Page 22 of King of Justice

“Oh.”

“What do you say?”

“Then nine’s fine I guess.”

“Great. Text me the address?”

“Okay.”

“See you tonight!”

For the rest of my workout, I texted my house manager Gunnar the menu for dinner and dessert. I also instructed him to embellish the downstairs living room with cozy Christmas decorations without being over the top.

A party of how many? he asked.

Just one lady, but she can be ravenous.

Nice to finally see a date who likes to eat.

If we’re going there, then you’ll be happy to know that she’s not like anyone I’ve ever brought home.

Looking forward to meeting her.

Don’t hold your breath. She’s a handful.

The ones who are worth it often are.

Smiling, I put down the phone and assumed the pose of a plank. Gunnar might have been a hundred years old, but he still had an eye for the ladies. Having been married four times himself, he was a self-proclaimed ‘relationship forecaster’, and I enjoyed listening to the insights he proudly shared. He was a lot like my father, except that the latter would never give himself the right to evaluate my lady friends the way Gunnar brazenly did.

When I was done with my shower, I went downstairs and found Gunnar’s assistant, Kenneth, placing the final touches on the living room.

“Y’ know?” I said to him as I put my hands in my pockets. “I’ve always secretly hated fairy lights.”

Still standing on the step ladder, he turned to me, wide-eyed, as his hands froze on the last string of light along the drapes. “Should I take them down, sir?”

“No, no. Leave them. I have a feeling that they’ll be a nice touch for our guest.”

He smiled, climbing down the steps. “And you may change your mind about them in a bit. They just take some getting used to.”

Perhaps fairy lights were tacky, but so was string cheese. If I were being honest, that cheese could also be addictive.

After sharing the pickup address with my chauffeur, Evan, I went back upstairs and stood in the middle of the dressing room. Feeling challenged, I tried to decide on the garments that would be the least provocative to Sophie.

But try as I might, I was never going to be able to negate my wealth. Resigning to that fact, I pulled out my black Brioni suit, a matching shirt in dark gray silk, and a belt. I put them on, then sprinkled some musk and oud fragrance on myself.

Examining my appearance in the mirror, I smiled, satisfied with what I saw.

Merry Christmas, Sophie Jones.

seven

Dessert

Sophie

Having been taken by surprise, I knew that nobody was going to eat the ziti casserole I’d prepared the night before if I left it here. When I opened the freezer, I found that it was stacked to the brim with frozen pizzas and microwave meals—there was no room.

Sighing, I shoved it into the oven and turned up the heat. It shouldn’t go to waste. Besides, perhaps the big shot lawyer would appreciate my cooking after all.

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