Nick! Are you okay?”

  “Hello, Anna.” Nick’s head lolled to one side. It seemed to be a struggle for him to straighten it and bring his bloodshot eyes to focus on hers. “I brought these for you.”

  He held out the box to her; it was from Julia’s Empanadas. She did not reach for the box. In addition to being intoxicated, Nick didn’t look well generally. He had soft blue circles under his reddened eyes, and the sparkly mischief they’d always held was gone. His tailored suit hung a bit loosely. He was losing weight. Still, he was extravagantly handsome—in fact, his new leanness made his cheekbones more chiseled and his chin a strong, sculpted square. That, and a day’s worth of stubble, made him look like a Hollywood bad boy. Anna felt physically drawn to him, as she always did when he was near. She consciously took a step backward.

  “Why are you here?” she asked. Too many thoughts and emotions were running through her head for her to parse them all: the continuing anger and hurt at how their relationship had ended, astonishment at his appearance on her doorstep, affection at the sight of his tousled dark hair, anxiety about the impropriety of this visit, and a twinge of fear at the sight of a very drunk man at her door. She pushed the last thought aside. Nick was not her father. However drunk he got, she knew, Nick would not hurt her.

  “I told you, I have to see you.” He started to walk into her house, slowly, with the careful, exaggerated steps of the truly intoxicated, but without hesitation, as if the past three months hadn’t happened.

  “No, Nick. Stop.” Her voice was soft, but the hands she put on his chest were firm. She gently pushed him back onto the concrete landing outside her front door. “I don’t think you should come in now. And when you sober up, you’ll agree.” She slid on a pair of shoes and walked outside with him. She grabbed his arm and tried to pull him up the three steps to the sidewalk. “I’m going to call you a cab.”

  “No.” He sat on the middle step. She tugged on his arm, but he didn’t move.

  “Come on, Nick!”

  A few passing pedestrians glanced over and chuckled. A little drunken drama was not an uncommon sight in Adams-Morgan; the bars were just a few blocks away from her house. She sighed and let go of Nick’s arm. She walked to the street, leaving vague footprints in the thin layer of powdery snow on the ground. She hailed a cab and motioned for the driver to roll down his window.

  “Hi.” Anna leaned down to talk to the cabbie. “I need you to take my friend home. He lives just a couple blocks from here, but he’s a little tipsy. Can you make sure he gets home in one piece?” The driver nodded. Anna went back to the defense attorney on her doorstep. “Okay, Nick. This nice taxi driver is going to make sure you get home okay.”

  Nick shook his head, but didn’t move any other part of his body.

  “Come on. You’ve gotta go.” She gave a tug on his arm. He sat stubbornly still.

  “I don’t want to go home.” He turned toward the cab and raised his voice so the driver could hear. “I feel sick.”

  She looked helplessly to the cabbie, hoping he would help her bring Nick to the car. The driver shook his head and drove off. He didn’t want someone who was going to vomit in the backseat. Anna stamped her foot in frustration.

  “Nick!”

  He reached for her arm, trying to get her to sit on the step next to him, but she brushed him off. She was freezing and not in any mood to play games. Fine, she thought. If Nick wanted to stay here, he could. She didn’t have to do anything about it. She brushed past him and walked back down into her house, locking the door behind her. He could find his own way home.

  She went to the bathroom. She combed her hair and put it up in a ponytail. She took her time brushing her teeth and washing her face. She flossed, then gargled with mouthwash. She trimmed her nails and rubbed moisturizer onto her hands. When there was nothing else she could possibly do before going to bed, she walked back to her front door and peered out the peephole.

  Nick was still sitting on her steps, the box of empanadas on his lap. His head rested on the brick wall, and his eyes were closed. A few flakes of powdery snow were sitting in his dark hair, like confectioners’ sugar atop a chocolate cupcake. Anna shook her head, wondering what to do. She couldn’t let him freeze to death out there. But he was too big for her to force him to go home. She tried to think of someone she could call to help her. Grace? Jack? But they would ask why the defense attorney was camped out on her steps. Ditto the police. She still hadn’t told anyone about her relationship with Nick, and she didn’t want to start like this.

