Once.
Never again.
It’s in that moment, with that thought, that Mr. Arrogant Asshole decides to turn around and somehow find the exact spot where I’m sitting, those piercing blue eyes locked on me. And now he’s watching me watching him, which means I’m busted and probably appear more interested in him than I want to appear. I cut my stare and pull out my MacBook, keying it to life, and just when it’s connected, I hear, “Order for Cat!”
At the sound of my name, I eye one of the regulars, a twenty-something encroaching on thirty, who got fired from his job and started some consulting business. “Kevin,” I say, and when he doesn’t look up, I raise my voice. “Kevin!”
His head jerks up. “Cat,” he says, blinking me into view.
I point to my table and the coffee bar. He nods. I push to my feet and, not about to cower over Mr. Arrogant Asshole, who is now standing at the bar with his back to me, I charge forward. I’m just about to step to his side and grab my drink when he faces me, holding two drinks, one of which he offers to me. “Your drink,” he says.
I purse my lips, refusing to be charmed. “Thank you.” I pause for effect and add, “But you’re still an asshole.”
His lips, which I notice when I shouldn’t, because he really is an arrogant asshole, curve. “You have such good manners,” he comments.
“My mother taught me right. Manners and honesty.”
“I won’t argue the accuracy of your statement, considering the fact that I was an asshole.”
“Well, good,” I say, curious about this turn of events. “We agree on something.”
His eyes light with amusement. “I’d apologize, but then this would be over.”
I frown. “What does that mean?”
“Meet me here in the morning and we’ll negotiate the terms of my apology.” He steps around me, and I whirl around to face his back.
“You’re an attorney, aren’t you?” I say, because I know the lingo, the style, everything about this man. And I am, in fact, a Harvard gradate attorney myself, as are two of my three brothers and my father. Them by choice, me by pressure that I stopped caving into two years ago next week.
He stops walking and rotates to face me now. “Yes, Cat. I am. Which means that you can handle Manners 101 and I’ll handle Negotiation 101.” He smiles—and it’s one hell of a smile—before he turns and walks away.
I watch him disappear in the crowd, knowing I have two options: Forget him or show back up. This is crazy. Men like that one are trouble, and I don’t like trouble, so why the heck am I staring after Mr. Arrogant Asshole? I’m not meeting him. End of story.
Shaking off any other thought, I walk back to my table and glance at the computer screen, where I’ve typed “Mr. Hotness,” and decide that hot little blog post is half the reason that Mr. Arrogant Asshole was able to get to me. I’m not meeting him. Of course, if I did, I’d do so with the understanding that trouble can be managed, and in this case, in his case, that would be with a dirty, rich one night stand.
Or by simply not meeting him again, but this is my coffee shop and I won’t be run out of it.
***
An hour later, I’ve written my intro for today’s courtroom activity, detailing what I know of the crime in question and the accused killer himself, before heading to the courthouse. I arrive forty-five minutes before the start of the trial, and it’s a good thing I do. The outside of the courthouse is crowed with picketers and press. Inside the courtroom, cameras and people have hoarded ninety-nine percent of the space. I squeeze into the back row and remove my brand-new leather-bound notebook, open to the first page, where I write: Murder: Guilty or Innocent? I follow with random questions I hope to answer today and during the trial, as I did in the prior two major trials I sat in witness to prior to this one.
I’ve just finished my list when the courtroom activity begins. The jury enters. The defendant and his counsel enter, but the stupid cameras block my view. The judge enters next, and we all stand, which means I have an even worse view. Finally, we all take our seats and the lead counsels for both sides approach the bench. They are only there for a minute at most before they turn back to the courtroom. It’s then, as Reese Summer, lead counsel for the defense, takes center stage for opening statements, that my lips part in shock, and with good reason. Reese Summer is Mr. Arrogant Asshole. I sit there, staring at him, dumbfounded for the first five minutes of his opening before I even remember that I need to take notes. I start writing, studying him as he walks, talks, and presents not just his case, but himself, to the jury, audience, and cameras.
“Nelson Ward met Jennifer Wright when she was scared of her boyfriend and he didn’t look away like most people would. He looked at her. He saw her instead of seeing through her or past her. He told his wife about her. And together he and his wife, helped her seek shelter and a job. Nelson did not have an affair with Jennifer Wright. The DNA has proven that the child Jennifer Wright was carrying was not his, but rather her boyfriend’s, who was abusing her. The prosecution wanted to make the public happy and they needed a victim to convict. And that’s what my client is: A victim. The prosecution will present fingerprints on the doorknob of Ms. Wright’s house as evidence. That was the bombshell that landed Nelson Ward in this courtroom. My fingerprints are all over this courtroom. Did I commit a crime here? No. I did not. Has a crime been committed here? Yes. In fact, there have been three murders on this very property. According to the prosecution’s handling of this case, you all must now need lawyers. Why? Because that is the only evidence they have against my client, fingerprints on a door. I don’t know about you, folks, but I’m terrified at the idea that we can be convicted of a crime off nothing but our fingerprints on a door. Not on a weapon. On a doorknob used over and over by many people.
He continues, and there are quips, and murmured laughter, and intense scowls. He takes everyone on an emotional journey. When he’s done, I sit back to assess his skill, and I judge him as a man that can seduce a courtroom as easily as he seduced me.
He’s trouble.
Big trouble.
And it’s now my job to make him my obsession for the remainder of this trial. Which means a dirty, rich (naked) one night stand can’t happen until there can be that pretty little orgasmic goodbye. Anything else would be a mistake I’ve already made. Once. Never again.
ORDER DIRTY RICH ONE NIGHT STAND HERE!
ALSO BY LISA RENEE JONES
The Inside Out Series
If I Were You
Being Me
Revealing Us
His Secrets*
Rebecca’s Lost Journals
The Master Undone*
My Hunger*
No In Between
My Control*
I Belong to You
All of Me*
The Secret Life of Amy Bensen
Escaping Reality
Infinite Possibilities
Forsaken
Unbroken*
Careless Whispers
Denial
Demand
Surrender
Dirty Money
Hard Rules
Damage Control
Bad Deeds
End Game (coming January 2018)
White Lies
Provocative
Shameless
*eBook only
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Lisa Renee Jones is the author of the highly acclaimed INSIDE OUT series.
In addition to the success of Lisa’s INSIDE OUT series, she has published many successful titles. The TALL, DARK AND DEADLY series and THE SECRET LIFE OF AMY BENSEN series, both spent several months on a combination of the New York Times and USA Today bestselling lists. Lisa is also the author of the bestselling the bestselling DIRTY MONEY and WHITE LIES series. And will be publishing the first book in her Lilah Love suspense series with Amazon Publishing in March 2018.
Prior to publishing Lisa owned multi-state staffing agen
cy that was recognized many times by The Austin Business Journal and also praised by the Dallas Women’s Magazine. In 1998 Lisa was listed as the #7 growing women owned business in Entrepreneur Magazine.
Lisa loves to hear from her readers. You can reach her at www.lisareneejones.com and she is active on Twitter and Facebook daily.
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