Practice Makes Perfect
Page 26
Chase grinned. “It sounds like a much more important position than it really is.”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually disinclined to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than identifying Harvard by name. And when she asked what he had done prior to coming to Chicago to work for the Legal Clinic, she’d nearly had to pry it out of him that he had been the assistant chief of staff for a certain senator who had run for president in the last election. He didn’t like to name-drop, he told her, mildly embarrassed.
After a while, they moved to a private table in the back of the bar for their second round of drinks. (A Tom Collins, Payton had since learned, consisted of gin, lemon juice, soda, sugar, and—hmm—a maraschino cherry.)
As Chase finished telling a story about the coed softball league he and Laney’s husband played in, Payton cocked her head curiously. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you really don’t seem like the typical Harvard Law type.”
Chase laughed good-naturedly. “That’s what I said myself, every day, right up until I mailed in my acceptance.” He leaned in toward her, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Laney warned me about this, Payton, and I just have to say for the record that we’re not all total ass**les, us Ivy Leaguers. Some of us actually go there for the education—not just to be able to brag that we went to Harvard.”
Payton couldn’t help but smile. Point taken. “Now what am I supposed to say to that? I hate it when you Harvard boys are right.”
“Then I promise to screw up plenty on our second date—if there is a second date,” Chase added with a wink.
It was the wink that made Payton think of J.D.
More specifically, of her and J.D. in the library. The haughty way he’d told her not to count on making partner. How angry he’d been when they’d argued. The way he’d furiously backed her against the bookshelves. And the way he’d looked at her right before she’d—ahem—been stricken with the high-altitude sickness.
Payton pushed the memory from her mind. She was on a date. It was bad enough she had to deal with J.D. at work—there was no way she was going to let him intrude on her personal time, too.
So Payton rested her chin in her hand and looked at the handsome man sitting across the table from her with a blatant come-hither smile.
“If there is a second date?” she asked coyly.
Over the light of the candle that flickered in the center of their table, Chase returned the smile.
“When there is a second date.”
“SO BASICALLY, YOU acted like a total trollop.”
“Laney!”
“A man isn’t going to buy the cow, Payton, if he can get the milk for free.”
“We didn’t even kiss!” Payton protested, not bothering to hide her laugh. The things that came out of her friend’s mouth sometimes.
They were talking at work, in Payton’s office. She had gotten home too late to call Laney the night before, having done three rounds of drinks with the Perfect Chase. The two of them had talked so much they hadn’t noticed when the restaurant’s kitchen closed. Hence, Payton hadn’t had anything to eat with her three rounds. Hence, the slight headache and nauseous feeling she’d been battling since waking up. She was quickly remembering why she didn’t like going out on weeknights, especially when she had to be in the office by 7:30 a.m.
“Wait, you didn’t kiss him?” Laney’s tone suddenly changed and she eyed Payton suspiciously. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like him?”
Payton dug through the stack of jury instructions on her desk. “Oh—look who wants to gossip now.”
“Tell me, Payton,” Laney demanded. “Nate tells me Chase is a really great guy. I’ve already had visions of the seven of us barbecuing on Sundays.”
“The seven of us?”
“There are the children, of course.”
Payton nodded. “I see. And . . . seven?”
“Nate and I have twins—a boy and a girl.”
“Of course you do.”
Laney fidgeted in her chair impatiently. “So, come on then—did you like him?”
“Of course I liked him,” Payton said. “I mean, what’s not to like? He’s good-looking and nice and successful . . .”
“But?”
“Well, he ordered a drink with a cherry.”
Laney sighed. “I see. Okay, whatever. I tried.”
“What does that mean?” Payton asked, going on the defensive.
“Clearly, you’re trying to find something wrong with him,” Laney said. “His beverage selection? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”
Payton took issue with this. “Wait a second—why would I try to find something wrong with Chase?”
“Good question. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. As we already established from the ‘trollop’ comment, he and I are going on a second date.”
“I’m just putting it out there that you really might want to give this guy a chance,” Laney lectured.
“I told you, I like him!”