  The best she could do, she thought, was to bring him inside, sober him up, and then send him on his way. She pretended that this reasoning was not influenced by her desire to hear why he’d come here tonight. She opened the door and walked outside.

  “Wake up, Nick,” she said, shaking his shoulders. “Nick!”

  His eyes opened, disoriented for a moment. He focused on Anna’s face and smiled.

  “Come on.” She hauled him to his feet. “Get inside before someone sees you here.”

  He followed her into the house, no longer a stubborn mule but a happy, obedient puppy. He set the box of empanadas on the table next to the front door. She pointed to her red couch, and he sank down. She stepped away from him and stood in front of the couch, crossing her arms on her chest.

  “Why are you here?” she asked.

  He leaned his head back against the couch and closed his eyes. “I spent the morning representing a man who broke out of jail to attack my girlfriend. I wanted to make sure she was okay.”

  “I’m not your girlfriend,” Anna snapped, although a traitorous part of her heart thrilled to hear him say it.

  He opened his eyes. “I know.” He tried to straighten his tie, but only pulled it farther off center. “You look beautiful,” he said, patting the couch next to him.

  “And you look like you were mugged by Jim Beam.” She sat in the chair across from the couch.

  “Naw, he didn’t mug me.” Nick laughed mirthlessly. “We’ve been good friends since this case started. I’ve been hanging out with him just about every night. Mostly, I tell him about you. I can’t stop thinking about you, Anna. And this case. This fucking case!”

  His face contorted with a pain so sharp it sliced through several cushioning layers of whiskey.

  “I didn’t know it affected you that much,” she said cautiously. Anna didn’t like to see anyone hurting, but she felt something close to relief to see Nick like this. She’d wondered if he had a conscience at all, whether Laprea’s death meant anything to him or if it was just an unpleasant footnote in his defense playbook. In a way, it was good to know that it had touched him. That he was human.

  “Affected me?” His voice cracked. “It’s the only thing I think about. I can’t believe it’s gotten this crazy. That you were in danger. I could never forgive myself if anything happened to you.”

  He covered his eyes with a hand. He didn’t seem to be breathing. “Nick?” she asked. He didn’t move. She got up and walked over to him uncertainly, then pulled his hand gently away from his eyes. His face was twisted with regret, his eyes brimming with tears. He wrapped his fingers around her wrist and pulled her to sit on the couch. His eyes searched hers, seeming to beg her for help.

  “I know this is all my fault, Anna. I can’t keep living like this.”

  She looked at him sadly—and then with growing hope. Did this mean he realized that representing D’marco was the wrong choice for him? For them? That he wasn’t going to do it anymore? Was he getting off the case—choosing her over his client?

  “It’s going to be okay, Nick.” She squeezed his hands. “It’s not too late. Whatever choices we’ve made in the past, they’re not irreversible. There’s still time to do the right thing.”

  “Promise?”

  He cupped her face between his hands and leaned in to kiss her. She jumped back before his lips touched hers, but not before she felt his warm, whiskey-scented breath on her neck.


  “Jesus, Nick. No.” She bolted from the couch. “I’m going to make you some coffee,” she announced briskly. “Then you have to go.”

  She fled to the kitchen, pulled a bag of coffee out of her cabinet, and willed her heart to slow down. She wasn’t sure whom she was more furious at: Nick, for trying to kiss her, or herself, for almost allowing him to do it. Herself, she decided. She was sober; she had no excuses.

  While the coffee brewed, she stood in the kitchen, as far from Nick as her apartment permitted. The sounds of percolating coffee almost drowned out the whoosh of blood rushing through her ears. When it was ready, she poured a mugful, took a deep breath, and brought it out to Nick.

  He was passed out on the couch, slumped sideways on the cushions. A soft snore wheezed from his mouth. She set the coffee on the table and knelt by him. “Nick,” she said, poking his arms. He didn’t move. She shook his shoulders vigorously. “Nick!”

  He was out.

