Her gaze drops. I can tell she’s thinking about it, but she’s reluctant. “I just don’t think it’s a good idea. And it’s pointless—I can’t hire you.”
“But you can save yourself $350,” I counter. “Plus, once you’ve consulted with me, should it come to that, he won’t be able to hire me to representhim. Conflict of interest; I’m already privy to too many details about your side of the case. Whether you hire me or not, I guarantee you don’t want me onhisside of the courtroom.”
This should be a no-brainer. I’ve never had to bribe a woman to have a drink with me before, and the deal is even sweeter for her. She can literally save hundreds of dollars just by agreeing to have one drink with me.
Well, I’m sure it won’t be one drink, but who cares? I’m paying.
Just in case, by some slim chance, that’s why she isn’t jumping at my offer, I tell her with feigned solemnity, “I’ll even pay for the drinks.”
She smiles but doesn’t look at me. “It isn’t that. I just… I can’t have a drink with you. I’m sorry.”
“Not even if it saves you $350?”
She shakes her head, almost regretfully.
I frown, confused.
That’s fucking insane.
“Why?” I demand.
Rather than answer me, she says, “I’ve wasted enough of your time. I think I’ll just look into filing a restraining order instead.”
“Do you not drink? We can do dinner instead.”
“No, thank you.”
I’ve never been turned down so relentlessly before, and I’m not sure what to do with it.
I think about offering more, but I don’t like to make desperate moves. Hell, no woman has ever had me in a position where I’d evenconsiderit, but I don’t understand why she’s so adamantly disinterested in going out with me—and I’mveryadamantly interested in going out withher.
She turns to go back out to reception to ask about a payment plan or charge a fucking credit card she’ll probably spend months paying off. All because she’d rather pay than spend a single evening in my company.
I should be insulted. I am a little, but more than that, I’m confused.
“Your neighbor. Tell me his name.”
She turns back to look at me over her shoulder. “Why?”
“Just do it.”
She’s startled by the command, but rather than tell me to go to hell, she says, “Brent Hartley. His wife’s name is Lisa.”
“Thank you.”
She nods, trying not to be rude, but also trying to drop my gaze like she’s afraid to look at me for too long.
I guess I have to release her.
I don’t want to, but that doesn’t make any sense, so I nod back.
Her gaze leaves mine immediately, and she flees my office without another word.
My phone vibrates on my desk, but I don’t look at it until Gemma is out of sight.
It’s a text from my housekeeper telling me the salmon she was about to prepare for dinner is unexpectedly bad, and we’ll have to change tonight’s menu.
I grab the phone and shoot a quick text back, telling her I won’t be home for dinner, after all. She can just make something for Landon.