Page 26 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

One corner of my mouth lifts up into a subtle smile. “He was just being nice.”

Dawson snorts. “Yeah, if nice is code for trying to score a date with a beautiful woman.”

I stare at him wide-eyed, unsure if I heard him right. Did Dawson Tate just call me beautiful? Whether or not he meant it, I’m still as giddy as a schoolgirl. Despite my best efforts, butterflies beat wildly in my stomach. And I rather like the idea that he could be jealous, even if it’s only a figment of my imagination.

“Well, regardless of his intentions, I would have declined his offer.”

“Is that so?”

I sit up in my chair, tilting my chin to maintain eye contact. “Definitely. There’s no chance I’m adding a boyfriend to the mix when I have you to deal with,” I tease.

“Lucky for me, being the one who gets your undivided attention.”

I chew on the inside of my lips, enjoying our playful banter far more than I should. My brain scrambles for a way to change the subject, and that’s when I notice the bags in Dawson’s hands.

“That looks like a lot of food. Are you having a late-night meeting with another department that I haven’t heard about?”

Dawson shakes his head. “No. I figured you must be hungry but wasn’t sure what you liked, so I ordered one of everything from my favorite restaurant.”

“You bought me food?”

“Of course. I asked you to stay late and I can’t very well have you fainting on me now, can I?” He chuckles, his eyes crinkling in the corners.

I like seeing this relaxed side of him.

“No, we couldn’t have that,” I concede.

“Come on. Let’s dig in before the food gets cold.” He goes into his office, and I trail behind. “What’s going to happen to the leftovers?” There are at least ten takeout boxes, and there’s no way we’ll eat a fraction of the food he ordered.

“Don’t worry. The first-year associates on the third floor are pulling an all-nighter, so whatever we don’t eat, you can take to them.”

“That’s very generous of you.”

He takes out the boxes, and sets them on his desk for me to see.

“Have your pick.” He waves to the food. “I’m not picky.”

Each container is labeled, including options like wagyu beef sliders, grilled lamb chops, and lobster ravioli. It seems Dawson doesn’t do anything halfway, even when it comes to take out.

I settle on the sliders served with fries and a side salad.

Dawson takes the lobster ravioli and once we’re seated on the couch, I open my takeout container.

My stomach growls from the smell of grilled beef and toasted brioche. The sliders are perfectly browned, topped with caramelized onions and cheese, while the fries are crispy, and the side salad is drizzled with a vinaigrette.

“God, this all looks so good,” I say, picking up my burger. “I haven’t had a homemade meal in forever.”

Dawson chuckles. “You’re in the right profession if you considerthishomemade.” He holds up a forkful of ravioli. “I practically live on takeout since I spend so much time at the office.”

“What’s your favorite food?” I ask. “Mine is shepherd’s pie. But it has to have carrots and peas with homemade mashed potatoes on top. Add a sprinkle of cheese on top and it’s the ultimate comfort food.”Grams used to make it for me every week.“Although pumpkin spice lattes are a close favorite… ” I trail off when I notice Dawson watching me.

I glance at him with uncertainty, worried my chatter is bothering him.

He scrunches his nose. “A latte is a drink, not a food,” he points out.

“For some of us, it’s practically a food group, Mr. Tate.” I say teasingly.

He laughs softly, a warm glint dancing in his eyes.

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