  She allowed herself a moment to gaze at him. His face had smoothed out; he was peaceful at last. She brushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes. His eyelashes, dark and ridiculously long, curled on his cheeks, giving him an angelic look that she didn’t think he deserved. She gazed at his beautiful, slumbering face for a long time. She was simultaneously furious at and aching for him.

  She decided not to wake him. She rationalized the decision: it was her first night in her apartment since D’marco had come here. It felt safer with Nick on her couch—even if he was passed out. And she didn’t have much of a choice anyway, she told herself—he was unconscious.

  She tugged off his shoes and pulled his legs onto the couch. Nick groaned softly. “Buddy, if you think you feel bad now, wait till morning,” she said, as she slid a cushion under his head. His moaning quieted to soft, steady breathing. She spread an afghan on top of him and turned out the lights.

  Anna went to her bedroom and climbed into her own bed. She lay on her side, facing her door, which she’d left cracked open. She could hear the faint sound of Nick’s breathing from the living room. Except for the distance between them, it sounded like it did when they used to sleep together, curled into each other’s bodies. She craved that feeling now. It was so close.

  She stared at the crack in her bedroom door for a long time. Why? she wondered. With all the men in this city, why did she have to fall in love with this one?

  29

  Jack swore as another car cut him off. This drive made him remember why he always took the Metro to work. It wasn’t even 8:00 a.m., and the morning rush-hour traffic into the city was already horrendous. Sixteenth Street was practically a parking lot. Instead of a pleasant walk through a nice neighborhood and a ten-minute chance to read his newspaper on the subway, he was fighting idiots to move his Volvo station wagon forward by inches. The snow from last night didn’t help—this city panicked at the sight of the white stuff. This commute filled him with a general sense of frustration at the world. But he wasn’t going directly to work this morning, and it didn’t make sense for him to take the subway for this trip. He would just have to fight the congestion.

  He felt terrible about his fight with Anna. He didn’t want to argue with her. Especially the day after D’marco Davis attacked her in her own home. When he’d thought about it, later, he knew that what she’d done wasn’t a disaster. Anna would cancel the paternity test. Jack had already told McGee not to mention it to anyone. Green would likely never find out, and this would blow over without notice. Jack shouldn’t have blown up at her.

  He knew he wouldn’t have reacted that way with any of his other attorneys. Lawyers often disagreed, they had different strategies—Jack didn’t yell at them. Folks made mistakes—he’d never benched anyone before. Jack took pride in his calm during crises, his ability to handle any situation with quiet, focused precision. He hadn’t understood why this time was different. At least, he hadn’t last night at Ben’s, while it was happening. He did now. He’d lain awake for most of the night, unable to sleep, thoughts spinning through his head. The conclusion had finally hit him around 3:00 a.m., stunning both in its simplicity and his ability to ignore it for so long.

  He was attracted to Anna.

  When she’d rejected his idea, he’d taken it as a personal rejection, and he’d overreacted.

  Jack turned right onto Columbia Road, and then turned left, down 18th Street, the heart of Adams-Morgan. Now the challenge was parking. He looked for an open space as he slowly drove down the street.

  He’d fought against his feelings for Anna for a long time. He’d tried to convince himself that it was fatherly protection or dutiful mentoring. But no. He knew what it was. He wanted her.

  And, he thought, there was a chance she felt the same way. He’d caught her looking at him a few times, across the war room table, for no particular reason—just studying his face or his hands. She stayed in the war room a lot, even when she was working on her other cases. Maybe she wanted to be near him, just as he wanted to be near her, even if they were just silently working side by side.

  And two nights ago, at his house—as they were standing in the guest bedroom—he was pretty sure she’d wanted to kiss him. He had stepped away, because Olivia was in the next room, because he didn’t want to be the sleazy boss from the sexual harassment training video, because he wouldn’t take advantage of a young woman who’d just survived a harrowing night. But he had seen the flash of desire as her eyes flicked over his face—he was certain of it.

  A spot opened up on 18th Street, and Jack parked in it.

