Page 68 of Defend Me

“Thank you,” she says.

“Where, uh, where are you going?”

She raises one thin eyebrow, her expression turning sardonic. “You interrogating me, Deputy?”

My stomach does a backflip, and I give a weak chuckle. “Sorry, none of my business.”

“I’m meeting a friend at the Kensington Club,” she says.

I have no idea what the Kensington Club is, but it sounds rich and pretentious. I wonder if Von picked it, or her date did.

“Cool,” I say and wince at my own lameness. “Have fun.”

“Thanks,” she says.

She turns to leave and my knees almost buckle.

Her dress is backless.

CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE

VON

The streets of New York pass me in a blur as my driver takes me uptown.

I can’t deny the little pinch of triumph I felt at the way Noah’s eyes popped when he saw me in this dress. At hearing his voice give a little squeak.

I shift in my seat and temper those thoughts. The whole point of this date is to fuck Kent’s brains out tonight and then get to work tomorrow. No more distractions.

Kent is waiting for me at the bar of the Kensington Club.

He looks as hot as ever, white shirt, black jacket, a body chiseled from years working with a personal trainer, navy blue eyes that undress what little I have on as I sashay toward him.

This is my Fuck Me dress, the one I always wear when I have a need to fulfill.

And boy do I have a need.

“Hey, gorgeous,” Kent says, sliding a glass of red wine in mydirection as he watches me over his tumbler of scotch. “I hope you don’t mind, I ordered for you.”

“I don’t mind,” I say, smiling. I take a long sip. The wine is rich and smooth, like blackberries and chocolate.

“You look stunning,” he says. He smells like aftershave and Italian leather as he leans in to kiss my cheek. “So, how are things at the firm? On your way to making partner yet?”

I chuckle. “Actually, I’ve taken a case pro bono.”

He raises an eyebrow. “You?”

“Yeah,” I say lightly. “Don’t sound so surprised.”

Kent rubs his angular jawline. “Never would have thought you’d work for free.”

“I can certainly afford to,” I joke.

“True,” he says, grinning. “So, is this some sort of virtue-signaling effort to make Phillips, Brace, and Horowitz get glowing writeups in the liberal media?”

“Why would you say that?” I ask, taking another sip of wine.

“The clientele your firm represents doesn’t need charity.”

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