In her profession, it was rare for Payton to meet someone actually disinclined to brag. And as their conversation continued, she was pleasantly surprised to discover that Chase seemed just as modest about his other accomplishments. When they got around to the subject of law school (a subject two lawyers will always get around to), she liked that he referred to his education as “going to school in Boston” rather than identifying Harvard by name. And when she asked what he had done prior to coming to Chicago to work for the Legal Clinic, she’d nearly had to pry it out of him that he had been the assistant chief of staff for a certain senator who had run for president in the last election. He didn’t like to name-drop, he told her, mildly embarrassed.
After a while, they moved to a private table in the back of the bar for their second round of drinks. (A Tom Collins, Payton had since learned, consisted of gin, lemon juice, soda, sugar, and—hmm—a maraschino cherry.)
As Chase finished telling a story about the coed softball league he and Laney’s husband played in, Payton cocked her head curiously. “I hope you don’t take this the wrong way, but you really don’t seem like the typical Harvard Law type.”
Chase laughed good-naturedly. “That’s what I said myself, every day, right up until I mailed in my acceptance.” He leaned in toward her, his brown eyes dancing with amusement. “Laney warned me about this, Payton, and I just have to say for the record that we’re not all total ass**les, us Ivy Leaguers. Some of us actually go there for the education—not just to be able to brag that we went to Harvard.”
Payton couldn’t help but smile. Point taken. “Now what am I supposed to say to that? I hate it when you Harvard boys are right.”
“Then I promise to screw up plenty on our second date—if there is a second date,” Chase added with a wink.
It was the wink that made Payton think of J.D.
More specifically, of her and J.D. in the library. The haughty way he’d told her not to count on making partner. How angry he’d been when they’d argued. The way he’d furiously backed her against the bookshelves. And the way he’d looked at her right before she’d—ahem—been stricken with the high-altitude sickness.
Payton pushed the memory from her mind. She was on a date. It was bad enough she had to deal with J.D. at work—there was no way she was going to let him intrude on her personal time, too.
So Payton rested her chin in her hand and looked at the handsome man sitting across the table from her with a blatant come-hither smile.
“If there is a second date?” she asked coyly.
Over the light of the candle that flickered in the center of their table, Chase returned the smile.
“When there is a second date.”
“SO BASICALLY, YOU acted like a total trollop.”
“Laney!”
“A man isn’t going to buy the cow, Payton, if he can get the milk for free.”
“We didn’t even kiss!” Payton protested, not bothering to hide her laugh. The things that came out of her friend’s mouth sometimes.
They were talking at work, in Payton’s office. She had gotten home too late to call Laney the night before, having done three rounds of drinks with the Perfect Chase. The two of them had talked so much they hadn’t noticed when the restaurant’s kitchen closed. Hence, Payton hadn’t had anything to eat with her three rounds. Hence, the slight headache and nauseous feeling she’d been battling since waking up. She was quickly remembering why she didn’t like going out on weeknights, especially when she had to be in the office by 7:30 a.m.
“Wait, you didn’t kiss him?” Laney’s tone suddenly changed and she eyed Payton suspiciously. “What’s wrong? Don’t you like him?”
Payton dug through the stack of jury instructions on her desk. “Oh—look who wants to gossip now.”
“Tell me, Payton,” Laney demanded. “Nate tells me Chase is a really great guy. I’ve already had visions of the seven of us barbecuing on Sundays.”
“The seven of us?”
“There are the children, of course.”
Payton nodded. “I see. And . . . seven?”
“Nate and I have twins—a boy and a girl.”
“Of course you do.”
Laney fidgeted in her chair impatiently. “So, come on then—did you like him?”
“Of course I liked him,” Payton said. “I mean, what’s not to like? He’s good-looking and nice and successful . . .”
“But?”
“Well, he ordered a drink with a cherry.”
Laney sighed. “I see. Okay, whatever. I tried.”
“What does that mean?” Payton asked, going on the defensive.
“Clearly, you’re trying to find something wrong with him,” Laney said. “His beverage selection? Come on, that’s ridiculous.”
Payton took issue with this. “Wait a second—why would I try to find something wrong with Chase?”
“Good question. You tell me.”
“There’s nothing to tell. As we already established from the ‘trollop’ comment, he and I are going on a second date.”
“I’m just putting it out there that you really might want to give this guy a chance,” Laney lectured.
“I told you, I like him!”