  He should have kissed her. Dammit. Who knew if that moment, that perfect moment, would ever present itself again? Instead, a day later, he was chewing her out in front of a detective. From possible lover to asshole boss in one day. He had to make it right.

  He got out of the car, avoiding the dirty puddles where last night’s snow was melting. There was a pretty flower shop on the corner of 18th and Wyoming. Should I bring her flowers? he wondered. Would that send the wrong message—or the right one? He paused in front of the shop. He wasn’t sure how to handle this. He hadn’t dated anyone since Olivia’s mother died; he hadn’t been interested in anyone else. And he certainly didn’t know how to handle this particular dating situation, fraught with workplace issues, race issues, age issues, issues he probably hadn’t even spotted yet.

  After a moment’s hesitation, he pushed all that aside. He would handle it like any other problem: he would confront it head-on. He would tell Anna how he was feeling, and give her a chance to respond. It might be controversial, it might be messy, but it would be out in the open and they could deal with it honestly. Let the chips fall where they may. He stepped into the shop and bought a bouquet of deep purple irises.

  He knocked on Anna’s door a few minutes later, flowers clutched in his hand, his heart beating in his throat. The chain inside clanked, the door swung open, and Anna was standing in front of him. She was still wearing pajamas. Her blond hair was in a ponytail, and her face was clean and makeupless. She looked natural and beautiful and very young. Her eyes widened when she saw him on her doorstep, and then widened even more when she saw the flowers he was holding by his side.

  “Hi, Anna,” he greeted her.

  “Hi,” she gulped.

  “I’m sorry to just show up like this, but I wanted to apologize to you. I overreacted yesterday. What you did wasn’t so bad. It’s just a blip, and we’ll handle it. I don’t know what’s gotten into me. Actually, I do know. That’s what I wanted to talk with you about. Can I— Do you have a minute?” He gestured toward her house.

  Her cheeks went from a light pink to a deep rose. She looked acutely uncomfortable. She’d initially opened the door a few feet. She didn’t open it any farther now. In fact, the opening seemed to narrow a bit. She glanced back into her apartment.

  “Well—uh—actually—” she stammered. There was a moment of uncomfortable silence.

  Suddenly, Jack got it.

  “Do you have company?” he asked.r />
  “Um—yeah.”

  He felt like he’d been punched in the gut. It hadn’t occurred to him that she might have a boyfriend. How did she have time for a boyfriend, he thought fleetingly, when she was always at the office? But it didn’t matter how. She did. The flowers in his hand felt incredibly heavy.

  “Who’s at the door?” a man’s voice called from inside her apartment.

  “Nobody!” she cried back. Her face was panic-stricken.

  Jack’s head recoiled as if she’d slapped him. She saw it.

  “No, Jack, I didn’t mean that you were nobody. I just meant that, it wasn’t anyone that needed to be—that had to have a—what I meant is . . .”

  As she stuttered out the incoherent explanation, a dark-haired man wearing an untucked shirt and wrinkled pants came to the door. As Jack saw the other man’s face, he felt a strange sense of recognition. He knew who he was looking at, but the person was so far removed from his normal place in the world, so out of context, that his appearance just didn’t make sense at first, and Jack didn’t fully comprehend who it was.

  Then his brain caught up to his eyes. It was Nicholas Wagner. In rumpled clothing. In Anna’s house. At 8:00 a.m. Jack’s blood froze, then boiled.

  “Nobody, huh?” Nick said mockingly, blinking his eyes in the bright winter sunlight. He stood behind Anna and looked at Jack venomously over her shoulder. “I think we’ve met.”

  “What are you doing here?” Jack asked him slowly. His jaw started to clench.

  “The same thing as you, apparently,” Nick said. He reached past Anna and took the flowers from Jack’s hand. “Thanks, she’ll love these.”

  “Nick, no!” Anna cried. She spun from the man behind her to the man on her doorstep. “Jack, it’s not like that!”

  Jack turned and strode back up the steps to the street. His chest was a tight, raging battle between abject humiliation and wanting to punch that Wagner kid. He had to get out of here before he became a number on today’s lockup list.