Page 35 of When You Give a Lawyer a Kiss

I wave her off, embarrassed that I’m acting like a teenager with a crush. “I’m fine. You can go.”

“Okay,” she says, and the smile she gives me brightens the room.

The door clicks behind her when she leaves, and I bury my face in my hands. What the hell is wrong with me? I pride myself on being in control and self-assured, but with Reese, it feels likeI’m stumbling through uncharted territory without any sense of direction.

“The next time you drag me to a club, you’ll owe me another favor,” I mutter.

“Yeah, whatever,” Harrison says, clearly distracted as he scans the room.

He failed to mention we’d be meeting at a crowded lounge bar with a live jazz band and a drink menu dedicated to signature cocktails. True to my word, I told the bartender that Harrison was covering two rounds of drinks for everyone in the club. Surprisingly, Harrison handed over his card without protest.

Patrons are seated in plush armchairs and velvet sectionals under dim lighting, enjoying their appetizers and fruity drinks. I much prefer the dive bar in Brooklyn, where the alcohol is simple and there’s a relaxed atmosphere with fewer people.

Several women openly gawk at us as we pass, their eyes lingering with clear interest. I pay them no mind as I follow Harrison. There’s only one woman I’m interested in taking home tonight, and she’s not here.

If she were here right now, I’d say fuck the rules and drag her to the nearest corner and kiss her until she couldn’t think straight.

I almost crash into Harrison when he stops abruptly. “A bit of warning would have been nice,” I mutter.

“Sorry,” he says, his gaze shifting toward a group of women climbing a spiral staircase.

He’s acting strange tonight. Given what I know about him, he’s not the kind of guy to openly check out women or hang out in a glitzy club.

“What are we really doing here?” I ask.

“There’s a catered VIP party on the second floor,” he says.

I shoot him a questioning look. “Since when are you into parties?”

He grits his teeth. “I’m not.”

Harrison heads for the stairs, not waiting for a reply. I follow, intrigued by what has him so preoccupied. When we get to the second floor, a hostess with short black hair and a tailored black suit is waiting with a tablet in hand.

“Good evening, gentlemen.” She offers us a sultry smile. “May I have your names, please?”

Harrison doesn’t seem to hear her, his entire focus on surveying the room.

“Dawson Tate and Harrison Stafford,” I tell the hostess, slipping her a hundred-dollar bill.

She makes a show of checking the guest list before waving us through. “Thank you, Mr. Tate. I hope you both have a lovely evening.”

I study Harrison with concern as he aimlessly wanders the room, weaving in between patrons and tables. His usual composure is nowhere to be found, I’d find it amusing if it weren’t so disconcerting.

After he nearly collides with two different servers carrying drinks, I place a hand on his shoulder to stop him.

Harrison turns around, frowning. “What?” he snaps.

“Why don’t you tell me who we’re looking for so I can help.”

The sooner we find this mystery person, the sooner I can get the hell out of here.

He sighs. “Her name’s Fallon, and she’s catering this event,” he says, motioning around the room.

“And why are we stalking this Fallon person?”

“We’re not,” he says. “She just moved here from London and doesn’t know how dangerous the city can be. I just want to make sure she’s not being sweet-talked by some hedge fund manager into going home with him so he can show her his state-of-the-art kitchen.”

“That’s oddly specific,” I note. “But I’m sure she can manage on her own. She’s from London, and I’m guessing she’s used to navigating a big city and knows how to avoid unwanted advances.” Harrison shoots me a scowl, and I hold my hands up defensively. “Okay then. Why don’t we go back and ask the hostess if she…” I trail off when a flash of red catches my eye from across the room before disappearing into the sea of people.

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